gasoline on the fire

here we are. the perfect culmination of a baseball season. the two best teams in baseball this year, battling it out in a death match. they couldn't have been more equally suited to play one another for the AL pennant, and it couldn't have been more perfectly scripted than to have them duke it out to the very last moment before determining who would move forward.

i didn't feel the same sense of certain belief going into Game Six that i did behind Joshy. this was different, even with Schill pitching. because the Schill that led us in 2004 is no longer the same flame-throwing pitcher who would just as soon mow you down as look at you. this was Schill, redefined. and i didn't know how deeply that redefinition went. last night, he proved to baseball fans that Schill may throw different pitches, and he may top out at 90mph, but the drive still lives in the core of his gut. Schill does not want to go out as the guy who blew the ALCS. his guts & his admitted fear of losing were his foundation in 2004 . and they were his foundation last night.

all the Joe Bucks in the world can claim he was too old & too tired to make it through a third inning of pressure. they can claim that all these mechanical changes have altered the fundamentals of Curt Schilling's mental game -- or as was stated during Game Six, that he is just not "bloody sock" anymore. i wouldn't expect a horse's ass like Joe Buck to grasp that "bloody sock" is not about age or velocity. it is about determination, dedication, the iron will not to lose. Curt Schilling may have less giddy-up on his fast ball, but his mental sit-down-and-shut-up is absolutely intact. with a whole new ball game to pitch this season, after completely reinventing himself, Schill showed everyone last night that "bloody sock" isn't an artifact in the Hall of Fame, but an attitude he wears with the game on the line -- whether it means picthing through the pain of a sutured ankle or being forced by time to rely on a new game instead of the familiar one from his youthful success. one thing is constant: with the season on the line, Curt Schilling is a winner. he may be a blowhard at the most inopportune times, but he is *our* blowhard and with perfect timing, he pitched a seven-inning masterpiece to give us the opportunity for a Game Seven.

it was not all Schilling though. he gave up only one run, but the Sox offense has sprung to life. it rumbled & grumbled into motion in Game Five. and as Papelbon stated, and i paraphrase: you woke the sleeping giant & there will be hell to pay. i spent this season, bemoaning the loss of my Trotter in right field, and ragging on JD Drew with his utter lack of anything to show for his appearance on the Boston scene. i do not look at him with the same disgust as i do JFL (Julio Freaking Lugo, for those of you joining us late), but for all the accolades & crowing that he would be everything Trot wasn't... well... he was exactly that, except not in the way we were promised. he made me miss Trot every single game, not simply because he had "replaced" Trot, but his lack of fire, his lack of "Dirtdog-edness," his inability to hit or roam right field like his predecessor... all of it made the season so frustrating to watch in the right corner. last night, when JD Drew stepped up to the plate with his bat, bases loaded, two outs, i rolled my eyes. i'd seen countless instances in which he wasted this chance, and i had no reason to believe it wouldn't just happen again. all i can say, JD, is that with one well-placed swing of your Louisville Slugger, an entire disappointing season has been erased. your slate is clean & all has been forgiven. ok, maybe not the 7 on the back of your jersey, not yet, but you have officially endeared yourself to this skeptic. though i relished every camera shot of Trot Nixon last night, and though he will always be the number seven on the back of my jersey, i officially welcome JD Drew to Boston.

after a glorious reminder of October Schilling, the redemption of JD Drew, the reappearance of Jacoby Ellsbury, and the smack of Boston bats on Cleveland pitching, the only icing that could make this Game Six sweeter was the sight of Eric Gagne striding onto the mound. this game was too magical, the atmosphere too electric, for our struggling mid-season acquisition not to get his too. his first clean inning as a Red Sock capped off this evening for me, if for no one else. i've been waiting for this moment, through all of his struggles, and i hope this does wonders for his personal morale.

but most of all, what i wanted to see, coming out of this game, was the momentum firmly shifted in the Sox favor: a strong starting performance, shut down relief, big plays in the field, and hits that just keep coming. what we saw behind Joshy in Game Five needed to carry over if there was to be a Game Seven. it needed to happen for another pitcher. if Beckett lights the fire on this team, then Game Six needed to be the gasoline on the fire, creating a blaze so hot, it could ignite Game Seven. this game played out exactly the way i hardly dared to hope.

and now... tonight there is a Game Seven. a Game Seven that some of us predicted (not me) and a Game Seven that most of us, if we're honest with ourselves, at one point or another, feared would never happen. tonight, we pull out all the stops, all the pitchers, all the desire to be the best that we can dredge up from the tips of our toes. tonight, we pray that the bats we found in Game Five keep making sweet music in the Fenway October evening air. tonight, every other game we played no longer matters. tonight, we decide.

tonight, one of the two best teams in baseball will go home.
whatever happens, we do not go quietly.