Three Nights in Boston, Pt. 1

I told Pettit he could write from home today.
His little ones are under the weather.
So was his ballclub.

Don't want to say you could see it coming, but with the way Beckett's now pitching, you could see it coming.

Plus, I didn't want to see John suffering along with the Yanks. I like him too much. Mark Teixeira, on the other hand, is a different story.
Official hatred has set in.
Nothing specific to set it off. You know how the antipathy is just suddenly there, brethren.

Good to see Papi pop off again. The biggest hit, though, was that two-out, 0-2 double off the wall by Drew. Deepest dagger, the true point on which the game swung into the realm of rout.

You know, just before the game, a fellow Red Sox fan here at the office who shall go nameless was babbling about which young pitchers the Sox might trade to bring in another left-handed bat.
Bowden? Bard? Buchholz?
How about none of the above.
We've got holes -- holes like everybody else -- but we're sitting tied for first with the Yankees. No need to panic and make a bad move.