Avoiding the sweep felt impossible after two cold Spring nights in which the San Francisco Giants’ bats were reduced to sawdust by Boston’s weirdly dominant, nothin’ straight pitching staff led by former coach Andrew Bailey (an “iPad guy” as my buddy Stu in Auburn would say).
Two runs, nine hits with only eight at-bats with runners in scoring position while striking out 18 times—inspiring stuff, and I got to see it all person!
In the bleachers behind the bullpens in right on Tuesday, priced out of the cup-holder section behind home plate by two rows on Wednesday, layered up yet exposed among the Fenway Faithful in my white corduroy ‘89 pennant hat and the Croix de Candlestick patch sewed onto my anorak, I bore witness to San Francisco’s futility at the plate.