Chapter 2

Wednesday, October Eighth

Game One

"I was reading ESPN.com," I said to Tim that afternoon.

"Yeah?"

"According to all the experts, I'm going to be giving you a blowjob." I grinned

He cracked up laughing. "Mitch? Never listen to the experts."

"Yeah, I know, but I must admit, I'm worried. These first two games, the matchups do not favor the Sox. Tonight is Mussina against Wakefield-Mussina owns us, and Wakefield's no Yankee killer. Tomorrow is Pettite against Low. Pettite owns us, and Lowe pitched a lot in that Oakland series. Plus, there's no Johnny Damon for those first two games. Plus, they're in Yankee Stadium. If we can get back to Fenway for game three with a split in the first two, I'll be delirious."

"I see your point. Have faith, though, buddy. Those Sox just find a way to win, don't they?"

"True."

I saw Callie before the game. She came up to my room right after supper.

"Mitch?" she asked tentatively after I let her in. "Maybe we should call this bet off."

"Man, you really hate the idea of sleeping with me, don't you?"

"Actually, it's not that. I've been thinking. What you said the other day is right. Your end of the deal is too much. I should've never even proposed it. And I don't think the Sox have a chance."

"Of course you don't, you're a Yankees fan," I smirked.

"Hey, they were pretty evenly matched this year-but the Yankees have more rest, their rotation is set up the way they want it and the Sox rotation isn't, and there's no Damon for two games. I mean, come on, Mitch. You really think the Sox have a chance with Tim Freakin' Wakefield as the first-game starter?"

"Team of Destiny. I'm telling you." I looked at her. "I'll take my chances on the bet, Callie."

We all gathered in the lounge on my floor to watch the game.

"Look at all them ugly noggins," Tim joked. Almost all the Red Sox had shaved their heads after game two of the Oakland series, a morale thing that Kevin Millar came up with. So far, it was working.

"Why didn't Nomar shave his head?" Melanie asked.

"He's exempt," I laughed. "Millar exempted him, because he's getting married after the season. To Mia Hamm, the soccer player."

"Millar probably was afraid that Mia would kick his ass if he made Nomar shave," Tim spouted, to laughter all around.

"I think somebody should shave Mitch's head," Callie giggled. "Solidarity, and all that."

"Sure," I grinned, surprising her. "Hey, I'll do my part."

The game began.

The first inning looked like it was going to be one of those games. Mussina mowed down the Sox, and Wakefield's knuckleball danced right past the Yankees.

The second inning showed the chinks in both pitchers' armor. Mussina walked two-very unusual for him-and Wakefield gave up a couple hits. Neither team scored, but the indications were there. Which pitcher would crack, and which would hold firm?

Bill Mueller got a hit off of Mussina in the third, but the Sox couldn't get him home. That's when Jack made an observation. "They're taking Mussina deep in the count, fouling balls off, making him throw a lot of pitches. Mussina's great, but he's no workhorse. If they keep taking him deep in the count, they're going to get to him."

"That's what the Sox do," I said. "That's why they were such a good hitting team this year."

And, in the top of the fourth, I was proved right. Manny Ramirez reached on an infield single. David Ortiz, who was zero for twenty-one in his career against Mussina, stepped in and took his hacks. And I mean took his hacks-Mussina got two quick strikes on him, and he just kept fouling off pitch after pitch. Until Mussina got one where Ortiz wanted it, and Ortiz hammered it into the right field stands. Two-nothing, Boston.