Anxiety. Palpable, sweaty, desperate anxiety.
Why does it hurt in the stomach like a good swift round-house kick? That's simple, it has to be because you fall in love with a team over a 162 game stretch and for them to suddenly get dumped out of the playoffs before you get a decent run, it hurts like stomach cramps.
The Red Sox loss last night brought back that old feeling. Johnny Lester can stand tall today, he pitched his heart out, however the boys in the Sox lineup have some serious amends to make, after a completely lethargic, punchless evening's 'work'.
Tonight, Red Sox Nation's lonely eyes turn to Commanded Kick A$$ of the F**k Yeah brigade in the hope he can put the Red Sox on his back and carry them back to Fenway with a 1-1 tie.
''....This is our most desperate hour. Help me, Commanded Kick A$$ of the F**k Yeah brigade; you're my only hope. ...''
The Sox are no stranger to 0-2, and oddly enough it seems to almost suit them. Oakland had us in an 0-2 hole. Cleveland and Anaheim have both had us in an 0-2 hole. The Yankees? They thought they had us finished off at 0-3. For some reason this Boston ball club, the last decade, has often done its best work when down 0-2 and seemingly out for the count.
It would be nice, however, to get working from a 1-1 foundation, somewhat less dramatic and definitely less panic inducing.
Hey, if you wake up feeling sorry for yourself today, just think, at least you are not Matt Holliday, right?