Jon Lester threw a no-hitter for the Sox last night as they beat the Royals at Fenway 7-0 and it probably couldn't happen to a better person in the majors. Lester, only 24, has already had to go through so much in his young career and as the day goes on you folks out there will continually hear about his overcoming of non-Hodgkins lymphoma since being diagnosed just 21 months ago. Terry Francona probably has put it best though in one of his many responses to Lester's heroics last night:
"He's not just a good kid because he threw a no-hitter," Terry Francona said. "He's a good kid because he's a good kid."
Lester's No-No last night seems to begin to cement his knack for extraordinary events since his emotional return to playing ball. I mean, he won his first game back in that July night last summer in Cleveland, pitched the World Series clinching Game 4 last fall in Colorado, and finally culminating last night in a No-Hitter in front of a sold out Fenway Park and with the Red Sox Nation glued to their sets at home. The Lefty was consistantly throwing first pitch strikes and hitting 94, 95, even 96 mph with his fastball, showing tremendous command with all of his pitches walking only two (one in the ninth) and striking out a career high nine batters. Hell, he's beaten cancer. I think that can also be classified as extraordinary; don't you??
I came into the game last night at about the third inning or so following a trip to the gym and had it on in the background whilst I made some quite delicious chicken marsala. The game already pretty much at hand as the Sox were up 5-0 and we were greeted with a Varitek homer in the 6th as Kool-Aid and I sat down to eat some damn tasty bird. From there on out, Kool-Aid and I intenetly watched every pitch while the Fenway crowd remained standing until the final out in support of Lester.
But the moment of the evening came after Lester recorded the final out and after the traditional jumping all over the pitcher at the mound in celebration. As Lester began hugging his way through all of his teammates, he then came upon Manager Terry Francona and the two seemed to embrace each other as almost father and son. Tito went so far as to call Lester his son with a class that seems to be growing in Francona each day.
"This probably isn't fair to say, but I feel like my son graduated and my son threw a no-hitter," said Francona, whose son Nick had graduated from Penn earlier in the day, and who had grown close to Lester during his ordeal.
Francona continued: "To watch him do that tonight was beyond words. What a story. You feel like a proud parent. We're proud of him all the time but to watch him do that tonight was beyond words. I tried to put it into words but it's hard because -- what a story."
"It's something I'll remember for a long time," said Lester. "I've been through a lot the last couple of years. He's (Francona) been like a second dad to me, It was just a special moment right there. "He cares a lot about his players. It's not just about what you can do on the field."
Last night was something that Red Sox fans, and all baseball fans alike will cherish and talk about for some time to come. Just a few months after pitching the clinching game of the World Series, the cancer survivor Lester, who's still just a kid, goes out and pitches a no-hitter. Basically, its inspirational stuff for the ages. Today, the Toast feels good and so should you.
That's 9 pounds of puppy right there. Yup, you heard that right, she's packing on some poundage.
"A-buuuuhhhh"
Attacking Rocky III. I mean really, did you hate the training montage with Apollo and Rocky on the beach that much. Plus, Clubber Lang was the best Rocky bad guy this side of Ivan Drago.
She like to attack my jammies. I can't get her to stop. (Psst...the guy in the blue pants is me.)
A nice photo op with her Mr. Squeakerton.
Expect more photos to come. I can see why they're called proud parents. You should here her post bathroom praises, you would have thought she'd won a pulitzer with all the "good girl" talk going around "Fort Awesome" these days.
