Tonight marks the 200th post in the history of Sedition In Red Sox Nation. Truly, it was a fitting occasion with Roger Clemens pitching against Josh Beckett in Yankee Stadium on national television. With an atmosphere like that, you just had to know that something verging on the miraculous would take place. And it did. No matter what Red Sox fans will believe, it wasn't a humdrum miracle, like the team losing to the Yankees for the second time in two days.

I don't mean something as trivial as Clemens taking a no hit bid into the sixth. With four walks and a hit bats-person (I'm not convinced that Pedroia is a man), a little bit of the bloom slides off that particular lily. And even though the David Ortiz upper deck shot to the shallowest part of the yard which ended the no-hitter and provided a fit foil to set against the Reggie Jackson three homer performance in Game 6 of the 77 World Series celebrated in the finale of the Bronx is Burning, that was not the miracle.

The miracle came in that very same inning, when there was a man on base and the immortal JD Drew stood at the plate. Even though no one believed that the most disappointing $14 million man could hit an aging legend like Clemens with a man on base, Drew got a base hit. True, he didn't drive in the runner, but he took a step in a positive direction. After all, the Dr. Leo Marvin program in the cinematic tour de force What About Bob? was called baby steps, not giant adult strides.

This was an important base hit for JD. If he didn't get that hit, could you imagine how badly the Yankees own resident big ticket outfield disappointment would have shown up his former team over these two games? You might remember that guy, he used to play for the Sox, wear number 18 and go by the name of Johnny Damon. He might be dropping the ball as far as big picture production goes, but he now has a homer and 4 RBI against the team that wouldn't pay him $52 million over four years, but threw a $70 million chunk into procuring the "services" JD Drew until 2011. And the Yankees have managed to win 14 of the 16 games in which Damon has played in left field of late.

One thing should be abundantly clear following tonight's pitching performance. Josh Beckett should win the AL Cy Young, the NL Cy Young and whatever awards correspond to the Cy Young for AAA, AA, A and winter ball. And he probably would have salted away the corresponding pitching award for the Japanese league had he only allowed 11 hits tonight. Even that home run for A Rod should barely count against him, as it was a line shot to the opposite field and barely went out of the yard.

In fact, I think we ought to be fair to Beckett and go ahead and chalk this one up as a win anyway. After all, the Yankees left 7 men on base, including six in scoring position against him tonight. And they only had 13 hits in 6 and 2/3 innings. That's almost as good as a shutout, at least in the mind of the average Red Sox fan. Just because he didn't win the game doesn't mean it should affect his statistics adversely.

There is a school of thought that a manager probably should have taken his starter out after 100 plus pitches over six innings and a dozen hits. Of course, some might think Francona is trying to rest his bullpen after that taxing series with the White Sox this past weekend and an off day on Monday. Then again, perhaps it is unfair to blame Francona for his decisions. He may have been bored into catatonia by this piece in which Dan Shaughnessy managed to miss the point to a degree I would not have believed possible, even for an epic misser of points like the CHB.

I think Francona might be dumb enough to think that Shaughnessy was right. But I think even a mind as sharp as Tito's could have been dulled by the impressive array of bad puns, bad jokes and bad logic that made up this farce of a column. One day, a courageous editor might want to whisper to Dan Shaughnessy that whatever he is with ceased to be it sometime in the waning days of Ty Cobb's career. Just because you are dimly aware of recent developments in popular culture like the Bronx is Burning and Superbad, doesn't mean you sound cool or clever when you try to throw them in to spice up a vanilla piece.

A more intelligent and perceptive writer might have drawn from a classic film like Patton, which features an excellent scene in which George C. Scott as the great general enumerates the myriad of woes besetting the German army right before they launch the offensive known to history as the Battle of the Bulge. The weather is terrible, the supplies and morale on the German side are virtually non-existent and on top of everything, the Germans had not mounted a major winter attack since the time of Frederick the Great (he ruled from 1740-1786, for those who aren't history buffs). For all those reasons, it looked like the Germans wouldn't attack, and it was for all those reasons Patton knew that attack was imminent. That would have really classed up a comparison between this Yankee team and the Red Sox in 2004.

Unfortunately, the Yankee bullpen was something of a cloud on this victory. Kyle Farnsworth reminded every one why he's been given so many chances for so many teams. He had the velocity that has kept him in the majors, and the inconsistency that has kept his bags packed. That two run homer Farnsworth surrendered to Youkilis really hurt. Thankfully, JD Drew was able to put a silver lining on that dark cloud by striking out feebly.

Unfortunately, I subscribe to the theory first advanced by Jerry Garcia, that every silver lining has a touch of grey. That touch of grey: Mariano Rivera got his second save of the series. It's always good to see Rivera pitch more like he did in his prime than he pitched at the beginning of the year. But the thing about that is, Rivera is not a young man any more. So there is not a very high likelihood of him being available should it get to that point in tomorrow night's game. Of course, Joba Chamberlain will be available tomorrow, and who knows what might happen. But it would have been nice to see the Yankees have a shot at a sweep and have all of their weapons ready to go against the hated enemy.

From the "there's a method to my madness" category, it might not have made for a well structured post with the two Drew criticisms sandwiched around the long Frederick the Great/Patton digression. In my defense, I hoped to mitigate the bad karma and reverse jinx potential I have bestowed on JD Drew. I remember that game where he hit two three run homers against the Diamondbacks not too long after one of my long diatribes against him. Nor have I forgotten the hot start to this season he put up after I spent the better part of the offseason railing against his signing, even though that seems like a more distant memory than the Prussian monarch I referenced tonight.

PS - I don't know if you recall the post in which JD Durbin was lampooned as tool of the week (back when there was a shot that I might actually have the discipline to post a tool of the week segment on a weekly basis). Since that time, the tool of the week segment has been modified to a tool of note segment. And more astonishing, the tool JD Durbin has pitched effectively for the Philadelphia Phillies. Kudos to Theo and the mental giants on Yawkey Way for letting him go for absolutely nothing. At least they managed to dream up Sox Appeal. Nothing like exploiting the inability of modern men and women to connect on an interpersonal level to perpetuate the subspecies of troglodytes who root for the Red Sox to undermine our societ. But I digress far to far, and I must sign off for the night.

Before we get to tonight's post, I want to address something that came up in the comments on my last post. An anonymous reader called me a blowhard. While I'm quaking with shame, I'm also wondering, how many cool people have made a habit of using the word blowhard. Without having done the necessary legwork, I can't go ahead and say zero, but I'm going out on a limb and saying that it's in the low single digits. By the bye, I am leaving the kobrakommander out of that particular generalization, as he quickly came to my defense and used the word blowhard in turning the anonymous comment on its ear. And now, on with the show...

GREAT MOMENTS IN RED SOX HISTORY #6 - 5/1/2006

I know I just did a GREAT MOMENT IN RED SOX HISTORY installment two days ago, but I've been planning on this one for a long time now. I've been waiting for the eve of the first Sox-Yanks series to remind Red Sox fans that they are hypocrites. On May 1st last season, Red Sox fans (with a few exceptions) showed themselves to be classless idiots when Johnny Damon returned to town for the first time in a Yankee uniform.

Some fans did cheer him when he returned, remembering his accomplishments as the catalyst for the championship team in 2004. The majority of the fans were not quite so nostalgic, however, and Damon was booed each time he came to the plate. Boston.com provided a slideshow to document fan reaction. It was not a particularly stellar moment for New Englanders.

Red Sox fans called Damon a sellout, a traitor and other names in that vein. I found it fascinating then, and I still do today. In the end, after all, it's not as though Damon was a Red Sox draft pick. He didn't come up through Lowell, Trenton and Pawtucket. The Red Sox signed him as a free agent because they could offer him more money than Oakland could. Oakland in turn got him via trade with the Kansas City Royals, who were forced to trade him because they couldn't afford to keep him.

Apparently, baseball is only allowed to be a heartless, bottom-line driven industry only so long as it benefits the Red Sox. Yes, the Red Sox stepped in and signed a player that other teams wanted but could not afford. But that's where the cycle was to stop. The Red Sox were supposed to be the other team to end all other teams, which would make them the mother of all other teams (the line comes from an episode of Becker).

Unfortunately, that's not the way it worked out. Even though the fans with the gruff, cynical, Puritan-inspired exterior hiding a collective heart of gold embraced their idiosyncratic caveman center fielder, Damon departed for the greener pastures of the hated Evil Empire. Suddenly, Red Sox fans were able to ignore the past and assume their favored position - victim of Yankee aggression. And at the end of the day, nothing riles up Sox fans like the chance to gang up on a convenient target.

This particular image from the slideshow captures the spirit of the crowd that night.

It is convenient to assume that Damon is a traitor and a liar and harbor for any of a whole host of dishonorable traits. It helps people look past the business practices of their own team management.

That's what bothers me most about Red Sox fans. They can ignore the fact that Damon left two other teams before he left Boston because he is a mercenary player in a mercenary business. Red Sox Nation can somehow delude themselves into thinking that theirs is the only organization worthy of loyalty. New Englanders can look at a chart displaying the payroll figures for every team and see only the gap between the Yankees and the Olde Towne Team. They never seem to notice the two dozen odd teams in their own rearview mirror.

Red Sox Nation has an incredible gift for swallowing the propaganda that comes out of the team owners' mouths. How many asked the team if it did all it could to keep Damon? How many asked themselves exactly how loyal they would be to a baseball team if there were a question of $3 million per year in the balance? How many have wondered whether team management has a long term strategy other than simply trying to out-Herod Herod?

At this point, after more than two decades of living in the Boston area, Red Sox fans have begun to remind me of the citizens of Oceania from Orwell's classic 1984. The team sits in the center of the web, like the Ministry of Truth, revising its own campaign of misinformation each time a situation comes up (like Damon leaving for the Yankees) so that no matter what has happened the team tries to get the fans to believe that it is victim or victor. And the self-proclaimed most intelligent fans in the nation swallow it hook, line and sinker.

I don't think it's too early to wonder how the process will play out should the team decide that life no longer begins at forty for baseball players in the post-performance enhancing drugs era and Big Schill should take 38pitches to another city. How will Henry and his crew spin that tragedy?

Ladies and Gentlemen, you might have expected that there would be no post this evening following the unfortunate Tiger collapse. But more important events have induced me to launch the new feature I have been promising for quite some time now. Miami defeated the Pistons and eliminated them from the NBA playoffs. More importantly, Antoine hit a devastating 3 down the stretch, and I saw a sight that could make up for any number of late inning rallies by my mortal enemies. The Walker Wiggle was seen tonight. And, for the purposes of this site, it couldn't have come at a better time. Without further eloquence (or whatever quality I possess that stands in the stead of eloquence)...

THE MAX MERCY HALL OF FAME INAUGURAL EDITION

For those of you who don't know, Max Mercy is the parasitic sports writer from the classic Bernard Malamud novel The Natural ( proper MLA documentation eludes my skill as a writer in the present format, forgive me for not pacing greater emphasis on the title). He is played quite well by Robert Duvall in the film version.

Max Mercy is a weasel, a scumbag (and yes, I'm aware of that word's original meaning) and a jock sniff. For those qualities and more, in my way of thinking, he stands as a perfect avatar for the modern sports journalist. There are obvious exceptions, who may be named later provided that I have more time and am infused with a sudden influx of industry. Furthermore, as long as the Red Sox manage to win more than they lose, there is no place in this site for positivity.

Based on the preceeding paragraph, and the earlier posts (if you're crazy enough to have read them), you might expect the first member of the Max Mercy Hall of Fame to be the CHB. I do have a number of problems with the CHB as a writer, and rest assured he will be enshrined in this pantheon eventually. Tonight's lucky inductee came to the Boston Globe from New Jersey, via Boston College, and that about sums it up for him. He is...
Bob Ryan.

As a writer, Bob's prose style is no worse than any other sports journalist. His voice does have a nasal quality that resembles a dentist's drill in the middle of a root canal. It can be particularly annoying when he forgets to use his inside voice in one of his inexplicably frequent television appearances. All of these are reasons to dislike someone in Cincinnati Kid land (for those of you keeping score at home, that is how I refer my own little corner of paradise, the island of normalcy in Red Sox Nation).

My biggest problem with Bob Ryan, and the reason he vaulted over the CHB (and others who will join them in time), is his delight in kicking someone when he (or she, I can't think of an instance when Bob's done this to a woman, but I'm sure an enlightened gentleman like him wouldn't discriminate based on gender) when he is down.

A case in point is the recent (and long delayed) departure of Nomar. I don't know whether he was the first, but Bob Ryan hinted that some of Nomar's injury problems might be related to steroid use. I don't know whether Nomar did or did not use steroids. I never liked him. I was glad to see him go. I don't miss the braying morons screaming "Nomahhh." I am quietly amused a how quickly the morons who insisted that Nomar was better than Jeter shut their faces.

I still don't like Nomar. But even more than I hated him, I hate it when a guy facing a deadline throws somebody under the bus because they lack creativity and the effort that it takes to do legitimate research (this blog is exempt from that statement, as it is a monument to my misanthropy, bitterness, negativity and above all insanity). That is what our beloved Bob Ryan did with that one, as far as I can tell.

Then there is Butch Hobson. I was too young to remember him as a player. I do remember him as Red Sox manager, and I remember wishing ill on him professionally. I had no real interest in seeing him suffer personal tragedies, I just wanted the Red Sox to lose every game. Then one night, he was arrested for cocaine possession. Here in Cincinnati Kid land, we do not condone the use of illegal drugs, but the man was going through a rough patch.

In minutes, it seemed, a column appeared under the Bob Ryan byline in the Boston Globe. In it, we found out that Butch Hobson the player was not a very savory character. Among his great sins, Butch never seemed to miss a last call. Intead of asking questions like how would Bob Ryan know he never missed a last call, I, good guy that I am, assume that Bob Ryan acquired that red nose of his picking cherries (if you don't know that expression, feel free to look it up) and not frequenting the same drinking establishments that Mr. Hobson visited. Butch had enough problems without Bob Ryan taking his soap box and getting all moral majority on us.

Then there is the case of Antoine Walker. When Danny Ainge is his infinite incompetence traded Employee Number 8 to Dallas for magic beans, of course Bob had an opinion there. He called Antoine a punk. Brave words, indeed, when over a thousand miles intervene. I will not go into a long discourse on Antoine's virtues. Bill Simmons did that over a year ago (I might be inclined to quote him if the ESPN archive fee weren't infinitely in excess of this site's current budget).

I merely offer this as an illustration of how much it meant to Antoine to play in Boston. The day after his trade was announced, he put his ad in the Boston newspapers thanking the fans and the organization. Johnny Damon signed with the Yankees on December 23. His ad ran in the local papers in February. Only a cynic would assume that the erstwhile darling of the Inside Track and the 80 IQ set in Fenway deliberately waited until the weeks between the Super Bowl and March Madness to ensure his artificial display of magnanimity received the most media attention.

Watching Antoine do his wiggle tonight, and seeing him go to the Finals with a new team should have hurt. It didn't. Celtics fans have Wyc and Irv and Danny, a veritable confedracy of dunces. Boston fans didn't appreciate him because he shot a low percentage and complained to the officials (no more than most players, and much less than the more visible stars like Kobe and Dirk). The Boston media didn't appreciate him either, ostensibly for the same reasons he didn't inspire the fans but more likely because he refused to pay homage to the graven image of each individual writer.

This was quite a post, in addition to attacking a famous writer from a major metropolitan newspaper, I think I worked in some nice touches. There was at least one use of the royal/editiorial we in there. A couple of references to myself in the third person brought a lot to the table. But I have to say, I was glad I managed to throw a furthermore and an erstwhile in there. Words like that really dress up a post. Throw in a Warren Harding allusion (he ran for the White House in 1920 advocating a return to normalcy) and you're off and running. Good night and go Tigers.

What can I say about the Red Sox in the last few days? It was nice to see them struggle so mightily against the Devil Rays Scott Kasimir (probably misspelled his name, but who cares?). Then there was last night's media circus for the return of Doug Mirabelli. Imagine if he'd been a .300 hitter or an every day player?

It was a big coup for America's Prom Date. I wonder how much it cost the city, and will John Henry reimburse the tax payers?

Of course, Johnny Damon returned to the Fenway for the first time, and was lustily booed. A lot has been made of whether or not this was justified, since he did contribute so much to the team in his tenure with the Red Sox. Personally, I don't think the fans owed him any more than he owed them. I do, however, wonder if there might be more than the casual fan (or the die hard who drinks 30 beers in the stands) perceives to this situation.

Could the dramatic attention paid to the return of a very average role player have been a smoke screen on the part of America's Prom Date? Could he have his own covert reasons for trying to distract the fans from Johnny Damon's first appearance in Fenway as a Yankee?

I couldn't help but notice that Damon, who I was told thrived in hostile environs as a member of the Red Sox, may as well have left his bat in the dugout when he went to the plate for all the good it did him and his team. He also played the field as though he'd never set foot in the stadium before. I don't know whether he'd have caught the Ortiz homer if he'd have been better positioned or took a better line to the ball, but at least it might have been easier to watch the ESPN shows today if he had.

Then there was the fly ball that Jeter overran. It was somewhat amusing to see Manny, whose defensive inconsistencies have been beaten to death by this point, helping Wily Mo Pena track down fly balls in center field. It was somewhat surprising to see Damon, who had enjoyed a reputation as a solid defender (except for the fact that he throws abysmally), found himself out of position at times and was less than helpful to his teammates. I imagine one could attempt to explain this by bringing up the fact that Jeter is a Gold Glove winner. He is also a veteran of many games in Fenway, whereas Wily Mo is brand new to the team, the stadium and a natural right fielder.

I don't mean to insinuate that he was part of some deep seeded conspiracy with America's Prom Date and John Henry (who would have some nickname based on his bizarre Howard Hughes like obsession with neatness on his yacht if I had the time to think of one). Actually, I do mean to insinuate that, but I mean it jokingly. He had a bad game. I imagine he was nervous coming back to Fenway, and the boos and money thrown in his direction rattled him just a little bit. I seriously doubt that Theo, Damon and JH are a new Trilateral Commission. Among the three of them, they don't seem to possess the intellectual capacity or the moral turpitude.

Every once in a great while, I find myself sharing something with the citizens of Red Sox Nation. This past offseason, it was a profound sense of disappointment that Johnny Damon was leaving town. I believed (and still do) that he was old and injured. I don't think he'll be the same player he once was. I really wanted the Red Sox to overpay for him. And then the Yankees got into the picture. I was not pleased.

I am not a Yankees fan, but I don't think they're the Evil Empire either. As a native Bostonian, I never liked New York teams, but because I hate the Red Sox and the vocal, oppressive contingent among their fans, I found myself warming up to the Yankees. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, as the old saying goes.

I also found it slightly hypocritical of Larry Lucchino to come out and call the Yankees the Evil Empire after they out-overpaid (not a word, I know, but sometimes flagrant abuse of syntax is required to remind Red Sox fans of recent unpleasantness) for Jose Contreras. Lest we forget that the Red Sox booked every room in the hotel where Contreras was staying to try to corner the market on him.

The Red Sox aren't exactly the Twins or the Pirates, after all. They spend as freely as their means allow, like the Yankees do. The real issue between the two teams is that Big Stein has a bigger stadium and better infrastructure for raising revenue from his team. And if you don't believe me, watch the bidding war that will develop over Clemens if the opportunity arises.

That is just one of the reasons I hate the Red Sox and the majority of their fans. They sit there and swallow the organization's hypocrisy as though it were their job. Like all hypocrites everywhere, I hate little more than I hate hypocrisy. I think the blanket generalizations and wild allegations I have made against the Sox in the short history of this blog are ample evidence of this. Nor do I anticipate that I will stop such behavior. But I admit that I am a hypocrite, which makes me less hypocritical than. At least that's what I tell myself.

Since I lost whatever narrative thread was supposed to tie this post together, I think it's time to sign off. But before I go, I think it's good to go out on a more positive note. I was watching the TNT Basketball Half Time Show tonight during the Chicago-Miami game, and I heard one of the best lines Charles Barkely has ever delivered.

Kenny Smith was wearing a velour suit with some kind of rhinestone trim. And whenever he moved in his seat, the things would bump into the desk and make noise. During one of Barkley's monologues, he was distracted by that noise. So Sir Charles turned to him and hit him with the line: "Where did you get that suit? Toys R Us?"

I thought it was quite funny. I also enjoyed the follow up: "What did you buy it at TJ Max?" And I think he hit the mark when he complained of some of the fouls called on Shaq by saying: "After all, this isn't the WNBA."

Good night and go Blue Jays.