Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Don Orsillo is having recurring dreams about Yuniesky Betancourt fielding a grounder.
I'm fairly certain that that statement more or less sums up last night's game. It's a little pathetic and a little surreal and kind of funny (like losing to the Royals), but it's not something to worry about unless it starts happening repeatedly, many nights in a row.
It was good to see Dave Wallace back out there when Lester plunked Teahen to load the bases. He was moving with a slight limp and I rather wanted Lester to suck himself up and get out of the jam just to make forcing Wallace and his new hip to walk all the way to the mound and back worthwhile, but of course, no, two runs scored.
This is how paranoid I am now: every time Mike Lowell made any kind of facial expression, even if it was smiling and laughing, I was immediately fearful that he was grimacing from pain in his foot. Every time. And if he frowned during a bad at-bat, oy, the terror. And of course it didn't help when Loretta got hit on the point of his elbow and dropped his arm down like he'd lost all control over it. SO MANY THINGS CAN GO WRONG WITH A SHARP BLOW ON THE POINT OF THE ELBOW. Just the tiniest little crack, or the minutest little bone shaving coming off and getting into the joint. IT COULD HAPPEN. I was in a frenzy of concern. This is what following the Red Sox too closely will do to a person.
Or, apparently, it makes you start having recurring dreams about Yuniesky Betancourt.
Labels: baseball, Don Orsillo, MLB, NESN, Red Sox, Yuniesky Betancourt