Not since Miami Beach, 1968, have I seen so many Nixon signs. Started Friday night in Center City, Red Sox Nation on a road trip, grown men in No. 7 jerseys, pouring out of the local hotels and eateries. I'm not sure why they're wearing Trot Nixon jerseys other than he's a white guy, too, and Boston's always been kinda loyal that way.
Disclaimer: I'm Boston-born, a lifelong Red Sox fan, and that being my affliction, suspicious of leads and uncomfortable with gloating. Or even winning. So I was the guy wearing a Berlin Thunder NFL Europe hat to the game Sunday and a t-shirt from my dad's hardware store in Dorchester, Mass. I even clapped for good Phillies plays, and there were a couple. You will excuse me for leaping to my feet when Manny Ramirez slammed one to right. You didn't hear me doing one of the obnoxious "Let's go Red Sox" chants or blanketing it with boos, either. I was too busy listening to the heckler next to me who seemed to know how much every one on the diamond gets paid - well almost: Kevin Youkilis makes $323,000 not $625,000, but I admired his confidence.
Phillies bloggers were prepared for the interleague interlopers. Phillies Nation was looking to show the Bostonians a little local attitude:
I especially would like to see some hostility towards any Sox fans that think they can take over the joint. Show them this isn't New York, it's much worse.
Never happened. There was lots of gentle back and forth between those with Bs and Ps on their caps. Mixed couples, too. The Red Sox sure seemed comfy in CBP. After a Jason Varitek single, the Boston captain chatted amiably with Jim Thome at first. "What are you two doing?" the wise guy next to me hollered. "Comparing salaries?" That contest Thome would win, $13.2 million to $8 million.
Becky of Good Grief! Does This Blog Make My Butt Look Big? wound up disgusted. But by Bobby Abreu.
Shallow Center's post on the three-day whooping is titled "Boston Scream Pie."
Phreakin' Phils wrote about the city's assorted warnings and precautions:
Interstate 95 will be closed to ensure the smooth transport of chowdah and Sam Adams lager to the region.
The Phanatic will temporarily be renamed "that othah green monstah."
All schools, government buildings, and available office space will be converted into Irish Pubs.
A team of highly-trained animal handlers will be on call for late-night David Wells sightings.
Persons not wearing an appropriate amount of Sox gear are encouraged to stay indoors for the weekend. Appropriate garb includes, at minimum, a Bosox visor, blue training pants with a red stripe, and a bright red shirt that reads "Yankees suck."
Pedestrians who spot Manny Ramirez wandering the city are encouraged to point him in the direction of the stadium.
Manny turned out to know his way around left pretty well, even if he did lose track of the pitching count. Wells was crafty as ever. Someone woke up Bellhorn. The Sox looked like they were pulling out of here to win it all again. To me, after living here longer than anywhere else, it felt only half great.
But something I read this weekend made me appreciate even being in the game. On Wednesday, it will be 100 years since Moonlight Graham made his only major-league appearance - and never got up to bat. I always thought W.P. Kinsella, author of Shoeless Joe, made up that character that Burt Lancaster wound up playing in Field of Dreams. Nope. Moonlight lived.