The game goes on as scheduled. Ben Affleck’s in the front row beside the Sox dugout (he emceed the Sox Welcome Back luncheon the other day), and I expect he’ll be there tomorrow against the Yanks. With the rainouts, neither pitcher’s seen action for a while. Pedro gives up a leadoff home run to Roberts. He’s missing spots, walking people, giving up another run in the second, but Ponson loads the bases and Johnny singles to right, and then Bill Mueller breaks an 0-for-20 drought with a Pesky Pole wraparound, and we’re up 5–2. It’s early, but the game seems in hand, and the home folks have shows they want to watch, so we switch over to Survivor and then The Apprentice (don’t worry, Steve, we’re taping Kingdom Hospital), clicking back to NESN every so often.

It’s 5–4 Sox in the fourth when we check in, just in time to see Johnny knock in Bellhorn. Ponson’s struggling, and Tejada doesn’t help him by dropping the transfer on a sure DP. Ortiz grounds to the right side and Pokey scores. 7–4.

When we check in again, it’s 7–7 in the top of the fifth and Pedro’s still in there. What the hell? (Palmeiro hit a three-run shot into the Sox bullpen.) He’s given up 8 hits and 4 walks. Yank him already!

Ponson’s gone after four, and Malaska comes on for us in the top of the sixth. It’s the big finale of The Apprentice, and for two hours we play peek-aboo with the relievers: Lopez, Williamson, Timlin, Ryan, Foulke, Embree.

The Apprentice ends just in time for us to catch the biggest play of the game. It’s the bottom of the tenth, bases loaded and two out for Bill Mueller. He lifts one high and deep to left-center that looks like it’ll scrape the Monster. I’m up, cheering, thinking this is the game—that we’ll have a little cushion going into the Yankee series—but the wind knocks the ball down. Bigbie is coming over from left, and Matos from center, on a collision course. Bigbie cuts in front, Matos behind, making the grab on the track in front of the scoreboard, and that’s the inning.

Arroyo starts the top of the eleventh against Tejada. He hangs a curve, and Tejada hits it off the foot of the light tower on the Monster for his first homer of the year. 8–7 O’s. In a long and ugly sequence, they pile on four more. We go one-two-three, and that’s the game, a painful, bullpen-clearing, four-and-a-half-hour extra-inning loss very much like last week’s in Baltimore. Not the way we wanted to go into tomorrow’s opener against the Yanks, and not how I wanted to go to bed—late and pissed-off.

April 16th