Jon Lester has caught a bad case of what ails Daniel Bard who may have caught it from Daisuke Matsuzaka. The disease starts with general malaise and blows into full wildness and physical inability to throw strikes.
An occasional gopher ball mixes in with the nausea and dizziness. No wonder Josh Beckett is taking Z-Pack.
Yet, for all the medical analysis of the Red Sox pitching staff, we are left with a mystery of scientific grandeur.
We now know that there is a Typhoid Mary either in the bullpen or in the clubhouse. Are the pitchers sharing a pitcher of beer?
If this is communicable trouble, perhaps we need to alert the federal center for Disease Control.
If we see the other players in the dugout wearing gas masks to avoid contagion, we should have a hint that something is afoot. And, we don't mean a fungal infection.
If this were anthrax, we shoot all the horses and bury them deep in the ground to prevent any others from coming down with the ERA heebie-jeebies.
During the off-season no one in the Red Sox front office took any precautions. We did not see Ben Cherington in latex gloves, and no one was inoculating the good players.
A great many position players and young arms from the minors have come to Fenway this season-and we fear for their health.
WHO needs to be called. No, not John Henry, nor Bobby Valentine.
We mean the World Health Organization. We surely don't want to see other baseball teams come down with the Red Sox flu. This is worse than a bunch of swine cross-pollinating with birds from Asia.
We just saw that Steven Soderbergh movie Contagion, and perhaps we are simply in panic mode. But Red Sox pitchers are dropping faster than the stars of the Matt Damon movie.
We've seen Death in Venice with miles of empty beaches at the end. And, now we are looking at rows of empty box seats at Fenway Park. They are keeping the truth from us.