Home runs are only equal in the box score. In real life, we know better. Some homers are cheap; some are majestic; some are pivotal; some are meaningless; some make you get up out of your seat; some make you groan.
Triston Casas’s first inning two-run bomb against the Angels — which was one of the longest homers I’ve seen at Fenway in recent memory — felt like a palate cleanser. It was the baseball equivalent of that movie trope where a wizened tough guy fires a pistol in the air to calm down the panicked townspeople — or, in this case, to turn the page from the Red Sox ugly, defensively challenged four-game losing streak.