against the wall.

i am simultaneously feeling compassionate & ill after tuning into SportsCenter to hear Clay Buchholz saying he's nervous about today's game and that it may take him an inning or two to settle down. i appreciate that, Clay, but there's no time for that now against a formidable & worthy adversary in an elimination game, son. strap 'em on, boy. let the adrenaline feed you, not eat you.

today is it. we've been here before, which leaves me with a shred of hope to cling to. familiar post-season territory for the Sox. and i am torn. compassion against concern. terror against hope. grateful to have an image of Fenway fresh in my mind for the Winter, whatever happens, against not wanting to see the opponent celebrate in our house, should it come to that. reminding myself to believe against not preparing myself for possible disappointment.

i love this team. i love this game. it could end today or we could see the loud home offense erasing any consequences of Clay's jitters, forcing a Game Four...maybe even a do-or-die Game Five where anything can happen.

but i'm ahead of myself. today, i will see the Monstah one more time. i will listen to the crack of a bat & ball (hopefully from Sox bats) & commit to memory the faces of this team that i sit with, night after night, from April February through October. and i will be just a little bit sad, because even if we swing the miracle again, i know the end of the season is still coming & no number of wins will stop it.

today, we turn to Clay Buchholz, all eyes on him, and this is why i feel compassion for his nerves. that's a LOT of eyes.