Oh, God, No. Not Pedroia.

This place is supposed to be relaxing.

All I want out of spring training is the ability to feel the anticipation that comes with a new season while not having to completely launch myself into the day to day rollercoaster that is being a Sox fan. I restart my Extra Bases addiction, prepare my liver for the long months ahead and kiss my family and friends goodbye. What I don’t do is get hugely caught up in records, stats, or even performance in general for anyone other than the new guys. It’s completely unnecessary and saves me a lot of headaches when looking at boxscores to see that our minor league pitchers gave up another six runs to the Cardinals or Pirates. Who cares? I will go into complete and total freakout mode twelve days from now when Josh Beckett throws the first pitch of the 2010 season, but until then I try to keep an even keel. I just ask that the guys stay healthy.

This was the only O.K. part of last night's game, and it was a groundout.

When I woke up this morning to check the score of last night’s game (I didn’t focus on it through EB as usual because of the best episode of Lost in the past two seasons), I was horrified to find that not only has the Sox lost their ninth out of ten and Buck had looked like it was still 2008, but that the heart of the team had left the game with a wrist issue. No matter what has happened in the past decade, I still went straight to the old stand by: “holy hell, he’s done for the season, I might as well just hibernate for the next seven months to spare myself the pain.” Pedroia going down is a worst case scenario, a la Nomar’s wrist in 2001. I fear anything attached to the idea of a wrist injury, having dealt with Nomar’s, Lowrie’s and Ortiz’ I know that they are often not as simple as we might think.

There have been no announcements about the X-Rays yet, but this would be a good time to shut the kid down for a week. Pedroia is a slow starter anyways and pushing anything at this point makes me just about ready to crap myself. Let’s wrap him in bubble wrap, keep him away from any dangers for a while and make sure that this thing goes away right quick, and we don’t have to flush all our hopes down the tubes quite yet.

Go Sox.

Done.

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