The rally cuff was successful - Sox defeat D-Rays 8-6.
But it wasn't my cuff that worked all the magic. After Leskanic gave up the two-run dinger that tied the game up at six I went to lay down in bed and just listen to the rest of the game. It's a new technique that I've developed - if I find myself about to get too angry due to events in the game, or if I've got that Sox-Are-Losing sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I go lay down in our bed, which is seperated from our living room only by a waist-high wall, and just listen to the rest of the game. Somehow it makes it easier if I can't actually see them fucking up.
Anyway, there I am, laying in bed, reading American Psycho and listening to the game. My ears perk up. Manny with a sac-fly. Nice. Sox on top again. Then almost immediately I start to hear the electronic polka that is my cellphone playing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame," meaning that I have a call. I answer. It's John Frakes.
"You know why Bubba did that?" he asks me. (Bubba is our nickname for Manny.) "Cause I rolled my pants up, right before that happened."
As usual, the real rally cuff mojo lies with Frakes. I'm not sure why, but it does. "Sweeeet!" I hoot. "Good job Frakes, keep 'em up!"
He calls again later. "You know why I'm calling you now?" he asks. "Cause the Iron Eagle has landed." (The Iron Eagle is our nickname for Mike Timlin, who is, for whatever reason, Frakes' favorite player.) "Oh no," I moan. "I don't think he did very well last time. What's your deal with Timlin?" I ask, my face scrunched up like I just smelled dogshit on someone's shoe. "Look, just watch," he says. And of course, he was right.
So how is it that so much good mojo can come from a good ol' Hebron, Kentucky boy who doesn't even like baseball? Whatever it is, better believe I'm going to be inviting him over to watch some of these Yankees games.