Boston Red Sox Nation: 20/20

Cheating: Our National Pastime

12.04.04: I had some nicks and some aches. I used the clear and the cream. The only problem was that bacitracin and generic Ben-Gay didn’t make me bigger, stronger, faster, or younger.

Sports fans express outrage that sports celebrities (let’s omit the heroes for now) use performance-enhancing drugs to set records. Sure the commercial reminds us that ‘chicks dig the long ball’, but in an era of sport salaries that Middle Eastern princes only dream about, can we be shocked let alone surprised?

At least for today, we are sanctimonious about revelations that home run king Barry Bonds ‘juiced’ or that ‘hated’ Yankees Gary Sheffield and Jason Giambi had corked forearms. The Yankees talk about voiding Giambi’s contract, but never complained while the ‘BALCO Bomber’ launched two dingers in ALCS Game 7 to bring them to the 2003 World Series. Would Giants fans pack SBC Park absent Bonds’ booming bat and pursuit of Aaron’s record?

Cheating has become not only the national but the international pastime. Voter fraud was legendary in Chicago. Have we forgotten our two most recent presidential elections, stained by efforts to suppress voting or vote counting by supporters of both candidates? Has the Ukranian election debacle gone unnoticed? With the resurrection of stock prices, the Enrons, Worldcoms, Adelphias and so many more are just memories? Bringing Down the House chronicled the successful efforts of the MIT blackback team to exploit inefficiencies in Vegas gambling, ripping off millions from the casinos. The Eternal Dig, formerly known as the Big Dig, may ultimately become the Damp Dig, thanks to contracting corner cutting.

Everyone knows you need an attorney to protect you from other attorneys. A lawyer told me his prominent adversary would do anything to win, suggesting to his clients to report facts that didn’t exist to support his cases. The Candy Mossler trial of 1964 was to the sixties what the Simpson trial was to the nineties.

Sports cheating didn’t suddenly appear on the scene. The Chicago ‘Black Sox’ scandal of 1919 involved a World Series fix. Everybody knows about ‘sports mechanics’, those guys who fix boxing matches and basketball games. We still recall the Boston College point shaving scandal. Should we omit Albert Belle’s corked bat, and be amused at Gaylord Perry loading up the baseball. My college coach in the seventies taught first basemen to interfere subtly with runners rounding first base. Many people feel the Cleveland Indians used cameras illegally to try to steal pitches.

Can we reminisce about Olympic judges collaborating to deliver skating titles to their favorites? Before Tanya Harding was a video star and professional boxer, she solicited the ‘hit’ on Nancy Kerrigan. Golfers are rumored to use drugs, beta-blockers, to suppress the yips while reducing hand tremor.

What about the agents, professional negotiators and attorneys? How many ‘bluff’, fabricating terms of contract length and dollars in order to get general managers to ‘show me the money?’ When does negotiation become lying, cheating, or fraud?

Politicians write the book on cheating. The slogan for the governorship of Maryland, the state that brought us Marvin Mandel and Spiro Agnew was ‘forty thousand dollars and all you could steal.’ Meanwhile on Capitol Hill our legislators craft changes rules to allow leadership to remain in place even if they are indicted. Senator John McCain threatens to impose legislation forcing drug testing on Major League Baseball. The Senator, admittedly an American icon and hero, was a wild man in his Naval Academy youth, and classmate Admiral John Poindexter was convicted of five felony charges only to have them overturned based on immunity claims.

So far no Red Sox have been implicated in the doping scandal. Will Sox fans be so vindictive if our heroes come under the mass spectrometer? So for all the harrumphs and ‘I told you sos’ going on today, I’ll take a pass and consider it business as usual. Tomorrow will be another day and the cheating will go on.

-- Ron Sen, Boston Dirt Dogs

An Open Letter to Curt Schilling

12.04.04: Curt, I praise your support of and care for Jason. I would be honored to have a friend like you.

However, in my opinion, your statement on steroid testing under whelmed me.

You were quoted on BDD as saying "As a player I will side with the union on any program that supports a more stringent policy, but at the same time is done within the framework of our constitutional rights. I don't want someone knocking on my door Christmas morning asking me to pee in a cup, but I am all for something stricter, something that will assure the players we are all on a level playing field, and the fans that the game they are watching is pure on the field and off."

Well Curt, that just does NOT cut it with me. Fehr and the union have proved incapable of policing their members. Actually, I believe the union appears to be unwilling to police its members. So to say "I will side with the union" infers to me that you will continue to support the inaction of your union on this very important issue. In my view, it is time for strong-willed people with the "integrity" of the game in the balance to stand up and take control of a union that has done everything in its considerable power to avoid this issue.

While you may be totally with in your "rights" to ensure that a strong and fair drug testing program is put in place, However, to say that "within the framework of our constitutional rights" seems more than a little "over the top" to me.

Further to say "I don't want someone knocking on my door Christmas morning asking me to pee in a cup," is not worthy of you under the current circumstances. Does the program with the minor league players demand that?

It is time to stand up, make a difference and make sure that your union SOLVES THIS PROBLEM.

Thank you for hearing me out. My continued prayers are with you for a full and speedy recovery.

Sincerely,
Matt Livingston
Red Sox Nation

Liberating a Nation

10.26.04: (Hello, My husband is a HUGE Sox fan, currently stationed in Central Baghdad, Iraq. So of course the year we're going to win it all, he isn't home to enjoy it. I sat down this morning to email him, to let him know why this was the year the Sox were going to win it all. For real. My letter to him ended up being more a of a summary of the season, a story of 25 men. Now that I have it, I'm not sure what to do with it. Hopefully you'll find the time to read it, and offer any suggestions. Thanks in advance.)

After watching the post game press conference after game 2 last night, I had one immediate thought. We are going to win the World Series. Suddenly it was all clear. This is destiny. This is finally The Year.

We were never going to win game 7 last year. Pedro could have come out in the 6th, and we still would have lost. We weren't meant to win. It wasn't time yet. The manager was wrong, the clubhouse was wrong, even the NL team was wrong. The Red Sox were not going to play their first world series in 17 years against the Florida Marlins. No way, No how.

Oh, but the Joy that is 2004. Everything adds up, all the pieces are in place, all of the signs are there. This is it. 86 years ago we won the World Series. 86, a number that'll live in the bowels of Sox history forever. 100th World Series, a new Century of baseball. A year in which no other 2 teams have the right to play in, except the Sox and The Cards.

It all started on an October night in 2003. Wakefield's tears on the mound after that fateful homerun didn't signify the end of a dream, instead it was the beginning of one. His tears soaking into the ground at Yankee stadium set the wheels in motion.

Grady never stood a chance. MY Boys Of Summer needed more than a coach, they needed a father. A man that could see past the hair, the uniforms, the antics, someone who understood that behind the aloofness they were warriors. Battle scarred, weary, but not yet broken. Men who wanted to play baseball in it's purest form. For the love of the game, the thrill of it. These boys don't always perform like Champions, running into outs on occasion, throwing to the wrong base once or twice. Even with their faults, you can see their happiness, their desire, their passion. New York can have discipline, we have Joy. They needed someone who "got it", and Theo went out and found him. From that, The Sons of Francona were born.

A Thanksgiving dinner was about to once again make history in New England. Theo Epstein sat down and broke bread with Curt and Shonda Schilling. Come heal these hurt and heartbroken men Curt, pick up the pieces and give them faith in themselves. Take them to the World Series. Lead them into battle. Right all the wrongs of old, and deliver us from "The Curse"

Even with Tito and Curt on board, something was still wasn't clicking. We saw it and felt it, but couldn't put our finger on it. We weren't winning. Falling farther and farther behind the Yankees, hopes and dreams quickly fading away. 10 and a half games behind the Yankees on July 31st. Once again, you could hear sighs echoing through a Nation in Despair.

Mere moments before the trade deadline on that seemingly hopeless July day, a Nations sorrow turned to Rage. How dare Theo Epstein. Has he lost his mind? Along the crawl screen on ESPN, millions of viewers saw the words...Nomar Traded To Cubs. Surely there was a mistake. Nomar is an icon in Boston. Even worse, we traded him for nothing, 3 nothings to be exact. Dave Roberts, Doug Mientkiewicz and Orlando Cabrera. WHO?? Our season was all but dead and buried. Or so we thought.

Click.Click.Click. Pieces started falling into place. Click, no errors. Click, moving over runners. Click, turning double plays. Click, playing small ball. Click, Francona and his boys.Click, Minky, Cab, Roberts. Out of the ashes, slowly The Sox started to rise. And as they rose, we began to see one of the most beautiful teams in the history of baseball.

Quietly Jason Varitek orchestrated the men on the field. Steadily Curt lead a Bullpen of fighters, scrappy warriors willing to leave their hearts on the battlefield and their fates in the hands of the men behind them. Mannys crack of the bat woke up the sleeping giants. Ortiz, Damon, Kapler.Click. Slowly the injured soldiers trot back on the field, one by one. Their bodies bruised and beaten, ready to fight another day. Click. Suddenly the Sox had the best record in baseball in August. They were down, but never out. 10 games, then 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4,3....Be Careful Yankees, The Boys are ready for another round.

The past has never been kind to Boston. Instead of fighting History, this rag tag brand of warriors decided to change it. The Sox clawed their way into the wild card, facing the Angels. 4 games later the Angels were gone and history was altered. The Angels had never been swept in the Post Season. Until they were faced with men determined to right the wrongs of 2003.

New York Yankees vs. The Boston Red Sox for the Pennant, part 2. Curt Schilling takes the mound for Game 1 and the Nation knows we'll win this night. How can we not? The plight of the Sox struck again as we realized immediately that whoever was on the mound, it wasn't Our Curt Schilling. This was 3 horrible innings of batting practice for The Yankees. Mussina was throwing the ball like he was getting paid per pitch, and our boys looked as though it was day 1 of little league. 7-10. We lost 7-10. That's ok, Pedro pitches tomorrow. Same story, different night. Pedro pitched well, Lieber pitched better.1-3 Yankees. It's ok, tomorrow we're at Fenway. 9 innings and 19 Yankee runs later, The Red Sox are down 3-0. No team in history has come back from a 3-0 defecit. Curt Schilling is out for the season, Derek Lowe is starting game 4 and our hitters have left the building. Hopeless. Not only are we going to lose the series, but we're going to do it in humiliating fashion.The curse rears it's ugly head again.

Let the game begin, quickly, lets get this over with so I can look forward to next year. But wait...something is different this time....Somehow we managed to pull off Games 4 and 5 with stellar performances by 2 unsung hereos. Derek Lowe, a star in the playoffs of 2003, had become an emotional, unpredictable pitcher, banished to the bullpen, brought back to a starting position in a leap of Faith by Tito, and Tim Wakefield,the knuckleballer whose tears stained the ground as he watched his dreams fly over the left field wall in game 7 last year. These men took the mound, and with each pitch, chased their own demons away. Each strike eased the burden they've carried this year, each out lifting the hearts of a nation, each inning laying to rest the doubts they had in themselves. The grit and determination from both pitchers allowed this story to go on. They forced a game 5, as well as a game 6...and that game 6 my friends, is where this story takes on a life of it's own. This is when I began to realize that forces greater than you and I were at work.

The fog swirled around the mound at Yankees stadium on Oct 19th. The mist drizzled down and dampened the spirits of so many fans. Until we saw what seemed to be unreal. Curt Schilling walking to the mound. His ankle bloodied and bandaged, his face tired and determined. Visions of Roy Hobbs were inevitable. Across new England, a sense of surrealness descended, we knew something was coming, and we were ready for it. With the first pitch it was obvious that this was our Curt. Our Warrior, Our Hero, Our Deliverance. Here was a man who had dug down inside himself and found what he needed to get him through this night. For us. For his team, for himself. Curt Schilling stood on that mound, head held high, defiance in his eyes. He stood in The House That Ruth Built, bleeding for a Nation, onto that Yankee soil, the same soil that swallowed Tim Wakefields tears one year ago. Blood and Tears together washed away 86 years of baggage. Blood and Tears exercised the ghosts of our past. The battle the Sox waged that night came not from Money, or Discipline, or pretty uniforms. No, it came from the hearts of men who had found their home, found their brothers, and found their place in a clubhouse filled with 25 of the strongest men in baseball. The 2004 Boston Red Sox don't play for Glory, they don't play for money or rings. They play for each other. They play baseball because they have to, because it's who they are, and what they believe. They fight and win and soldier on because they love each other as much as they love the game. No man wants to let down his brother in arms . Leave no man behind. If you stumble, your brother will pick you up. If you fail, he will succeed in your name. There is no curse on Boston. The pieces just hadn't been in place until now.

Guts, Bravery, and determination got them back to Yankees Stadium and Respect won them the game. Those men, those beautiful boys of summer, gave everything they had that epic night, they laid it all at the feet of Terry Francona. They gave him their trust, their respect,and their hearts. Tito understood these men and loved them anyways, for that his sons delivered him a win in a bloody 14 inning battle for the history books. Game 7 was merely a whimper from the Yankees. The Dynasty had crumbled without even a fight. The Sox had liberated a Nation. The past has been washed away in blood, sweat and tears. It couldn't happen any other way. This is our destiny, fulfilled by 25 men who banded together and refused to lay down and die.

The Sox took the field in Fenway for game 1 of the World Series. They walked out there a different team then we've ever seen. The Nation has always believed in the Red Sox, but it is only now they believe in themselves. They believe in each other. They have been to War and they came home changed men.

I feel blessed to watch this team play. They are the embodiment of baseball, and a team like this we will never see again. A team whose history together has entitled them to the 100th World Series Ring.

- Kristine Favreau

Ballpark Frank (Part One)

9.26.04: Last night I had the rare opportunity to make the pilgrimage to a boyhood shrine, Fenway Park, sanctimoniously billed ‘America’s most beloved ballpark’. The opponent, our archrival if not archenemy, the New York Yankees. My daughter had forked over 88 dollars of her hard-earned money to give dad an extremely thoughtful Fathers’ Day present, an evening with his daughter, amidst a fading pennant race.

Maybe Wolfe was right, “you can’t go home again.” The return to Fenway embodied the good, the bad, and the ugly. Sox ownership seems to have tried to make the ballpark experience friendlier, while maintaining the tradition that purists adore. Entry occurs after ticket scanning and courteous security guaranteed to stop anyone from bringing a grenade launcher into the park. Having the entire ticket allows for a better memento, should historic action follow.

The trek to the grandstand brings one an atmosphere just north of a trip through a slaughterhouse, shoulder-to-shoulder passage with other beefy patrons, through still narrow concourses. A faint odor of beer, hot dogs and pizza entices fans to their seats. Of course, the prices of concessions, above even what Disney would consider outrageous, stopped nobody from loading up on their favorite beverage and nobody mentioned the words ‘South Beach Diet’ last night.

You emerge from the concourses with the familiar glow from the lights, the brilliant green of the field, organ music, and a literal barrage of signage. In the era of competitive free agency, I’m not nostalgic for uncluttered space, just overwhelmed by the combinations, auto companies and Bud, Dunkin’ Donuts, McDonald’s, BankAmerica, John Hancock, Blue Cross and Blue Shield. You’ll need the insurance, banking, and medical treatment if you consume the calories, cholesterol, and the booze. Signage certainly helps pay the freight, but how long can it be before the uniforms sport ‘Vito’s Bail Bonds’ or ‘Fidelity Investments’ on the back?

My seat had two limitations, first, obstructed view by one of Fenway’s numerous stanchions and second, an aisle location that assured me of the opportunity of competing as a jack-in-the-box look-a-like as I sprang up 717 times during the game (I counted). Only one time was it worth it.

The Sox have catered to fans need for information, with a variety of statistical and Sabermetric enhancements. They display pitch counts, speed, and type as well as OPS components (on base average, slugging percentage) as well pitcher-versus-hitter data that could have triggered managerial strategy. For many baseball stat junkies, this upgrade carries added value.

Seatside vendors hawk their wares at stunning prices. Was that water selling for $4.25 cents? Who can complain about gas a two bucks a gallon when they’re shelling out almost half a sawbuck for water? I wolfed down a dog for four bucks, and passed on Cracker Jack at $4.50. Dentists gotta eat, but what’s the limit? The peanut vendor obliged fans by tossing the delights with greater distance and accuracy than Michael Vick could. That’s entertainment.

Sox fans remain as passionate as ever. The fans applauded long and loud for Sox production and at times even tolerated the visitors. I fear the long season has dulled their imagination. One leatherlung nearby shouted ‘hit ‘em in the head’ as most Yankees approached the plate. It appeared that somebody must have done him that favor. Periodically chants of ‘Yankees suck’ broke out, hardly discrediting the Bombers and mostly shaming those who consider themselves intellectually superior to the New Yorkers.

Even worse, Fenway and other Boston sports venues attract loud, rude, obnoxious, arrogant, and drunken folks willing to spend money, embarrass themselves, and annoy their fellow citizens of Red Sox Nation. I’ve always found that one is never more than six seats away from disorderly conduct (six degrees of separation as it were) and last night halved the distance. A group of Sox apparel-attired fans cursed, drank excessively, and stood obstructing views of nearby fans for most of the game. Fans pleaded for them to sit down (they declined) and stop abusing their neighbors (they refused) and in the eighth inning, security finally came, and after police arrived, the violators left the building. That’s when it was worthwhile for me to stand and allow the miscreants exit.

Should management care? With the trio of John Henry, Tom Werner, and Larry Lucchino ushering about 2,800,000 through the turnstiles and total revenues likely exceeding 175 million dollars, ownership doesn’t have to seek improvement. However, successful businesses always try to improve the quality of their business and the quality of their customers. The Patriots have begun to offer www.patriots.com and their weekly video highlights in Chinese. They want to be the World’s Team not just America’s Team.

The Sox have solicited ideas from their fans before and here are a couple more ‘suggestion balks’. Post an announcement on the message board about what behavior is unacceptable, not just interference with play on the field. Post a number to allow fans to call or text message security about problems before trouble breaks out. You can’t legislate etiquette but you can enforce civility. Security could come by (giving notice or a warning, call it as you see it) and ask fans to comply voluntarily with park etiquette. If security needed to return, it would mean automatic ejection.

Yes, a few hundred fans (fewer I hope) might be inconvenienced by being required to act like human beings, but thousands of other fans might enjoy the experience and return even more willingly to unseat the unruly. The Sox probably don’t care whether people like me return, or if they do, they had a strange way of showing it last night. Do we want the fans to enjoy the games with the same sobriety as those attending the symphony or the opera (not that I would know from personal experience)? Hardly. But do our children and we need to accept harassment when trying to enjoy this great pastime on a beautiful fall night?

As for the ugliness, the game ending spoke volumes, but that’s baseball.

Ron S.

Moo-vin' on up

8.30.04: Beau Vaughan and Jon Papelbon have a lot in common. Each is a 23-year-old right hander taken by the Red Sox in the 2003 draft -- Vaughan in the 3rd round out of Arizona State, Papelbon in the 4th out of Mississippi State. Stocky, 6-4 230 lb. power-pitchers, both are one-time relievers now dominating opposing hitters in a starting role.

Vaughan is 7-3, 3.30 at Low-A Augusta despite missing time with a shoulder ailment; Papelbon is 12-6, 2.69 with a league-leading 149 strikeouts at High-A Sarasota. And while each takes a bulldog approach to the mound, off the field is another story.

"Along with being good competitors," said Farm Director Ben Cherington, "each is what could be called a different personality."

Those personalities came out last season when they were teammates at short-season Lowell. In a pre-game attraction, Papelbon won a cow-milking contest, much to the delight of his teammates -- especially Vaughan.

"He handled it like a champ," said Vaughan, "and was probably the only guy on the team with the courage to do something so outrageous. I told him he looked almost a little too good."

Papelbon, who refers to Vaughan as "a jokester," took a lot of ribbing for his exploits, but did so with a smile.

"Having never milked a cow before," he explained, "I had to ask what to do. They told me: 'Just yank on them!' Hey, I love to work hard, but you can't be serious all the time -- especially in baseball -- so it was a lot of fun.

Life is more than just fun-and-games for the two emerging prospects.

"Off the field Jon is a free-spirit," explains Vaughan, "but he turns on a switch and gets serious when it's time to work."

"We became workout partners last year and pushed each other," said Papelbon. "Some days I'd push him, others he'd push me. I've always prided myself in my work ethic. If you have the same talent as someone you can always work harder than they do -- that's your edge."

Each has the talent to back up their hard work, and their similarities on the mound are striking. Both come right after hitters with a plus fastball and quality breaking pitches -- notably an effective change-up.

"Vaughn has a heavy sinking fastball," said Cherington, "along with a quality curveball and slider -- both with late action. Importantly, he understands how to use both. He also has a good feel for his change-up and has gotten numerous swings-and-misses on this pitch."

"Papelbon has a plus fastball with good command and the ability to pitch to all four quadrants of the zone," adds Cherington. "He has good feel for a change-up and a developing breaking ball."

They also share a love of the game and an appreciation of what baseball means to Red Sox Nation.

"I'm happy to be in an organization with such an amazing fan-base," said Vaughan. "Players love playing for fans. If we weren't playing we'd have the seat next to yours."

"I don't want to play for a team where the fans don't care if you win or lose," adds Papelbon. "I want be in a place where they lose sleep over it. Boston is like that."

Right now they're the hottest pitchers in the system, and they're enjoying every minute of it -- including the work.

"Baseball needs to be fun," said Vaughan, "and I'm going to do everything I can to succeed at it. Jon and I both have a shot at the big leagues, and we're milking it for all we've got."

- David Laurila, Cambridge, MA

The Mild Card

8.12.04: The Marlins and Angels have won the Series with "backdoor entry", while the Sox have only rare post-season play by any other avenue since its inception, but there is something particularly unsatisfying about groveling for a wild card with this team and it's not even my $120 million.

Certainly, all will be forgiven if a playoff and October white-wash emerges, but looking at it from the investment and return perspective of...say...a billionaire options trader, a finish equivalent or worse than last season seems money poorly spent, with heads to roll in consequence.

Start with the talent brain trust, which added one of the best pitchers and relievers in the game, re-signed one of the best power hitters cheaply, but botched a mega-trade that left bridges burned and ultimately necessitated a trade, further undermining any sense of this team's development relevance.

In that, there are a mere handful of Sox players who actually worked for the club in the minors and while this may be par for the MLB now, i.e. you trade to success, this year's result may again indicate such a temp staff road is also paved with nothing more than good intentions.

The mid-season discovery that the Club lacked gloves, omitting a fix for the still questionable 3-4-5 slots and relief woes, struck me as disingenuous from the molders of this team and possibly worse -- cheap. While it's nice to see double-digit ass-kickings of late and a fire lit under a previous offensive underperformer, whom do you trust to start in game three of any playoff series -- Wake, Lowe or Arroyo? Depending on the day, you could get a no-hitter or softball game.

I see little chance Lowe will be resigned, which may preclude postseason starts should it happen, but that digresses from the view that somebody -- in a suit -- gets whacked for this season if the fund does not show better returns on year.

After all the navel-gazing about ALCS Game 7, was the managerial selection a tremendous step up from Grady or a trump card in placating new acquisitions on the future Fenway house approach?

Close games still are not going the Sox way, which means either strategic, talent or motivational weaknesses or likely all three. Our closer had 43 saves last year, while at this point in August has 18; is this just the nature of how the current team wins or the fact that it is not in a position to win too frequently? Rising E.R.A. for all starters indicate more latitude extended to get the W, but at what cost? Yippee, Wake gives up six bombs and wins, but the decision to keep him out there in a wildcard race, regardless of middle relief woes, boggles the mind. Francona is managing to win player trust, not games, and that is a liberty the Sox do not have.

Similarly, the traders of John Henry's account must continue to execute whether a deadline has passed or not, using the same arbitrage that brought starters and relievers late last year. Just getting to the dance, as noted, is not enough, and the fund managers should expect termination or worse - comparison to their predecessors - if returns are not up on year.

- DJS

What Becomes of the Broken-Hearted

(adapted from Jimmy Ruffin)

As I walk this land with broken teams
I have visions of many things
Lowe's happiness is just an illusion
Filled with wildness and confusion,
What becomes of the broken-hearted
I’m the shortstop now departed.
Theo I've got to find
Defensive peace of mind
Maybe.

The money tree grows all around
But for me it comes a tumblin' down.
Every day heel aches grow a little stronger
I can't stand this pain much longer
I walk at shortstop
Searching for light
Cub all alone
No Fenway in sight,
Hoping and praying for someone to care
Always moving and going nowhere
What becomes of the broken hearted
With my glove I’m now departed
Theo you've got to find
Defensive peace of mind
Maybe.

I'm searching though I won’t sign now,
But someone look, there's a growing need.
Oh, I am lost, there's no place for beginning,
All that's left is an unhappy ending.
Now what's become of the broken-hearted
With my bat I’ve now departed
Theo I've got to find
Some kind of peace of mind
I'll be searching everyday
Just to find someplace to play.
I'll be looking, Doc fixed me,
I’m worth the millions, Sixty.

Nothings gonna stop me now
I'll find a way somehow
I'll be searching everywhere
- Ron

No Crying in Baseball

Who smiles through life –
except when crossed?
Who knows, or thinks he knows the most?
Who loves good things: baked,
boiled or roast?
Oh, Taurus.

7.25.04 - In A League of Their Own, Tom Hanks reminded the ladies that "there’s no crying in baseball." After watching the first two games of the Red Sox – Yankees weekend confrontation, it reminds me of one of my favorite quotes, "I wish I didn’t know now what I didn’t know then."

Although some might argue that these games had entertainment value, that exists only in the same sense that NASCAR collisions serve to amuse the patrons. Once again, the Red Sox proved themselves totally incapable of playing professional defense. This week’s atrocities included Johnny Damon staggering around in centerfield, infielders doing soccer imitations on ground balls, and pitchers simulating drunken sailors throwing to bases. Not since Matt Young have such defensive indiscretions appeared at Fenway.

Enough about the results, can plausible causes exist? First, since it’s a homestand, that eliminates the most heinous boozing and womanizing rumored so rampant on the road in MLB. Any sensible players would have long adapted the military’s slogan ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’, or remained single, although not celibate in the tradition of the clergy. Just kidding. They can't have exhausted themselves with early tee times, because frankly, the weather hasn’t cooperated.

What about some legitimate, logical possibilities? Of course, some terrific new movies have hit the big screen, and with luck, players can catch the late showings. I’ve heard that some players wouldn’t go to the movies for fear of damaging their eyesight. Health problems? Can’t be that, as Ramiro Mendoza has just come off the DL, and the return of Nomar and Nixon hasn’t exactly been nirvana. Aside from bad haircuts, the local nine appear hale, although not hearty.

Maybe it’s a management problem. Sox skipper Terry Francona was born April 22, 1959, making him a Taurus. “Taurus personalities tend to be ruled by their affections.” Darn, another players manager. "Taurean people tend to be slow, practical, methodical, and reserved." That sounds like exactly the ticket for robo-organization. Could it be biorhythms? Terry’s intellectual biorhythm has mostly been down in July and his ‘mastery’ rhythm is just coming off a low.

Must we consider the most invidious possibilities? There may be no crying in baseball, but gambling certainly exists. No, with the cheese these guys pull down, we need not consider that. Could the Sox fortunes coincide with the stock market? We know about the relationships between skirt lengths and Super Bowl winners and the stock market, but could the stock market somehow be linked to the Sox mediocrity. Herald beat writer Tony Massarotti argued the Sox were like a Fortune 500 company, making a fortune and playing .500. Clearly contemporary players don’t have to throw nickels around like manhole covers. I can’t picture Manny Ramirez on his cellphone all day long to some Merrill Lynch guy asking about semiconductors.

Gotta listen to the players, Derek Lowe citing Dire Straits,

Now look at them yo-yo's that's the way you do it
You play the guitar on the MTV
That ain't workin' that's the way you do it
Money for nothin' and chicks for free
Now that ain't workin' that's the way you do it
Lemme tell ya them guys ain't dumb
Maybe get a blister on your little finger
Maybe get a blister on your thumb

All of which brings me to my two greatest fears about the Sox. First, Alien Abduction. You must remember the Betty and Barney Hill story. That would explain how the April start vanished when substitutes replaced the originals. At least according to ESPN, I, Pedro does bear a resemblance to I, Robot. We are the closest franchise to the global alien landing zone, Exeter, New Hampshire. Although I’m not aware of an entire team being spirited away, it could happen. Sports precedent exists. Have you taken a look at Sam Cassell?

Of course our biggest concern has to be the simplest. Schilling and Pedro are the alpha and the Omega, as in Schill and Pedro and pray for snow. The bullpen wears thin from constant usage. The Sox have proven for four and a half decades that hitting alone can’t get it done, and as they say in court, ‘the defense rests.’

Blame Francona, blame Theo, blame John Henry, blame the grounds crew. Player accountability doesn’t exist. Never has in this town. Probably never will. They’re our boys.

The Sox just aren’t that good, and if they are, to paraphrase Billy Beane, "if they’re so good, how come they don’t play better."

- Ron

Can't Take a Joke

AA_7.22.jpg

7.21.04: Abe looks like someone just woke him up from under a bridge. I can't believe the Red Sox organization would post this picture of this guy... this is embarrassing.

How can we (the fans) "Keep the Faith" with half assed efforts, gangsta getup, and managerial/organizational mis-steps??? What the hell is going on over there?

As a fan, I want to see a sincere effort from all levels of the organization... I'm getting sick and tired of the enabling and listening to the manager and Larry make weak excuses for the $130 MILLION mediocre cry babies.

These guys really need to suck it up and play baseball... crooked dirty hats are not helping any of them play better. How about getting back to the basics and focusing on the fundamentals of the game.

Michelle McDonald

(In fairness Michelle, Abe is legally blind in his left eye, and the tilted cap keeps the glare off his good eye and gives him better peripheral vision.)

Independence Day

"Nothing you could do could change anything now..." If the New York series and the midseason break are catalysts for major personnel changes on the Bosox, at least the heartbreak isn't waiting until autumn this year. After extra-inning losses in which run production seemed like attempts at unanimous U.N. Security Council resolutions, the team was so adept at leaving the lonely at third (and other bases) I barely could keep my eyes on the meter.

A "Killer Instinct", if it ever existed, has morphed into a "Victim Mentality" with the wait before losing and recriminations on "Oprah" unbearable. And that is the point. Even truly mediocre teams that jumped out to April leads in the early 1980s only to flounder by June created at least the desire to watch. This squad, with huge payroll and marquee off-season acquisitions, cannot make a double play (it certainly can hit into them), cannot win by a run (it certainly can lose by one) and shows all the gutlessness, poor management and indifference that have ended seasons of lesser Boston nine.

Calling anyone out runs the risk of omission, while hacking just for the sake of renovation is not enlightened policy either. With Nomar, the depths this relationship has sunk to would only be measured by an idiotic trade that in one version adds Carlos Delgado; here is a 2003 softball star with bad wheels joining a team stacked with DHs. Solve the riddle of why this squad doesn't work, Theo, but don't bullshit us for three months with occasional homerun fireworks and bandaged wounds. Despite years of conclusions to the contrary, we are still stupid enough to want to believe, but taking us for fools will not be tolerated. DJS, 7.5.04 -- 20/20 continued