Hey, I got an idea, let's wear the uniforms we had on when we were one strike away from the world series but lost. And to make the mojo work against us, let's wear those uniforms at home while playing the same team we lost that playoff home game to 25 seasons ago. Let's put Scott Downs on the DL and call up Trevor Bell and have him pitch, seeing as he was born on October 12, 1986, the very day of that game. Yeah, who believes in all that baseball mojo anyway.

 

With a pathetic fanbase making out with its own reflection, the baseball gods were not kind to the Boston Red Sox early this season, but the Angels found a way to turn the forces of baseball nature against themselves tonight. That sickening Boston bandwagon held a pink hatted pride parade around Angel Stadium of Anaheim. If Red Sox fans are not the most self-infatuated frontrunning simulations of codpiece armor, it is because the core alcoholism that defines them has knocked a section or two of the bandwagon out early tonight in Anaheim, clean stone passed out face first into the happiest gutters on earth. Jon Lester did what they pay John Lackey the big bucks to do and Dan Haren did not join Jered Weaver in the Five April Wins club.

Good as the Angels starters are, the idea that they will have to be 2ER or less precise each and every outing is getting tough to swallow. A little  euphoria that came from taking over first place for two days has evaporated in the light of the task ahead: how a ragtag group of career minor leaguers, overpaid veterans and two aces can win the ninety-some games that will be required of any team making the playoffs this season. You want to have faith, but it would be nice if you could just shut up the ESPN Pamela Anderson manbreasted newbies swaggering over the steroid legacy of David Ortiz and the ghost of Manny Ramirez.