When the Red Sox played their second home game and looked flat, fans hung up the effigy and shaved their beards. They gazed all over the Park—from dugout to bullpen and could not find a grand slam home run, a whiffenpoof strikeout, or even a stolen base.
John Lackey did not lack for effort, but the seventh inning stretched all the way to St. Louis.
The fans asked themselves, “Can the funhouse ride be over already?” Three games on the banks of the Mississippi where the Cardinals love to beat their feet in the mud. Alas, the Sox may be under those feet.
Blogs and media reports from spies reported that Clay Buchholz was really injured and may not pitch, let alone pitch well. The Mighty Buchholz may not strikeout anyone.
Media fan boys posted and read on the Internet and what they heard on sports radio made them cry: the refrain was sung a cappella by one and all, “It’s too slow for the Sox here in Boston. They want to ride the Gateway to the West.”
And, so, fans have to meet the Sox in St. Louis. Phooey. That Golden Arch is not an advert for Mickey D, but for Tom Sawyer’s Cards.
Don’t tell fans, but the lights are shining only there. So, off to the Midwest the fans must trudge to meet the Sox at the fair to Will Middlingbrooks.
Three games in St. Louis? Phooey, indeed. The Sox plan to dance the hootchy-kootchy on the road. Ortiz will be the tootsie wootsie, but not the designated hitter.
Napoli will ride the bench, and Nava will appear from his cloak of invisibility.
St. Louis. Phooey.