Three weeks ago I wrote that Craig Breslow should be fired and that this front office should sell everything that wasn't nailed down. I meant every word. So before I say what's coming next, let me be clear: I was wrong, and I've never been happier to eat my words.
The Red Sox have won 13 straight games. Not a hot week. Thirteen straight. It's the longest winning streak this franchise has put together in 78 years. They just swept the Rays, who entered the series atop the AL East, and somehow turned the worst record in the American League on June 24 into a playoff spot before the trade deadline has even arrived.
If you'd told me that was coming when I published my last piece, I'd have asked what you were smoking. And can I have some?
Here's what nobody tells you about a last-place team in June: it's not just that they're losing. It's that every game feels over by the third inning. Giving up a run in the first felt like a death sentence. You'd turn the game on out of habit and pure hatred for John Henry (I still hate his pompous ass), watch a lineup that looked more like the Brockton Rox than the Boston Red Sox, and by the fifth inning you'd happily hand the remote to your spouse.
I wasn't the only one checking out.
Fenway had started to feel that way too. The Tartan Army lit the place up for a weekend, then it was back to reality. Another summer where meaningful baseball felt just out of reach. Another reminder that 2018 wasn't just in the rearview mirror anymore. It was starting to feel like another era.
That's not what this is anymore.
This is can't-miss baseball.
I'm not leaving until the last out anymore, and neither is anyone else. The tarps are gone. Club Fenway is packed again. Fenway is rocking again. It finally feels like Fenway.
Saturday against Tampa was this entire season condensed into nine innings. Down 6-3 in the seventh. No panic. No "here we go again." Just another comeback. Wilyer Abreu's go-ahead two-run homer capped his second straight multi-homer game, something no Red Sox player had done since Mookie Betts in 2016.
A month ago, down three runs in the seventh felt like the cue to change the channel.
Now?
It feels like they're about to pull another rabbit out of the hat.
And somehow... they usually do.
That's the difference. This isn't a team getting lucky. It's a team that refuses to believe it's out of a game. Every night feels like the final act of Major League. You know something ridiculous is coming. You just don't know who's going to do it.
And here's what really stings to admit: the two things I got most wrong are the two biggest reasons they're winning.
I said this roster over-indexed on pitching. I said I'd trade Sonny Gray.
I wouldn't trade him for anything.
He's 12-1.
But the bigger surprise is what Craig Breslow built around him.
Payton Tolle has looked like an ace from the moment he arrived. His expected ERA trails only Jacob Misiorowski, and hitters are 2-for-32 against his fastball. Then there's Jake Bennett, who Breslow quietly stole from Washington in December for what looked like organizational depth. Nine starts later, he owns a 2.35 ERA. Over his last six starts, that drops to 1.17. During that stretch, he joined Pedro Martinez, Roger Clemens, and Chris Sale in one of the most exclusive statistical clubs in franchise history.
Three weeks ago, I wrote that Craig Breslow had failed.
Turns out, I owe Craig Breslow an apology.
Then there's Willson Contreras.
He's the identity of this team, and he has been all year. I loved the swagger even when they were losing.
He's tied for the major-league lead with 20 multi-RBI games. But the numbers aren't what make him special.
Contreras plays every game like somebody insulted his family.
He's loud. He's emotional. He celebrates everything. He talks nonstop. Cade Cavalli had all the confidence in the world... as long as somebody else was standing between them.
The thing is, none of that changed when the Red Sox were getting embarrassed every night. Down five in the fourth? Same energy. Down eight in the seventh? Same guy. He never stopped talking. Never stopped believing. Never stopped acting like the next swing was about to change everything.
I knew he had the fire. I just didn't think he'd become the heartbeat of a team with Garrett Crochet and Roman Anthony on it.
Turns out, I was wrong about that too.
So here's where I land, and it's a weird sentence to write after spending the last month screaming to blow it up:
I want Craig Breslow to buy.
Not panic-buy. Not mortgage the future. Just acknowledge what this team has become and reward it.
This clubhouse has earned that.
The Red Sox don't need a superstar. They need another legitimate bat.
Hunter Goodman would be perfect. Thirty home runs from behind the plate would change this lineup overnight. The problem? Colorado has absolutely no reason to move him.
Luis Arráez feels much more realistic. He's hitting .330, he's a rental, and Boston has already been connected to him. Buster Olney has reported the Red Sox are aggressively looking for a right-handed bat and are even willing to absorb a bad contract to get one. Good. Do it.
Forget the splashy headline. Just make this lineup deeper.
Because here's my hesitation...
The same instinct that made me want to sell three weeks ago is still there.
I still don't fully trust this front office. A 13-game winning streak covers up a lot of holes.
If Craig Breslow is going to prove me wrong twice in one summer, the trade deadline is where he does it.