Dear John Farrell,

I saw you biting your nails in the eighth inning tonight. I was right there with you.

Only I was in Virginia. Wanting to take a shower. Needing to take a shower. But curled onto exactly one square of Clancy’s couch, staring at the screen, forgetting to breathe, and thinking John Lackey looks darn attractive with a beard. Was Beckett holding him back all those years?

Anyhow. I want to tell you something I don’t say often enough and should – You done good tonight.

Last night was different. Last night I went to bed mad.

I know I promised I wouldn’t bring it up again. But really John, Tito wouldn’t have left Workman in to bat in the ninth. The ninth John. Think about it. But that was only part of the problem. We played the entire game chasing mistakes and they caught us in the end. I would have liked to hear someone attempt to translate the obstruction rule to Koji Uehara in the clubhouse. We have no idea what happened, but apparently it’s fair. Just don’t touch anyone. Ever.

I do know that the Cards won a game they couldn’t brag about and bad juju is a bitch. Just ask Kolten Wong.

And I know that tonight you pulled Buccholz at just the right time. Papi played like it was 2004. Pede showed up when it mattered. The bullpen checked off all the boxes. And the game ended on a pick off. A pick off John!

So thanks.

I am now going to take my shower. I will see you tomorrow.


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