Six games against the Red Sox divisional rivals beckoned, and the Sox have simply spit the bit, with five consecutive losses, including two bitter extra innings defeats.
The Sox offense has disappeared, with eight hits and no runs in the past twenty-four innings of futility. Fans old enough to remember 1978, Bobby Sprowl, and the Boston Massacre have witnessed the biggest collapse in thirty-one years.
David Ortiz and the steroid fiasco simply become a sideshow, with the center ring futility focused not on management failures, but simply underperformance under the bright lights.
As fans, we ask does Jason Bay have not only a troublesome hamstring but a hole for breaking stuff away that opponents finally found as his Achilles heel? Will J.D. Drew ever find his stroke again? Is Mike Lowell finally succumbing to Father Time?
The Sox appear in dire need of a catalyst to awaken a team that is pressing, literally on life support in the divisional race. The start pitching, decimated by injuries became Lester and Beckett and the heck with it, and the offense has gone David Copperfield and vanished.
Blame Theo Epstein? He acquired more offense. Finger Terry Francona? He's a gunslinger with no bullets these days.
Sox fans simply have to take it, while waiting it out. Me, I'm reduced to watching Left Coast baseball at A T & T Park, with Matt Cain, garlic fries, and a Ghiardelli Sundae. Could be worse.