Take a moment to reflect on a season that never really happened. To understand what’s happening here, I need you to take a few jumps toward the future and a few to the side, and remember the bizarro version of 2008. Psychedelics are optional.
The Boston Red Sox finished the year with the best record in baseball; a testimony to the steady influence and brilliance of former World Series winning manager Terry Francona. The local nine are supported by one of the best, young starting rotations in the league, a historically good bullpen, and an offense built from the farm, peppered with a few free agents and one of the biggest trade deadline acquisitions in history.
In the first round of the playoffs, the Sox face the pesky Detroit Tigers (only because I used one of Samara’s photos and I want her to be happy in this bizarre world as a thank you). Jacoby Ellsbury, one of the fastest players to ever wear “Boston” across their chest, hits a dribbler down the third base line and takes off toward first. Carlos Guillen charges, bare-hands, and delivers a strike to first-baseman Miguel Cabrera. Cabrera catches the ball and squeezes, but as he is bringing his glove into his body, the ball slips out. Jacoby is safe.