[jg2977]

Okay, so this was one of those classic Fenway October afternoons where you look up in the second inning, the game already feels over, and you start mentally inventorying how many beers you’ve had versus how many you should have had.
Red Sox 13, Angels 6, Wild Card Game 1, and honestly the score doesn’t even capture how inevitable this felt once Ethan Williams went full “Oh right, this is my park” mode.
Let’s start here:
Williams went 2-for-3 with TWO homers, a walk, got plunked, scored three times, drove in SIX runs, and basically authored the entire game by himself before Anaheim finished settling into their seats. This was one of those performances where the opposing dugout is staring at the ceiling thinking, “Is this really happening to us?”
The moment—the moment—was the bottom of the second. Two outs. Bases loaded. Danny Cespedes throws a changeup that probably looked great on paper. Williams hits it into the Massachusetts atmosphere for a grand slam, Fenway detonates, and suddenly it’s 7–1, season-on-the-line panic time for Anaheim. Game over? Not technically. Emotionally? Absolutely.
And here’s the thing that made it even more brutal:
Anaheim wasn’t even playing badly! They had 11 hits, Justin Woodfin homered twice, and they kept trying to claw back. But every time they did, Boston answered with another punch. It was like watching someone keep getting up after a knockout only to immediately eat another right hook.
Also worth noting:
This is why the Red Sox wanted the home game. Fenway in October isn’t just a park—it’s a psychological experiment. The crowd smelled blood early, and once that second-inning slam landed, it was relentless. Every at-bat felt like it mattered. Every fly ball got an extra half-second of hope.
And yeah, Tommy Colin wasn’t exactly Pedro out there—five runs, three homers—but this was one of those “survive, don’t star” playoff starts. He gave them innings. He gave them a chance to let the lineup cook. That’s all Boston needed.
But let’s circle back to Williams, because this is how playoff legends get started. Two homers, including a grand slam, in your first Wild Card game? That’s the kind of box score you keep seeing referenced for the next 20 years whenever someone asks, “What was his coming-out party?”
Anaheim now has to wake up tomorrow knowing:
They burned their starter
They got Fenway’d
And they ran into a guy who turned Game 1 into his own personal highlight reel
Boston’s up 1–0, and suddenly this series has that familiar Red Sox October feeling—equal parts confidence and don’t-jinx-it anxiety. But for one afternoon, at least, it felt simple:
Ethan Williams showed up. Fenway followed. Anaheim never recovered.