Whacking Day Comes Early as Bucs Beat Irish
By EA Sports
Pirates News Staff
CHELSEA, MA — On a night when the Red Sox and Celtics also played games, diehard Boston sports fans sat gripped by a 2 hour and 45 minute “Odyssey” at Chelsea High School. It was a game of agony and redemption, a rags to riches story that lived up to every dream the young Horatio Alger imagined when he walked these Mystic streets so many years ago.
When the dust settled, the Prohibition Pirates (2-0) walked-off victorious on the sails of a swashbuckling veteran and the wind of a young Buc. It was Saad Khalid (1-2, R) safe at home and Cliff “Bad Man” Goodband (1-3, GWRBI) a-rounding first. This PPoP homecoming was the very definition of the term Instant Classic with the hard-hearted pair of fate and Paul Benson (ND, 6IP, 8K, 2ER, 7BB, 2H) dealing a tough-luck loss to the Irish and pitcher Dan “Five-Finger” Daly (CG, L, 6IP, 10K, ER, 10BB, 5H).
The game began inauspiciously enough as Chris Bettano (2BB) became the second straight starting centerfielder to forget his jersey, which was secondary to a lost contact during warm-ups. After quick work from the trainer, he absconded to his position with another player’s jersey, only to find the dimensions of his home field as welcoming as the Alamo.
The Bronxian short-porch in right lead to the first of several moves made by Manager Jake Walter to outstrategize his adversaries. In a move to take the right field bleachers out of the game, Walter tossed the pearl to the big southpaw Paul Benson, forcing the little macushlas to go with a right-heavy lineup.
With the stage set, P.B. delivered a white-knuckle, tight-rope act, dancing around walks while no-hitting the opposition for more than half the contest, cementing his legacy in the annals of Pirate lore. On the rare occasion a ball was put into play, the defense matched Benson with errorless glovework, first from 2B Justin Tullo, then from SS James Sharkey. Not to be outdone, 1B Max Bogaert made his leathermates shine by receiving everything they whipped at him.
And as each out was recorded, the bitter scrotum-tightening cold sapped the strength of the wizened warriors. It became clearer that this pitcher’s duel would be one for the ages, perhaps the greatest game ever played on the banks of the scenic Revere Beach Parkway.
But the Irish cared nothing for Benson’s quest for greatness. Poised to spoil his second no-hit bid in as many starts (dating back to 2008), upstart catcher Mark Daly dropped down a two-out bunt for a single in the top half of the fourth. With runners at the corners, Benson battled to a full count before surrendering a double to SS Bobby “O’Bono” Ranton (2-2, RBI, BB, SB, CS). He would close out the inning with a strikeout, but the damage had been done, the hometown team headed to the bottom of the frame down 2-0.
As good as Benson was, the opposition was even better. The Hibernian hurler shutout Pirates hitters for four frames before walking a gift run home in the fifth (Jeff Francis, 2BB, RBI). Daly’s wildness was the only thing keeping the offense on life support, and nobody in the stands that night (attendance: 4) believed the heart of the order could bring itself back to life. Staked to a 2-1 lead with 6 outs to go, the Irish had given the power-troika of Bogaert, Francis and Goodband absolutely nothing (0-6, 4K).
Only masterful pitching and scintillating defense had kept the slumping Pirates in the game. Despite stranding the bases loaded in the second and fifth, they came to bat in the bottom of the sixth trailing by just one.
After an out, defensive replacement Evan “Magnum Force” Adair doubled to right on a 2-2 fastball, advanced to third on a groundout and scored on an error forced by Paul Crocetti’s moonshot, which kissed the heavens and danced with the angels high in the April night before plummeting back to Earth, landing in a cloud of dust at the shortstop’s feet. Just that quickly, the board was wiped clean and the game was tied.
With a 2-2 game heading to the seventh, Walter faced another crucial decision: Should he stick with the wily veteran, who had now thrown upwards of 100 pitches, or go to closer Jeff Francis with the prospect of extra innings looming?
“It’s one of those few situations where being the home team really hamstrings us. P.B.’s feeling it, and I’m looking down at the pen and we’ve got a rabid Francis, itching to get in there -– I mean, he’s frothing out there for a chance,” explained Walter. “I am thinking, ‘When do you let the bull out? When are you gonna need those three outs?’ Looking at the lineup card, we had Saadi, Bogey, and Jeffy — sounds like at least one run, right? So I played the percentages. It’s what good managers do. It doesn’t happen often, but my ballplayers made me look good today.”
Pitted against an overeager lineup, Francis toyed with the opposition, giving up couple of weak grounders and a flaired single only to pick off the runner moments later.
“I had been charting the game,” said Francis. “In the second inning, Ranton was really aggressive on the bases. I thought if I held the ball a little, I could throw him off. Really, I was just waiting for Bogaert to yell, ‘Step off!’”
The young fireballer’s chicanery drew boos and jeers from the opposing bench, which he returned in kind, solidifying his place as Pirates Bad Boy and cult hero for generations to come.
Three up, three down, and now it was time to see whether this hard-fought battle would transcend all things baseball and crystallize its glory as the quintessence of sport.
The Cricketing-Corsair, Saad Khalid, lead off the home half of the seventh inning by digging out a muff-shot to the third baseman on the first pitch he faced.
Coach Walter then advised, “Don’t say anything to Max, he’s going to break something beautiful.”
Bogaert responded with a laserbeam to left. Both runners moved up on a wild pitch to clean-up man Jeff Francis. Whether by pure intimidation, or rudimentary baseball strategy, the Irish called for an intentional walk, loading the bases for destiny and Cliff Goodband.
On deck, John McKenna noted shades of Roy Hobbs as blood flowed steadily from the slugger’s battle-scarred elbow. The umpire dusted off the plate as a lone dumptruck lumbered by on the Adamski Memorial Highway, which loomed in the darkness just beyond the left field wall. A hush fell over the remaining crowd (two Brazilian women power-walking the adjacent track) and the lights flickered in advance of a surge. Staring down a drawn in infield, Goodband zeroed in on a fastball and hit a tracer, which slipped under the leftfielder’s desperation dive and set off a pig pile at the plate and jubilation among the remaining bugs and cranks. Once again, the PPoP proved it is not how you start, but how you finish.
With one swing, history met destiny and somewhere in that favored land a ball is still outracing mortality.
Great job, Evan. Sean Grande has nothing on you when it comes to hyperbole. For those wondering, the picture at the top is Jake re-enacting Cliff’s gaming winning hit in the parking lot after the game.