The World According to JP

Ok, if you didn’t see last night’s game, you may have missed the gutsiest performance in the history of baseball. Curt Schilling was simply incredible. The man pitched 7 innings of 1 run, 4 hit ball on an ankle that could have exploded at any time. The media wasn’t quite sure what the Boston doctors did to his ankle as was evidenced by Joe Buck’s announcement that "we’re not sure if that’s blood on his sock or Marcaine from the injections he received." Turns out that the Boston doctors sutured his tendon into place, which required making an incision in his ankle. Curt threw 99 pitches with a tendon stapled into place. He threw hard when he needed to and cruised when the situation allowed it. Superhuman performance, no doubt about it. I’ve never seen anything like it. Balls of steel (no not Buns of Steel, that department he could use a little work on).

The game was incredible, nerve wracking and intense. The umpires reversed two calls for the Red Sox, in Yankee Stadium. Both reversals were justified. They got both calls absolutely right. Bellhorn’s hit was a home run. The difference in the game. Good for him. The fans have been riding his ass since the beginning of the playoffs, and rightfully so. Terry Francona stuck with him, against the media's and fans' wishes, and it paid off.

The second reversal was a bit tougher. A-Rod slapping the ball out of Arroyo’s hand like a little bitch swatting at a pesky bug was bad enough, but then to act like he didn’t do anything wrong exposed him for the cheater he is.





Yeah, A-Rod, feel free to just grab Arroyo’s glove off his hand and chuck it into the stands next time. You whiny little bitch. Go buy yourself some high-priced hooker to bang your worries away. And after you’re done with her, go fuck yourself also.

When Foulke walked Sierra to make it two on, two out, winning run at the plate and a 3-2 count to Clark, my heart was jack hammering so badly that I thought I was gonna go into v-tach right there on my bed. I couldn’t even bear to sit up and watch the final inning.

The only thing I fear is that tonight’s game will be a little anti-climactic. You can only have this much intensity for so long before your central nervous system shuts down. I’ll be watching from my living room, two-fisting and chain-drinking Rolling Rocks and scarfing down Percoset like they were beer nuts.

If I don’t make it, please, when you speak of me to your friends, speak highly. God knows I tried.

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