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Howdy folks once again, from the land of “holy crap, the local sports collective is unstoppable!” That’s right, Boston. Game 3 was billed as a nail biter: Matsuzaka gave up a lot of home runs in te second half of the season, and hasn’t really been the $101M knockout we imported from the land of Sapporo and unagi. He also gave up a lot of hits, and playing in Denver, whose asian-steppes-like outfield is a blood gutter to pitchers’ ERAs, a lot of us were a little nail-bitey going into this game.

But holy Shintoism, Batman - way to shut the Rockies out through five innings! And this is taking into account “the humidor” - the tropical rain forest closet in which they store the baseballs in Denver - supposed to normalize the humidity signature of the baseballs, and it works pretty well. Except…oh wait a minute. They built Coors Field to Colossus of Rhodes proportions, taking into account the thinness of the air and the nightmare that baseballs can become in high elevations.

Against all this, however, Matsuzaka cannons 5 innings of GFY baseball, and DESPITE a late-inning rally by the Cockies (see www.townienews.com for full credit), the Sox made themselves a sweep favorite by going 3-0 and plaguing Colorado across time zones like a bad case of Montezuma’s Revenge.

As for personal observances…well, I’ve got a few. Those of you who read the last Hoffa post know that I’ve got a special place in my colon for blog posts vilifying the Red Sox and their winning ways. So in order to get back to my roots, I decided to head to the cradle of New England townie-ship…The 99.

The 99. Known fondly as “the Nines”, you can find this bar/restaurant in countless towns across the Commonwealth and throughout New England. It is the very personification of “fackin’ townie shit” and is a heck of a place to watch the game, for a host of reasons…

 …and last night was no difference.

We’ll mention their 77 ounce beers, the glasses of wine that rival medieval tankards of grog, free popcorn, cheese and crackers, and cheap food, but it goes SO much further than that.

It’s the peeps next to you, across from you, behind the bar…that make this place the best place to watch a game.

…in the third inning, a 37-year old lycra-wearing slut that has a first date…a palpably INTERNET date with a white t-shirt wearing, backwards-cap-sporting lug nut no older than 26…and they talk about the “economy”…

…the semi retarded guy at the end of the bar talking to the loud middle-aged woman named MAAAATHAH who has observances about everything, ultimately nothing, and causes everyone in a five-bar-patron-radius to band together to hate MAAAAATHAH….

…the bartender named Mike who wears a nametag that says “Mike” but tells a drunk chick trying to pick him up that his name is “Chuck”…

…and after closing, the manager gives everyone a free cocktail, because hey: GO FACKIN SOX!

And oh yeah, the Pats. Really, 52-7? Let’s face it: you’re only alive because Belichick lets you live.

Prime said last week that Chuck Norris lived in Kevin Youkilis’ beard. My sources tell me that Chuck Norris bought a winter home in Logan Mankins’ beard and is FUCKING SHIT UP!

Sox in 4.