Boston is nothing if not a verbose town. We’ve got a raft of writers, a posse of intellectuals, and Ted Kennedy. And our ballclub’s seven-game ALCS victory has only made this affliction worse.
Our baseball men are getting metaphorical (and even Classical):
“He was like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs out there,” Timlin said of Beckett [in the bullpen]. “He didn’t know what to do or when to throw. But he found a way to keep himself occupied.”
“He doesn’t back down to anyone or any situation,” Epstein said [of Dustin Pedroia]. “That’s what makes him good. He walks around like he’s an Adonis instead of 5-foot-6.”
The gauntlet had then been down for our sportswriters, who rose to the challenge admirably.
Kevin Paul DuPont: “Had it not been for that huge Coke bottle strapped to the light stanchion above the Green Monster, the ball Kevin Youkilis hit in the eight inning last night might have imperiled Mass. Pike motorists, skipped across the Charles River, and slowly come to a roll on this side of the Canadian border.”
Dan Shaughnessy: “The game was played on the 32d anniversary of Carlton Fisk’s World Series walkoff homer and though the score indicated little drama, the final play was no less spectacular.
At 11:56 last night, Casey Blake hit a towering shot toward the 420 (foot) sign in the deepest part of center field at Fenway Park. The ball descended from the October sky and settled into the outstretched mitt of a galloping Coco Crisp, who crashed into the bullpen fence and dropped to the ground holding the American League pennant in his hand.”
Forget the score.
Omigawd was that tense!
At least until the little guy unloaded.
But then it got tense again.
Until the Wild Thing Closer got out of the eighth.
And then things got real comfy when the little guy unloaded again in the six-run eighth.
Omigawd, what a ballgame, what a glorious night at Fenway, what a way to enter the World Series.
The Red Sox did it. They beat the Cleveland Indians, 11-2, last night.
Yikes. Can blogging be dangerous to your writing voice? (I hope not.) Is Bob Ryan trying to sound like a contestant on My Super Sweet Sixteen? (Yes.) Why?? (No idea.)
So I think it’s time for a new kind of contest. Yeah, we have trivia and write-your-own-caption. How about write-your-own lead paragraph? I’ll go first (in the comments). Extra points for wild metaphors!