GREAT MOMENTS IN RED SOX HISTORY - INSTALLMENT 2

Dateline: 7/28/04

This should ring a bell with most people, since it was recently voted the most memorable Red Sox vs. Yankees regular season game since 1979 by the brilliant men and women who make up the ESPN Baseball Tonight audience.

Bronson Arroyo, who is now known in Cincinnati for his bat and his pitching and not his unbelievably terrible music, hit A Rod with his 81 mile per hour fastball. A Rod, tool that he is (bear in mind I write this as a hater of the Red Sox, not a fan of any team), took issue with that. There are a couple of ways to look at this. First, A Rod is a bully and a fraud trying to intimidate Bronson. Or, getting hit by a baseball hurts a bit, and A Rod was just a bi upset, as anybody would be in that situation. It isn't really important which interpretation you favor.

Jason Varitek took issue with A Rod's verbal jabs at Arroyo. Then Varitek pushed A Rod, and a fight ensued. The momentum of the game changed, Bill Mueller hit a walk off home run to end it, and the Red Sox turned their season around. They made a huge comeback in the ALCS and then beat the Cardinals (who were either confused about the start date, or simply had a morbid aversion to winning big games) in the World Series. That was not a good time.

Since that time, I have been assured that this particular game was of great import. I have also been told that Jason Varitek is a tough guy. Of course, I've been assured that Jon Stewart is funny, Santa Claus brings presents to good children, Diet Dr. Pepper does in fact taste more like regular Dr. Pepper and that there is a possibility that intelligent life could exist somewhere else in the universe.

Of all those statements, the only one I firmly believe is the first. It was a big game. I find Jon Stewart smug and insufferable. I think my problems with Mr. Stewart rest in a difference of opinion: he (or his writers) think that he is the smartest guy in the world, I think that alone doesn't make a guy funny. Nobody wants to see Stephen Hawking do stand up (his talking machine is really creepy, not very sensitive of me... but honest). As for Santa, if the virtuous were rewarded, there is no way that the Red Sox would have won it all. I can not say whether Diet Dr. Pepper tastes more like regular Dr. Pepper. I hate them both. Jason Varitek's case is worth examining more closely.

If you look closely at the footage of Jason Varitek's confrontation with A Rod, you'll see some interesting things. When our so-called tough guy confronts A Rod, he is wearing a chest protector, a mask and shin guards. For all intents and purposes, he might as well have been wearing a suit of armor. A Rod had already gotten rid of his bat, leaving him unarmed and unarmored. And people expect me to believe that Varitek is a tough guy?

Carlton Fisk was a tough guy. He has to be considered the gold standard of toughness at that position, especially for the Red Sox. This fact has been amply proven, without my citing examples like the time beat down Thurman Munson and another Yankee who came to Thurman's aid in a play at the plate. I wonder, though, whether anybody could point to an instance where Fisk got in someone's eye and threw the first punch while he still had a mask on (I think we can say that Varitek's two handed shove to the chest/face of A Rod counts as a punch)?

In analyzing this fracas, it is just possible that I am overlooking one factor might mitigate Tek's behavior. I mentioned the mask, the shin guards and the chest protector, but what of the junk? Could it be that Jason entered a fray with a heroic disregard for the welfare of his family jewels? I must confess that I do not know if Mr. Varitek chooses to gird up his loins with a cup before he takes the field (and I am not in any hurry to find out).

It seems like it would make sense, since a stray bounce on a pitch in the dirt could render him a eunuch. However, I have watched his career somewhat closely since he came to the Sox, and I am not sure that this is something Jason need fear. I think the part of the body colloquially referred to in the last generation as the male anatomy is Mr. Varitek's least vulnerable spot. I think any man that starts a fight when he's virtually invulnerable has no need for a cup.

Jason Varitek is a bully, and a fraud. In short (and simply put for Red Sox fans) Jason Varitek has no balls. The events of 7/28/04 prove my point.

P.S. It has finally happened, Wily Mo Pena has caught Bronson Arroyo in their home run race on April 26. Imagine how wide that gap might have been if Arroyo played more than once every five days. Nice trade by America's prom date. Even better sentence fragment by the Cincinnati Kid.

It's been a while since I last posted. For that, I apologize. I also apologize for the rambling diatribe. If you couldn't guess from the hour or the incoherence, I was intoxicated when I wrote it. I can't promise that I won't do that again, but I'll try to make a bit more sense tonight.

At times, I intend to devote some space to a few other topics that bother me almost as much as the Red Sox. Tonight that topic is the current Celtics front office. For a long time, I considered myself a Celtics fan. I suffered through the Michael Smith era (the guy the Cs drafted from BYU, not Donovan McNabb's mouthpiece on ESPN). I wish I could forget Acie Earl and Dino Radja and a bunch of other stiffs that came into the Fleet Center and ruined professional basketball for a generation of New Englanders.

Just when I was getting ready to give up on the Celtics, they drafted Antoine Walker. For some reason, I really liked him. Maybe it was because the fans and the media didn't understand him. He was brash, it took him a few years to appreciate the value of an intense off-season workout program, he took too many wild shots, he complained to officials and he had the Walker Wiggle. He was criticized in the press and booed by the fans. But I liked him. I always have. I'm rooting for Miami now, because he's there and he's contributing.

I imagine that a lot of the reason I liked him had to do with the fact that the fans and the media didn't like him. I rarely see eye to eye with local fans (hence the title and stated purpose of this blog). Even less frequently do I find any thing of value in the local sports media. Sports writers strike me as lazy bullies. Just look at the CHB and his fixation on the curse, his inevitable and insufferable references to New England's Puritan past and the fact that every year he finds himself out of ideas and decides to attack some member of the local sports scene for no real reason. Two prime examples are Carl Everett (for his unusual religious views) and Manny (for not hustling enough).

Proof that the CHB is lazy could be found on Jim Rome is Burning, if you can watch the show with a straight face. I have a hard time forgetting that time the Rams QB dribbled ESPN's "hard edged" sports commentator, but that's just me. Recently, just prior to the Final Four, the CHB appeared on that show and took issue with those who called Glenn Davis "Baby Shaq." According to the CHB, Antoine Walker was a much more suitable analog because they're both 6-9, neither can jump and they both take 3s.

Outside of the fact that Big Baby's size and strength are much greater than Toine's, one should not lose sight of the fact that the 3 Davis hit in the Elite Eight was the 4th he'd hit all season. Then again I might be asking too much of a man who once devoted a column published in a major market newspaper to the fact that he runs a mile every day when I think he should know what he's talking about before he opens his mouth.

But I digress. I bring up Antoine Walker because he is the centerpiece of the case against Danny Ainge. When Ainge took over, he unloaded several of the players who were instrumental in the team's back to back playoff appearances (which included a trip to the conference finals). Fans were told that the team was at a crossroads. Management could keep the team intact and maybe add a piece or two to stay in playoff contention without seriously competing for a title. Or management could unload some of the players and try to build for the future. They chose the latter course.

Antoine Walker was sent to Dallas, along with Tony Delk, for what has amounted to very little in return. Jiri Welsch seems to have been a big part of Ainge's plans. I infer this from the fact that Jiri wore number 44 in his brief (but not brief enough) tenure with the Green. A more cynical mind than mine might speculate that Ainge brought in a swingman of middling skills and gave him the number which Danny wore in better days because it was as close as the new regime dared come to placing his own number up in the sanctum sanctorum, the Garden rafters. You must make that choice for yourself.

As far as Danny's stated purpose (to build an NBA champion) is concerned, I need only point to his results. Three seasons, no O'Brien Trophy. One playoff appearance. And that came last season when he reacquired Antoine Walker from the Atlanta Hawks at the trading deadline. This season, Antoine left for Miami. Miami is in the playoffs. The Celtics are not. They collapsed down the stretch, and left their fans wondering whether their young players will develop their potential or not.

To be fair, Danny Ainge did help build a champion, although I don't think he got credit for it. He involved the Celtics in a three team trade which sent Rasheed Wallace to Detroit in the 2003-2004 season. For compensation, the Cs got Chucky Atkins, Detroit's first round pick and the rights to Lindsey Hunter. The Cs did manage to get rid of Chris Mills (why they ever got him, I'll never know) and Mike James. When I think of Ainge's role in that trade, I'm left wondering whether Detroit gave him a ring for his trouble. I also wonder whether you could find a sap like Ainge without drilling a hole in a tree.

GREAT MOMENTS IN RED SOX HISTORY INSTALLMENT 1

As promised, here is the first of my great moments in Red Sox history series.

Dateline: 09/28/1960 - Boston, MA.

For those of you who don't know, Ted Williams played his last game on the 28th of September in the year of our Lord 1960. As I suspect most people who would describe themselves as Red Sox fans at this point might not know, Ted Williams was a man of many accomplishments. In addition to being a Marine pilot in two wars, Ted Williams was the last man to bat .400 for an entire season. He also holds the career home run mark for the Boston Red Sox (somewhere in the neighborhood of 300 more than Daivd Ortiz, although I have on reliable rumor that no one has dreamed of hitting more clutch home runs than Big Papi).

Many people might wonder why I should bother to remind Red Sox fans of the greatness of Ted Williams. Rest assured, I have my reasons. I sat and suffered through the "championship" season of 2004 in silence (In this space much more will be devoted to the fact that Dave Roberts was out at 2nd base, and the 2004 Cardinals played the worst World Series since 1968, but more pressing matters intrude). In the wake of their victory, I noticed that every Red Sox fan felt compelled to share the intimate details of his/her Red Sox fandom back into the heady days when William McKinley walked the Earth.

In the very short period of time that this site has been in operation, those who read it cannot have helped noticing that hyperbole is mother's milk to me. However, the degree to which I exaggerate is nothing next to what I witnessed from Red Sox fans in the wake of their startling reversal of the curse. Fans all across New England deluged media outlets with their stories. Everybody's grandfathers, great-grandfathers and various and sundry ancestors to the nth degree worshipped the ground upon which the local nine walked, and grieved a great grief each time the boys of summer fell short of baseball's ultimate prize.

Their is a curious blend of revisionist history that lingers in New England. It pervades our regional culture. If you don't believe me, pick up a bottle of Sam Adams. I don't recommened that you drink it, especially if your under 21. I do not enjoy Sam Adams. I treat my beer like my economics. In both cases, I prefer the macro variety for my own indulgence, but I digress. The point, such as it is in this instance, is that every image that appears on every bottle of Sam Adams beer is not Samuel Adams. I have heard a few different reasons for this. Whether it was the fact that the few surviving wood cuts or other images of Sam Adams were discarded because of his aesthetic shortcomings or because there were no surviving images, you must make your own decision. The simple fact of the matter is that the image on the Sam Adams logo is actually Paul Revere.

While it may seem to the untrained observer that I wandered off on an insane digression (an event all to common), there is (or should be) method to my madness. The stories which poured forth from Red Sox Nation in the wake of the triumph struck me as revisionist history. I went forth to Google, and I searched. I came across a piece that I first read as a child when the city named a street after Ted Williams. The Globe then reprinted it when the Splendid Splinter passed. It is by John Updike, but to read it you must go to Google, as I am not feeling charitable enough to post the link.

John Updike seems, on the surface, to have little in common with the typical citizen of Red Sox Nation. He was not born a Red Sox fan. He grew up in Pennsylvania. I imagine his interest in baseball might have withered if he had the misfortune to grow up in the world of Peter Gammons and Buster Olney. Nevertheless, he knew the game and he knew people. And somehow this writer from PA drove his car out to the lyrical bandbox of a park (his words -and a phrase, I believe he coined-, not mine) in which the Red Sox play to write the best piece on baseball in Boston and maybe of all time.

After all of that sound and fury, we get to what must masquerade as the point of this post. In Updike's brilliant piece, the author touches on the point that Ted Williams for all his talent, his unfailing work ethic, his patriotism and his success was somewhat underappreciated for his greatness. One could only imagine the horrors that would have been in store for him had he failed to run out the occasional ground out or harbored fundamentalist Chrsitian beleifs (Like Manny or Carl Everett, look at their run-ins with the CHB).

Although you might not realize it at first, I bring up Ted and his final game and John Updike to bring this point to your attention. For every email, voice mail, fax and letter that claimed this victory in 2004 redeemed multiple generations and their affections for the Red Sox, there is a fact that gives hope to people like me. It seems abundantly clear (if you believe Updike) that Red Sox Nation had ample warning that September 28, 1960 would be the one last final last time Ted Williams donned a Red Sox uniform in Fenway Park.

While every single man, woman and child who lived in Boston a generation or two ago loved the Red Sox and would have died a ghastly death in their defense, a mere 10,454 deemed it worthy to show up and watch the greatest Red Sox player of all time hit a home run in his final at bat. I don't know, nor do I particularly care to Google the capacity of Fenway Park as the 1960 season drew to a close. Somehow, I'm willing to bet everything I own that the stadium wasn't more than 1/3 full.

In the next few days, or weeks, lull yourselves to sleep, O Red Sox Nation, with the fact that in the twilight hours of the team's greatest player, your lovely little stadium was 1/3 full. Tell me that the town didn't become a baseball town until the Impossible Dream of 1967 (I might even buy it, if you can come up with a compelling reason for associating your team with possibly the worst film of Robert Goulet's career). Tell me that it was a day game, and you all had to work. Tell me that the stars weren't properly aligned for loyalty. Tell me whatever you want. Tell em that Ted never answered curtain calls, that he didn;t court the fan's affection.

None of these things will change the fact that Red Sox Nation failed to give Ted Williams the support he deserved. When you marshall your thoughts to criticize me, just think to yourselves, vassals of Red Sox Nation, that many times more people came out to watch the last game that Nomar played in a Red Sox uni. And when Trot Nixon departs from the Nation as it seems likely he will come October, he will pass on from our sphere with much more fanfare than Teddy Ballgame did 46 years ago.

The season is 9 games old and the Red Sox are in the midst of a losing streak. That is good news for people who hate the team. For people who love the team, there is a silver lining or two about this cloud. The Red Sox are 6-3. They're in first place. Their one-two punch of Schilling and Beckett are both 2-0 with ERAs under 2.0.

However, as Jerry Garcia once wrote, every silver lining's got a touch of grey. Coco Crisp is on the DL. He broke a bone in his hand sliding/falling into third base. We haven't seen an uglier slide outside of Ben Affleck's career since Good Will Hunting. You have to applaud the organization for its keen sense of timing, extending his contract right after he gets hurt.

Then there's the fact that the Red Sox took two of three from Texas and swept Baltimore. Apparently, the Rangers have a great offense. It looked great when they put up 10 runs in their lone victory. As they're now 3-7, it seems that too much was made of the Rangers potential and not enough of their inconsistency. Let's not forget the damage that a certain Texas first baseman did to Team USA in this spring's WBC (doubly surprising, as he was allegedly playing for America).

As for the mighty Orioles, what can I say? They are currently .500. I don't think anybody expects them to play quite so well over the course of a full season. When the one thing that consistently draws fan interest is a pitcher's wife, it's probably time to cut your losses, trade Miguel Tejada and try to rebuild.

Toronto is a different story. They spent a lot of money this offseason. They gave the Sox a tough time last year. Losing 2 of 3 to them isn't that big a deal, is it? On the surface, it isn't a big deal. It's a long season. They play the Jays 16 more times before it's all over. All these things are true. But then again, there might be some cracks in the facade of Red Sox Nation.

The new short stop is still a good game away from the Mendoza line. Mike Lowell had a great game in his Fenway debut, but what about the 4 games out of every 5 when Josh Beckett isn't pitching? David Wells looked sharp in his season debut, right up until the moment when he threw his first pitch. Matt Clement and Wakefield are both 1-1, but their ERAs are dangerously close to Boomer's playing weight. Jason Varitek may or may not have triumphed in his battle with functional illiteracy. The Curly Haired Boyfriend might be daunted by his success rate in some of his recent attacks on certain memebers of the team (Manny and his hustle and Carl Everett and his ...unique...beliefs come to mind), but then again he might be lying in wait to attack AGon or Lowell or some other unsuspecting member of the team. For too long now, David Ortiz has enjoyed immunity. Just because he is both immensely likeable (even I don't hate him, which is very rare for a Red Sox star) and a decent human being doesn't mean that the CHB won't attack him.

I must leave you with those cheerful thoughts, and the promise that the first of my Great Moments in Red Sox history will be up soon. And the Willy Mo vs. Bronson Arroyo home run watch is now 2-1 in the worst product of the Boston music scene since Boston's favor.

Ladies and gentlemen, due to the Boston Red Sox legacy of greed throughout the globe...

they are about to be taught a lesson in the real use of power.

If you are perceptive enough to notice that what is written above is a reference to the classic film Die Hard, feel free to read on at your own risk. If, however, you are dim enough to think that I missed the human interest piece on the organization and it's billboard on this morning's SportsCenter or refuse to acknowledge the noble work the organization has done on behalf of the Jimmy Fund, please do not read this or write me angry emails. For their charity work, I salute the Red Sox. For numerous other reasons which may or may not become clear over time, I hate them and wish them nothing but failure and a host of minor inconveniences like toenail fungus (I imagine that's some nasty stuff).

I had the good fortune of being born in Boston. Outside of the traffic and my fellow Bostonians obsession with the local nine, it is an excellent place to live. For a variety of reasons, I root for none of the local teams. I didn't like the Patriots as a child, and unlike so many that now flock to their games and purchase their merchandise, I had the good manners not to jump on the bandwagon. The Bruins are the Bruins. For a long time I was a Celtics fan, and then Danny Ainge came back to town. Much more will be devoted to the magnitude of his failure, but that must be left aside for now.

As for who I am, where I am, what I am, how I am and when I am, I have no more to say. In spite of the name I have chosen for myself, I am not currently in Cincinnati, nor have I ever been to that city. I am not a Reds fan, a Bengals fan or a Bearcats fan. I do not, nor have I ever, attended the University of Cincinnati. For those who don't know, The Cincinnati Kid is a movie starring Steve McQueen. It is the best poker movie of all time. I chose the name because Red Sox Nation isn't ready for me.

Join us next time, as we ponder the great questions like will this be the year Josh Becket throws more than 180 innings, will the Red Sox manage to form two serviceable corner infielders from the spare parts that are Youklis, Lowell, Snow and possibly Choi, which of the Red Sox will draw the Curly Haired Boyfriend's ire when said scribe runs out of material come May 1, will Bronson Arroyo hit more home runs that Wily Mo Pena and can Jason Varitek read. If there is time, we might even get to see whether my grammar and spelling ever meet acceptable standards. I doubt it, but who knows? As for my usage and syntax, who cares? Also, in the next few days we may see the first in a series of great moments in Red Sox history (from the perspective of someone who hates the team, of course).

Good night, and go Blue Jays.