SO: Gloating is such an ugly word for this creamy and delicious feeling. I think the Yanks’ swoon will just make George bust out the wallet earlier for a starter or two. Lieber’s still a ways away from filling the five slot, and Contreras looks terrible. Using Vazquez on three days’ rest—even though he threw well—is a desperate move on ol’ Joe’s part. And after the day off tomorrow, they’ve got to face the A’s three big aces. Who’s going to throw that Thursday game—Vazquez on three days again? They’re screwed. We trusted Bronson with the ball twice against them and he came through. And BK’s not far from being ready.

Your third-place pick looks entirely possible. As expected, we’re getting quality starts and our pen’s much better, and those O’s are pounding the ball. The Yanks right now are suffering from the revenge of Pettitte, Clemboy and Boomer.

April 26th

Tonight’s the premiere of the Red Sox movie: Still, We Believe. Alyssa, my former student, has lined up a press pass for me, and while I’ve put together a short list of questions and fitted fresh batteries in the minicassette recorder, I’ve still got mixed feelings about crossing the line between fan and journalist.

We get to the Loews on the Common right on time, check in at the press table and claim a spot behind the velvet rope next to the red carpet. I’ve never had a press pass before, and I have no idea what secret powers it gives me. Outside, WEEI is doing a live feed from the street. It’s raining and cold out, and the crowd’s thin. As more people filter in, we’re boxed and jostled by TV cameras. NESN’s well represented, ESPN2, NECN, all the Boston channels. Nothing’s happening, but there’s some serious jockeying for position. Johnny Damon and Kevin Millar are definites, but those are the only two names mentioned. I’m hoping for Eck, maybe Yaz, Tim Wakefield, Pokey Reese.

Wally the Green Monster shows up in a tux, mugging for the cameras. “Hey Wally, who are you wearing?”

The fans featured in the film arrive, and the cameramen blind them with their lights, the sports anchors do their stand-ups. I’m not really interested in the fan-stars. I know I’ll get their stories from the movie anyway.

Tom Caron stops at the press table, and Dan Shaughnessy. Big Sam Horn signs a ball for me—something a real journalist would never ever ask him to do—and there’s Tom Werner and John Henry and Larry Lucchino, and Luis Tiant. Everyone but the players.