Yesterday, I was lamenting the Tribe's collapse in Game 5 (and the ongoing Beckett post-season brilliance) and I uttered the following two sentences:
"The Indians are going to wilt in Boston."
"Carmona will lose his shit after he gets squeezed and walk a bunch of guys."
Anyone who knows me is well familiar with my dislike of the Red Sox. Right or wrong, I hate their fucking guts. As a team. Certain individuals I can stomach. I was hoping Cleveland would finish them off in Game 5 as I had a bad feeling about their ability to win the cauldron of Fenway, which would be much hotter for much longer than in Games 1 and 2.
Most of today, I was muttering to myself about bloody socks and idiots and the fact Eric Byrnes doesn't know you have to actually touch home plate for a run to count (no, I'm not over it; Eff You). My ire at the inevitable Sawx comeback reached Anger Level Red. Then I figured out how to save myself from...er...myself.
Sox -1.5 runs at +145.
Shit. For money, I'll cheer Curt Schilling and JD Drew.