Sunday was a tough day for New England sports fans. It sucked extra bad because of how good it could have been. I had the day planned out pretty freakin well, myself. I was in Naples (FL not Italy) for my friend’s wedding, we got all sideways celebrating on Saturday night, woke up around 11, collected ourselves at the poolside bar (Tiki Jack’s Kitchen) for the Sox game and we even found a freakin Patriots bar like 3 minutes away from the hotel called Boston Beer Garden to watch the Pats game.
It all started according to plan, too. Pool cured the hangover, the bartender didn’t mind that we brought a bunch of beer left over from the night before (he even had has staff pour it into cups for us so the other resort guests wouldn’t get to familiar), and the games begun. Buchholz was throwin’ freakin pellits. I was in the pool with a wide mouth full of frost brewed choors light and my buddies sippin pina coladas announced Pedroia’s RBIs. 2-0. Awesome. Then 3. Then 5… we were gonna win at that point so I started planning ahead for the Patriots game and looking forward to the game 4 ticket my dad had waiting for me at home.
I even ran up to my room for a sober-up shower and a change before leaving for the Pats game.
And then… the fallapart:
Valet brings car around. Put top down. We all hop in. Phone rings.
Done: “Fuck these fucking mother fucking fuckbag assholes I’m gonna kill me and them, them first, fucking fuckstick papelbon… mumble muble mumble… old yeller… fucking mumble mumble mumble.”
I didn’t even know what happened. But I mean… I knew then. You have to be effing kidding me, Jon. Your first ever post season melt down… and it came at a real bad time. The thing with a player like Paps is that we can’t really get rid of him. He’s the type of guy that can ratchet it up about 30 notches and if we bump him, he’ll be a red sox killer for the yankees for 65 years.
Plus, it wasn’t really his fault, and I mean it. If the Sox hadn’t gotten their asses kicked two days in a row his melt down wouldn’t have cost us the series. And as StartMattCassel’sDaddy pointed out on the phone just a minute ago, you can’t bat .147 as a team and win in the playoffs. And they did… so we lost. It was a fun season, mostly, it was a good team, mostly, and in 4 months we can start over. Now it’s Pats season.
We get to Boston Beer Garden. Beers already on the table. Wings on the way. Games all around us and the hot bartenders are in skimpy Teddy Bruschi jerseys. Day’s alooking up.
The Broncos come out and start gashing us with the wildcat. Effing McDaniels. (He’s a really good coach.) They march it down the field, 7 straight positive plays, no incompletions, no problems. Then they equalize it with a missed field goal.
I’m not saying we beat ourselves… but Brady and Moss left 6 on the field with a horribly overthrown ball, Brady and Welker left 6 on the field with a pelted ball off the feet when there was no safety help down the rest of the field, and Gostowski missed a 42ish yarder that would have done it too.
But NOPE. Orton marches 98 yards to tie it up, Wilfork picks the wrong side of the coin, The Wildcat gashes us again, Prater kicks his first ever meaningful Field Goal and Bellichick is left wondering the field looking for McDaniels who was busy going nuts with his fans. God Dammit.
The handshake thing was no big deal by the way, McDaniels said later that Bill actually came into the Denver locker room with his son and found him in his office, gave him a big hug and hung out for a bit. Classy. And cool. But we still lost to freakin Denver. In over time. And now it’s raining out.
Maybe Done will cheer us all up later with a more uplifting post.
But I doubt it.