On The Little Things

For us men, it is the involved statistics that make sports feats so spectacular. Upon reviewing Beckett's pitching performance on Thursday, from a sole box score alone, would be remarkable enough. Take those numbers though and his postseason numbers so far this year and you've got something slightly more than remarkable. Add to that his career postseason numbers and we've got nothing short of amazing.

I was relaying this stats to the Mrs. last night. Telling her about his K/9 IP; his ERA. After I recited them, she replied, "How do you remember them? I've already forgotten everything you just told me." This mean it was time for analogy.

Not that I am comparing the two in stature, but I imagine the stats a guy, particularly me, can keep account for is much the same for the art critic who can take into account minor things like shading, brush stroke, pigment color in looking at a painting or other work of art. ERA, WHIP, Opp. AVG, K/9 -- these are my brushstrokes and pigment colors. For the art critic, it is those minor things that make the difference between a nice painting and a long-lasting work of art. Such is the case for Beckett's performance on Thursday. A long-lasting, not-soon-going-to-forget-this affair.

I'll be honest though, the awe of watching this "Mona Lisa" before faded by noon on Friday. The fact remains, the Red Sox need to win another game. And then another.

Taking into account the little things your average female fan will not be aware of, I like our chances tonight. The team is hitting well. If Ellsbury starts, that's a significant upgrade over Crisp at the moment. Though don't be surprised if Tito goes all Bellhorn 2004 on us and starts Coco. And then there's Carmona, who got shelled at Fenway last time. The same strategy needs to be in place for the game tonight. Work the counts, get Fausto out of his rhythm. Get up early and threaten early.

As for the that feeling that replaced the "standing before the work of art", well, it was anxiety. Nervous energy. A turning over of the stomach. It's been with me all day today as well. Anticipation is the more apt word, but not quite negative enough to bestow upon you the proper amount of light-headedness and shaking-hand syndrome I have right now. I wouldn't trade it. Wouldn't wish it away. Wouldn't want to go into this game with anything less than a negative earnestness to win. Losing is even tougher now that hope has sprung up. Now that the canvas has been treated and started and must-needs be continued.

I will not be blogging tonight either for the same reasons as before.

Plus, I am not Bob Ross.