Thought processes and conversations started under the tilted cap of Tropicana Field. Someday everyone will know the Rays play in St. Petersburg, Florida, not TAMPA, or the fictitious city of TAMPA BAY.
Ye Tale is Spun from the Yarn of Yawley
It has all the makings of a dramatic made-for-Television movie. The type of highly emotional and civic minded chest thumping cinematic presentation that always seems to surface just as the Major League Baseball begins to close down its regular season. Then like a flash of lightning, this same media power promotes their post season edition of grandeur on the grass with their localized Northern kinfolk firmly established at the forefront edge of post season glory. The type of urban metropolis superiority cinematic piece that pieced together in haste as the two Northern giants begin to assemble their courageous troops for playoff supremacy.
But there is a problem with that usual Northern homage to greatness in 2010. The usual two titans of the Northeast are not the centerpieces of this year’s playoff drama, but their distant cousin, that poor Southern band of souls are again trying to rob their post seasonal exclusive party by winning when they should be cowering in the corner paying homage to their Northern big brothers. Again these bonded cousins from another Mother have again risen (like the South) to again fluster and bewitch the very media networks that pray and plea each April that metro giants like Boston and New York can survive into late October.
In their last three contests, the younger brothers to the South have fallen upon dark moments, besieged by the uncharacteristic dismantling of their hurlers galore to give their Northern cousins located in the town of the Beans, a glimpse at redemption and a viable reason to again bestow hope amongst the discarded hot dog wrappers and beer cups, that an epic collapse might befallen their Southern cousins and again put fate within their grasp.
Now there is a glimmer of faith and reprisal that if they can corral and tame their Southern cousin in the last two meetings between the two this week, the boys from Beantown can again be in the thick of the hunt and pounce upon and beyond their Southern brethren to again seek their baseball destiny. And with the unevenly successful outing of their southpaw du Jour, and even with the plethora of ducks on the pond that night, they used the winds and the long deep ball to again thrust their Southern cousins into the barrels of molasses and send them to bed dreaming of disaster instead of delight.
Right now the awakening soul of this proud city is again thumping their chest and proving the encouraging wordage and crowd carnage needed to bring hope, faith and last gasps of rejoice to those who gaze upon the last ditch effort of hope for this great Red Sox Nation. Patrons who threw off their oxygen masks after the final ground out and proclaimed their team fully back in high spirits and seeking another combustible shot of redemption tonight.
As their Southern cousins recoiled and reexamined their own plan of attack of sending their own southpaw to the mound tonight to crush the rebellion and ease the noise, the patrons of this borough of the baked bean rejoiced and celebrated upon Yawley Way late into the morning seeing that their forth nights are not pitch black and darkened, but that a faint shimmer of pale light has beamed upon the every changing darkness because of the burly bats of their might Red Sox crew. For the once blind patrons of the Red Sox have now seen the dim flashes of a percentage of a chance, and grasp that morsel as if it was Russian caviar.
Even though the hard fought road to the playoffs has been reopened by the defeat of the Southern cousins, the Red Sox must again counter again and again in two more contests before they can fully proclaim their right to journey towards a glimpse of a final playoff destination. For now the curtain has been opened, and the bean town faithful have seen the inner workings of the magician and know what it will take to pounce upon and beyond this young Southern cousin’s own journey.
Once again the Southern cousins have found themselves sandwiched between the irritable giants with little chance of extra breathing room on either side of them. Any extended slip, unexpected slide backwards will surely evoke more celebration and anxious moments for either of their Northern kinfolk. The proud Southern brethren have to reconstruct their modus operandi and commit again to what got them to this point in their season, or surrender to the increasing sound of sox upon the ground coming closer and closer.
Four weeks, 28 days is the length of time they need to fend off and survive within the two titans grip. 26 games worth of sweat, strains and moral imperative has to be weighed, measured and precisely calculated before the final tally is seen on October 4th‘s eve.
The impending contests of these three amigos separated by their will, luck and courage will battle to the last out, all hoping that when the dust finally settles, they are firmly situated in a seat towards their playoff destiny. Many have begun to count out the second Northern brother, because injuries has ravished their roster and depleted their confidence. But a new generation of Beantown bombers have resurfaced and shown that this is far from over, far from concluded. Even now.
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