Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville - mighty Casey has struck out.

Ernest Lawrence Thayer used those words to conclude his famous opus, Casey at the Bat, which was published in the Examiner in 1888. I use them tonight because there is no joy in doucheville, with Varitek at the bat representing the tying run in the ninth inning. Do I even need mention that he struck out rather lamely on a pitch 2 and 1/2 feet out of the strike zone to conclude the threat?

We've come a long way, indeed, since the days when Varitek was the apple of Red Sox Nation's collective eye having stood so bravely against A Rod when he was armored in catching equipment (complete with mask) and A Rod wasn't. Now he is mired in a slump which is so catastrophic that he finally looks as ridiculous on the field as he does off it.

On the plus side, at least Tek is working ever so hard, even on his precious days off, to lift himself out of this slump by his proverbial bootstraps. Of course, to bowdlerize the Sean Connery character from The Rock, losers always whine about trying their best; winners go home and experience coitus with the prom queen. Rest assured, Red Sox Nation, that, with Tek under the watchful tutelage of Dave Madagan, this slump is sure to end soon enough.

Speaking of Madagan, I hope he considers the example of his predecessor closely. After all, former Sox hitting coach Ron Jackson was part of that nightmarish turnaround in 2004. Jackson, more than any other outside influence, was largely credited with the adjustments that turned David Ortiz from a guy with a lot of potential into the Papi we all know and love (but me, apparently). And it was Jackson who was one of those purged from the organization after 2006 and the epic collapse. Maybe Madagan should have rented...

Leaving that aside for the moment, I think it's time we got to the bottom of a serious injustice. According to the build-up to this series, this was supposed to be about bad blood between the teams. Jonathan Papelbon, among others on this pitching staff, vowed retribution for the Devil Rays not disbanding their organization after a pitcher hit Coco Crisp in Fenway without the expressed written consent of the Red Sox. Why is Tampa stubbornly insisting on playing baseball and not simply forfeiting each game?

Perhaps someone in the Red Sox PR office was asleep at the switch. Maybe the Rays didn't get the memo that they were supposed to be pushed around and laughed out of their own stadium in this series. Instead, they've won two games. There haven't been any brawls. How dare they. And to top it off, they continue to help Varitek make a fool of himself.

And as for Papelbon, it's hard to take revenge on an opposing team when you aren't called upon to pitch. Nevertheless, it might be possible that he has already taken revenge. I think we all presume too much when we think Papelbon, with his tragically limited intellectual capacity, knows what revenge is, much less how a man goes about taking same.

But again, the real meathead in this is Francona. I can see that pinch hitting Varitek this evening was a desperate effort to shock his light-hitting catcher into some small measure of offensive production. And Varitek was, apparently, going to come into the game with Wake leaving. But surely there must have been a better option available, as in some bench player who might actually get a hit once in a blue moon? Or maybe not.

Speaking of meatheads, I forget how long it's been since I ripped the CHB. Since he'd spent so much time covering the Celtics (why, I don't know) and I spent so much time ignoring the Celtics, there just didn't seem to be a point. But know that he's back to covering the Sox and coming at Manny with guns blazing, it's time to revist everybody's favorite Boston newspaperman with a room temperature IQ (sorry, Bob Ryan, but you need to do some work to get to room temperature status).

It never gets easy to read a Shaughnessy piece. Buried in the middle of this particular "effort" is a sentence that reads "no one wants to demonize Manny." Was the man born with no sense of irony or did he have to work to lose it? He's ripping Manny for shoving the travelling secretary to the ground (which was kind of beat, but no one is saying exactly what the man may have said to Manny to provoke the normally spaced out slugger into shoving him in the first place. Not that that makes Manny right, just that we could use more info). Doesn't that demonize Manny? Not to mention the headline "This time, Manny being Manny is unacceptable."

And I seem to recall Shaughnessy finding it tremendously risible when Pedro mad-dogged Don Zimmer to the turf in ought four. But apparently that was OK because the old man in question (who is, incidentally, considerably older than the Red Sox travelling secretary) was affiliated with another organization. Or perhaps Zimmer didn't see the incalculable potential of an aspiring cub reporter for the Boston Globe who was still struggling to shake off his uncanny physical resemblance to Dr. Who while Zim managed the Sox?

I also love Shaughnessy calling Manny fans sycophants (not that they aren't). After all, it can be ever so difficult to understand the CHB when he talks, what with the proximity of his lips to Larry Lucchino's derriere and all. That said, I really hope America's Prom Date is enough of a douche to let Manny go to another team because he dropped the travelling secretary with a forearm shiver. Wouldn't that be a grand gesture to the morons in Red Sox Nation?

And in other news, Dan Duquette is being probed by the state ethics commission for selling World Series tickets to the mayor of Pittsfield at face value when he was working to secure a city site for his minor league team to play in Pittsfield. If you're going to get caught for something like this, why not just make it an outright bribe? And I still hate Duquette after all these years, even though he reminds me of a slightly more amusing version of Dan Akroyd from Caddyshack II to his turn as the auto parts mogul in Tommy Boy.

A funny thing happened on the way to the World Series last night. Chien Ming Wang and the undermanned, underhyped, undertalented made the Red Sox, otherwise known as the finest team to ever take the field, look a little ridiculous. Or the Red Sox hitters made themselves look ridiculous a long time before Wang took the hill and he just kept getting them out. What a shame that was.

Perhaps a little bit more shocking was the fact that the Yankees managed to get hits against Clay Buchholz. Didn't any one bother to inform these so-called Bronx Bombers that Buchholz threw a no hitter last season even before he was officially a rookie? Who gave them the right to beat the Red Sox at Fenway with the future of the Red Sox rotation facing them? It's simply outrageous. This sort of aggression won't stand.

A cynical theory could be advanced to suggest that the vastly superior Red Sox are simply lulling the manifestly inferior Yankees into a false sense of security. And one could say the whole of Major League Baseball, what with David Ortiz off to what can only charitably called a slow start this season.

An even more cynical theory could be advanced to suggest that maybe the Red Sox who are desperate to increase their fan base in the Pacific Rim didn't want to humiliate Chien Ming Wang, the darling of Taiwanese fans, because they may need to squeeze every cent out of that region. While it is improbable, it bears consideration. What with the subprime catastrophe and the dangerously large portions of American financial services companies being purchased by foreign sovereign wealth firms, the "tough yuppie" (and if you think that that term is an oxymoron, ask a Red Sox fan and he'll tell you, or at the very least whip a piece of pizza off the back of your head when you turn your back) is facing tough times. And we all know that this legendary "tough yuppie" is the backbone of Red Sox Nation.

A still more cynical theory could be advanced to show that the Red Sox who are starting off more slowly than their teammates this season are the guys who reinvented their careers since signing with the Red Sox. Now that George Mitchell's "report" has been exposed to the light of day and a member of the Red Sox board of directors is no longer serving as MLB's watchdog for illicit performance enhancing substances, it seems slightly coincidental that the thriving's run out for some of the players who feasted on opposing pitchers while under Mitchell's protection. But then I never was one for buying coincidences...

As for Mike Mussina outdueling Josh Beckett and not in that good Las Vegas way, but in the bad, let's see who can allow more runs today way... I'm not letting that worry me too much, either. Mussina entered whatever phase comes after the twilight of a pitcher's career before John Kerry invented Manny Ortez as a favorite current Red Sox player.

And so, let the not so dulcet tones of the Yankees Suck cheers ring in Fenway...

As famed New Englander (though a Californian by birth, I think we can call him a New Englander) and overrated archtool Robert Frost once wrote, two roads diverged in a yellow wood. Tonight, those roads are the respective seasons of the coiled, sleeping dragon Red Sox and the lumbering oaf on the verge of going over the cliff Yankees. The two teams meet in Fenway this weekend, and the Red Sox are poised to sweep.

Both teams have a 5-5 record, but the Red Sox are 5-5 because they're battling injuries. Beckett is going to get stronger with each passing start. Clay Buchholz is poised to have that breakout year we've been told by Red Sox Nation and its press cadre is all but overdue (even though he's a rookie and his inevitable late season heroics were derailed by a vague tiredness in his pitching arm). And Coco Crisp is hitting over .300 at the moment, so all signs point to the Yankees fading quickly and harshly.

After all, the Yankees are so desperate, they're forced to start their ace, Chien Ming Wang on normal rest. In any other club, and against any other team, this would be interpreted by any rational observer as business as usual. But this is the struggling .500 New York Yankees and they face the mighty .500 Boston Red Sox. Everyone who is anyone knows that the panic button is already pressed in the Bronx. Surely by this point tomorrow, the frantic phone calls to Scranton will begin in earnest.

The Red Sox, on the other hand, are so confident of victory in this series that they sent Mike Lowell to the 15 day DL this afternoon. The Sox didn't even make the move retroactive to speed his return. They don't need him in the lineup at the moment, given that Jason Varitek's batting .290 and has 2 homers. Given his recent track record, he probably does have two weeks of promise left before he remembers his bat was declared missing and presumed dead from the Red Sox lineup in late 2005. Rest assured, I will be updating this site frequently over the next three days or so to chronicle this spectacular instance of ships passing in the night in the offing.

For some unexplained reason, I signed up to receive the BU student newspaper at the alumni website one afternoon when I was killing time. I don't know what good I expected to come of it at the time, if any, but I never hoped for this. As those of you who read this blog have probably come to notice, I am a keen observer, almost to the point of paranoia, of the tools that walk among us. And today, thanks in part to the travesty of a student newspaper at Boston University, I have struck what just might be the Comstock Lode of tools of note. And in this instance, this picture is truly worth at least 1,000 words...



There is a movement afoot on American college campuses that must be revealed and ridiculed (gently, and without recourse to cyberbullying, of course, as this site condones neither real nor pretend violence) instantly. Tools of epic proportions across the nation are putting together an event called the Intercollegiate World Cup right under our noses. Perhaps I shouldn't have been so surprised when I discovered that this event took place at Middlebury College in Vermont, a school notorious even in a state filled with tools for archtoolery of every imaginable sort.

And the principal archtool (which would make him a pope of tools, or at the very least a cardinal) is a person called Xander Manshel, which, if it isn't an alias, is surely a terrible crime against taste on the part of this tool's parents and one of the great self fulfilling prophecies of all time. With a name like that, how could the kid have turned out otherwise?

And when I googled Intercollegiate Quidditch, wouldn't you know that the very first site that phrase brought to my attention, led me to yet another archtool whol blogs under the banner A Paperback Writer. I simply didn't want to devote any more time to discover further tools involved in or inspired by this event, so I am giving up at this point. But by now, I think you probably see why I referred to this as the Comstock Lode of tools of note. In case you don't know and are too lazy to look it up, the Comstock Lode was one of the richest mineral strikes in world history, and it was exploited perhaps too quickly and too haphazardly.

This was an eventful weekend. There were frauds packed on frauds packed on even bigger frauds. The LA Dodgers and the Boston Red Sox set an attendance record for a baseball game. This naturally disproves Hank Steinbrenner's contention that America is more of a Yankee nation than a Red Sox Nation. Which brings us to the first fraud of the evening.

The notion that this game means anything in any respect is absolutely goofy. From Kareem Abdul Jabbar throwing out a pitch (and throwing like a girl to boot), this was a festival of frauds. Of course they set an attendance record, they played in a bigger venue and one customized to fit as many people in as possible. The left field wall was barely 200 feet from home plate. How much more ridiculous could the farce have gotten?

The fact that over 115,000 people turned out to watch this game means very little. It certainly doesn't prove that more Americans root for the Red Sox than any other team out there. After all, had teams like the Yankees or Cubs been invited to a circus like this, could we have seen a similarly large crowd? I bet either of those teams could have helped the Dodgers set this record. To say nothing of the Giants, the Dodgers' archrival.

And to make a claim that America is overrun with Red Sox fans from this weekend's exhibitions, one would have to assume that there were more Red Sox fans than Dodger fans in attendance. From this Eric Neel piece on ESPN's Page 2, that doesn't ring true. But Red Sox Nation has always had a knack for spinning stories from nothing and making themselves look bigger and better than they really are.

And then there was the Bill James appearance on 60 Minutes. I find it hard to believe that any person who thinks that Chase Utley is the most underrated baseball player in the league and who would take David Wright if they could build a team around one guy is a baseball genius.

To start with, Chase Utley could cure the common cold in his spare time and still not manage to be underrated. I think it must be a Federal statute that commands ESPN to include him in as many highlights as they do. God knows it can't be his overall performance or his contributions to the Phillies winning ways, what with the fact that the Phils have yet to win anything with Utley. Or maybe it was his star turn as the heart and soul of the American entry in the World Baseball Classic.

And as for David Wright, he strikes me as a papier mache version of A Rod. He'll put up good numbers in a given season, but I'd rather depend on any other Met to get a big hit at a big moment. And if he's the long term future of baseball, then it's going to be a tough time for MLB going forward.

So, Christmas is finally over. And it couldn't come soon enough. I must say, I got everything I wanted. Mostly because I didn't really want anything. But there is nothing like a nice simple ambition like that if you don't want to be disappointed.

There are two stories I think need comment, or at least I feel like commenting on, since nobody (at least I hope) really needs to know what I think about anything. First, is a nice positive story that hasn't gotten nearly the attention it deserves. As a frame of reference for how little attention it has gotten, the event took place in 2004 and I just heard about it this afternoon.

In the email I received, was a story. According to it, Denzel Washington was touring a US Army medical facility providing long term critical care to servicemen and women injured in Iraq and Afghanistan. When he was shown the Fisher Houses, in which family members of the wounded men and women can live to stay close to their loved ones, Washington reportedly asked how much a facility like that cost to build. When he received his answer, he took out his checkbook on the spot and wrote a check to cover the cost of construction.

The story, like so many received in so many emails, seemed to good to be true. So I did some checking up on it. And there are some embellishments in it, but it is, in the main, truer than most. Washington did not produce his checkbook on the spot, and the amount of his donation is not known, but he did provide a substantial donation to the charity that constructs Fisher Houses.

It is still refreshing to read about a celebrity actually doing something beyond vaguely criticizing the current administration and trying to forcefeed their political views (if their opinions can be called that fairly). None of us really do enough to support America's military and their dependents at home, myself included. I realize that a lot of us want to do more, but are touching capital for expenses like rent, food and utilities ourselves.

More praise should be heaped on Denzel Washington for his outstanding generosity. Perhaps, as a result, more wealthy Americans could be influenced to follow suit. Far better for them to do the right thing for the wrong reasons than to do nothing at all. No one wants to see Americans killed or wounded, but protesting the war and criticizing the President. Even electing a candidate who will push for a quick withdrawl from Iraq or Afghanistan will only accomplish so much. Even if no more troops are hurt, what will happen to those who have already been maimed? If recent American history tells us anything, it's that the American people will try to forget this as soon as possible.

But this is getting a little too serious for this blog, and dangerously close to the political. There are other, more responsible individuals who ought to be taking care of these matters so I can waste my time and yours ripping Dan Shaughnessy for one of his more pointless columns. Today, the CHB tells us that he's betting this is Jim Rice's year for induction into the MLB Hall of Fame.

Although I don't know why I should have expected anything different from a writer and thinker of his caliber, I'm still a bit surprised that so much ink was spilled on an argument that defeats itself. Or would, if Red Sox Nation were capable of rationally analyzing a situation like this. The real reason, according to the CHB, that Rice ought to be in the Hall of Fame is that he was the most feared hitter in Major League Baseball from 1975-1986.

I have made my views on that subject quite clear. I cannot understand how Jim Rice with his 382 career home runs in a much smaller stadium, hitting in a deeper lineup, playing in the American League can be considered to have been the most feared hitter in baseball when a third baseman for the Phillies hit 548 career home runs between 1976 and 1988. It just doesn't work for me. But let's leave my opinion on that subject aside for a moment.

The argument that Jim Rice was the most feared hitter in baseball from 1975-1986 should have no merit in a Hall of Fame discussion. It is totally, completely and utterly subjective. We are 20 years removed from the era in question, relying on the memory of baseball people and writers who, let's face it, aren't exactly a murder's row in the American intellectual scene, at least not since guys like Grantland Rice and Ring Lardner passed.

And the notion that the Mitchell Report has paved the way for Rice to go to Cooperstown is laughable. If Rice's 382 home runs prior to the steroid era are worthy of induction, then how do we exclude Dale Murphy, Harold Baines and Andre Dawson from consideration for Cooperstown, but roll out the red carpet for Jim Ed? They all hit more home runs. They (with the possible exception of Baines in a few years) played for teams that were worse than any Red Sox team in the Rice era.

I didn't particularly understand the connection between Rice potentially making the cut for the Hall of Fame and the posthumous award being given to the late Larry Whiteside. Larry Whiteside wrote about a lot of sports stories in his career. Simply because he covered baseball in the town in which Rice played doesn't mean an immortal hand or eye has framed this fearful symmetry (with apologies to William Blake).

The real story is that the Jim Rice for Cooperstown movement is little more than a bullying effort by a small-minded pressure group. Red Sox Nation has decided that Jim Rice acquired merits in retirement that other players worked an entire career to earn. And if Rice is voted into Cooperstown it will be because Red Sox Nation had the muscle to accomplish what ought to have been impossible.

Somehow, Red Sox Nation managed to shift gears from loveable (at least in their own twisted world view) losers to despicable bullies in the blink of an eye. Cubs fans haven't been able to guilt (I realize that the Oxford English Dictionary might not include guilt as a verb, but then how many limeys have seen This Old Cub) enough voters into taking Ron Santo into the Hall of Fame. And I hope Red Sox Nation won't be able to bully Rice into Cooperstown, either.

In other news, tomorrow is the 28th of December. It's a day of limited significance. Unless, of course, your a BC fan and you get to watch your team face the Michigan State Spartans in the Peaches and Herb Memorial "Reunited and It Feels So Good" Bowl. Now, there are some who might attribute this hostility as the carping of a disappointed Notre Dame fan.

Trust me, it's not. I know BC fans can't grasp my position with their feble little minds. But it's better to go 3-9 than it is to win the Who Gives A Damn bowl for the 9th year in a row. Yeah, ND hasn't won a bowl since Newt Gingrich was whispering about a fevered dream called the Contract With America. But it's better to lose the Orange, the Fiesta, the Sugar and even the Gator Bowls than it is to win a game that's going to be trounced in the ratings by the Days of Our Lives. And maybe one day, when BC makes it close enough to the big time to play on December 30th, or even, God willing, New Years Eve, BC fans might start to grasp my point.

And so we've seen the first six out save in the soon to be illustrious career of Jonathan Papelbon. And the fact that petty crime dropped in Boston this evening as every cutthroat, lowlife, drug pusher and total douche sat down for these last five hours to watch the game is cold comfort. So now we root for the Rockies and hope the eight day layoff wasn't enough to kill their mojo.

I am too bitter, and too depressed at the moment to comment in greater detail. So get bent, citizens of Red Sox Nation. Get bent forthwith.

Could Cris Collinsworth blink any more? Is this something that has been encouraged by his advisers/handlers so that he looks slightly less like a phallus with legs and a thousand dollar suit?

It would take a Yankee fan to be naive enough to think that a three game sweep in this series means a damn thing. So what if the Red Sox had a chance to knock the Yankees out of contention in the AL East? So what if they had a chance to hurt the Yankees chances of getting the AL Wildcard? Dropping three straight games to your archrival is never a bad thing, right?

When you look at it, it's not as though the Yankees came in reeling from dropping three of four in Detroit. The Yankees threw their 1, 2 and 3 starters at Boston, while Boston countered with pitchers who weren't expected to win. And none of that would have mattered if Major League Baseball didn't pull a depressingly juvenile stunt in sending a representative to ensure that Terry Francona was wearing his uniform jersey while the Yankees had a man on base.

That one instance really cost the Red Sox the series. It had a major impact on the game played the night before and on this afternoon's game. Bud Selig owes the Red Sox an apology for that devious bit of trickeration. In all seriousness, while it was a strange incident, undoubtedly poorly timed and probably unnecessary, it's not really that big a deal.

If the Red Sox don't know how to play the Yankees with Jeter at second having faced that team 13 times prior to the game this season, then having their inspired leader on hand might not have been enough to help them there. After all, the team ought to know how to line up to defend Abreu or A Rod or Matsui in every conceiveale count no matter who's on what base. These guys in the Yankee lineup are fairly well known. The Red Sox see them on occasion, so nothing should disrupt their concentration on the task at hand.

However, nothing seems to be able to happen to the Red Sox these days that doesn't present complications. I'm not sure what to make of that incident which culminated in Joba Chamberlain's ejection. Yes, the Sox have hit A Rod a few times this season. But the Yankees don't seem to be the reactive type, or at least they haven't been in the Joe Torre era. Also, why Youkilis and why in the ninth with one out and a five run lead. It would make more sense to get him out as opposed to putting him on base and providing the Red Sox a spark to start a rally.

However, all that logic doesn't change the fact that he threw consecutive fastballs over Youkilis' head, entirely too close for comfort. I think the umpire made the right decision to eject him immediately after the second pitch. While I don't want to believe that Chamberlain was head hunting because it makes no sense in the situation, it's hard to argue with the fact that both pitches were essentially in the exact same location. One pitch can get away from you, but two is hard to explain.

Tonight, in the wake of a three game sweep at the hands of the Yankees, seems to be the perfect time for me to answer the recent attention that has been given to Red Sox Nation's presence in opposing stadiums. This is not a good thing. It's a symptom of the underlying problems in Major League Baseball.

Because the baseball season has devolved into a long, pointless tournament that only a very few teams can win because only they can afford to collect enough quality pieces to play at a high level, fans in a number of cities have long since given up on their local teams. Why pay to see a team that needs a series of major miracles to qualify for the postseason? So there are plenty of tickets to induce plenty of tools who have been priced out of attending games in Boston to travel to cities like Baltimore and Tampa and Kansas City.

Then there is the phenomenon of Red Sox Nation spreading like a virus through America. Since so many people can't afford to live in New England, there has been a diaspora of Red Sox fans. And since man businesses decided to forsake the expensive Northeast for cheaper regions, there are a ton of New England expatriates in Arizona, Florida, California and other such places. So the Red Sox have a small base in a number of other major league towns.

Also, this team and its myriad of vices draws to it with magnetic force every cutthroat, criminal, misfit, moron, hypocrite and douche in each city in which they play. Every person who thinks the infield fly rule has something to do with insects, every jackass who venerates the cliche fest that is Bull Durham, every person who always wanted to be a bully but never had the chance and every tool who thinks Bill Simmons is the lizard king is a potential Red Sox fan just waiting for the bandwagon to gather steam.

But those who remain and endure in New England are seldom any better than the new crop of Red Sox fans and the exiles. For every normal, sane, rational Red Sox fan that I know, there are at least ten that would sip the refuse at the Deer Island Sewage Treatment Plant if John Henry's crack staff of PR people broke the story that it contained vitamins and minerals. For instance, there is the fan who tells me things like JD Drew's numbers are comprable to A Rod's and Red Sox fans will regard JD Drew as a bargain next season.

And after 2004, there were those teary eyed losers who railed and raved about how much this team had meant to their ancestors of the nth degree that had endured all the losing but kept the faith. If one in thirty of that class of fan could prove an ancestor of theirs had been on of the 10,000 odd fans who managed to fill Fenway to 1/3 of its capacity for the final game of the single greatest player in the history of the franchise, then I'd be a little less vocal in my criticism.

For every fan (or informed adversary like me) who knows who Jackie Jensen was or has read the John Updike piece on Ted Williams' final game, there is a massive legion whose only connection to the days before Pedro Martinez came to town comes from nostalgia pieces by the CHB, Bob Ryan, Bill Simmons and others. Red Sox Nation is a waste of time and space. We would all be better off if they would shut up, and perhaps refrain from breeding.

What does not help is that the media, for the most part, coddles and even encourages these jackasses to even greater levels of jackassery. Bill Simmons, who ought to know better (but he's from Connecticut, so I make allowances), seems to enjoy this trend to an indecent level. Of course, I shouldn't be surprised the SPorts Guy feels that way, since these bandwagon fans seem to regard him as a spiritual leader and fall all over themselves to worship at his altar.

This piece from USA Today, which seems to have sparked this new wave of attention to Red Sox Nation, misses the key point that ought to be made about Red Sox fans. Red Sox fans are caught up in a connundrum that is all the more maddening for their inability to recognize and understand it. Red Sox fans have all of the vices of Yankee fans. They're loud, they bully people who don't see things their way, they're boring and they have an inflated sense of their own baseball IQ.

However, Red Sox fans have none of the virtues of Cubs fans, to whom they are often compared. Cubs fans are patient, they endure losing without the cynical, affected posture Red Sox fans developed and have not shed since 2004. Red Sox fans are much more like fans of the other Chicago team. Like the White Sox, the Red Sox lost for a very, very, very long time. And just as the stigma of being second team in second city has tainted the White Sox fans, constantly coming off worse than the Yankees year in and year out still wears on Red Sox fans, even in this post-2004 era.

For a change, I am not the only one railing against Red Sox Nation. Red Sox fans have become so arrogant and unpleasant that Jim Caple (author of The Devil Wears Pinstripes) has himself repented of being a Red Sox fan. Caple wrote this piece ripping Red Sox fans for the way they have comported themselves following the 2004 chamopionship run. It's really quite good. Not quite as good as a three game sweep by the Yankees, but still worth the read.

One more happy note before I sign off... The season series between the Red Sox and the Yankees stands at 8-7 in favor of the Bronx Bombers. Good times. Good times, indeed.

If I seem a little more unpleasant than usual tonight, you'll have to bear with me. Believe it or not, I'm not too bothered by the tremendous performance by Kaison Gabbard tonight. So what if he allowed 3 hits and threw the team's second complete game of the season. It was the Royals, who aren't exactly the 1927 Yankees.

It's just that I had a rough day. I woke up with a massive hangover, a sunburn and a head cold. All of which serve me right for drinking in the sun when I had a cold, but I don't have to be happy about it. It's always good to be the only guy with a cold when it's 90 degrees and sunny. People look at me as though I had tuberculosis or something, as though I were Doc Holiday. Bad times.

I do have a tool of note segment for you. I don't know if you've heard about this chump, but an English tool (seems a bit redundant, no?) swam a kilometer at the North Pole in a speedo. Of course he made a spectacle of himself for completely altruistic reasons. He wanted to alert world leaders to the harsh realities of climate change. The fact that a bald 37 year old English explorer could only get on worldwide TV for some idiotic stunt like this or having several freezers full of human remains probably had nothing to do with it.

This guy seems like he's bucking for archtool status. In no particular order, here are some of his major malfunctions: he has a mind coach, his nickname is the Polar Bear, he's an explorer and he's a grandstanding jackass. If there were any justice in this world a real polar bear would have shown up and mauled him for calling himself (or allowing himself to be called, which is just as bad) the Polar Bear. Unless you're a gargantuan physical specimen like Paul Bunyan you have no business with a nickname like that. So what if he swims in polar climes. Call him the Penguin or the Seal if Batman fans object.

I still can't get over the fact that he has the minerals to call himself an explorer in the 21st century. What is he exploring? It's all been explored. I thumbed through the atlas I have at the house. I didn't see a lot of blank spaces on any of the maps. No terra incognita or hic sunt dracones areas. I have to say, if you're the 23,457th person to find the headwaters of the Nile, you're not an explorer, you're a tourist.

Global climate change is a serious problem, I don't want to give the impression that I don't believe in global warming. But for all the good that one loser in a speedo swimming a kilometer at the geographic North Pole is going to do, he might as well have started a tire fire. After all, I might have missed the story, but I don't think President Bush and the 2/3 majority of the US Senate came storming in to work this morning to get the Kyoto Protocol back on the table and ratify the hell out of it. Somehow, I don't think Dick Cheney's staff had to wrestle the VP to the ground to stop him from divesting his shares in Haliburton and other energy conglomerates.

Maybe it's just me, and I'm cynical and mean and wrong on this thing, but what was the eco-footprint of this tool's mission to swim in the North Pole? Did he and his posse travel up there in a tall ship, sailing as though it were the 1840s? Or did they sail up there in a big, smelly, messy diesel powered behemoth belching carbons into the atmosphere to prove a point about global warming? If that is the case, this guy is definitely an archtool. Other, lesser tools should have to kiss this guy's ring when they meet him.

In other unrelated matters, the guy I go to for my Red Sox info tells me that I can't even begin to mount a candidacy for President of Red Sox Nation unless I see at least one game at Fenway this season. I am always willing to go some place where I can sit outside and drink beer and eat unhealthy food. Even if that means sitting amongst 36,000 people who would be very unhappy with me if they knew that I am the author of Sedition in Red Sox Nation. Can you imagine how many pieces of pizza would be hurled in my direction each time I turned my back?

But my source offered me a ticket for a game in the not too distant future and I can't use it. I can't use it because another friend called me late Thursday night while I was in Connecticut and drinking Bud Lights to invite me to a backyard party well north of the Charles River. And me being the nice guy that I am, I turned the ticket down. I wish I weren't such a good person.

And in even more unrelated matters, I was shocked recently to see that Lindsey Lohan is going around recommending The Prince by Machiavelli. It's even more surprising now that the news is coming out that she is having all kind and manner of trouble over some nude pictures that were apparently stolen from some ex-boyfriend's computer. Not being a big fan of the Italian Renaissance, I don't keep a copy of The Prince on my bedside table, but I imagine that Machiavelli would not be blackmailed by some tools running a celebrity gossip website. I think old Niccolo would be down there kicking some ass and clunking heads together as though he were Moe from the Three Stooges. Or at the very least hatching underhanded schemes to ruin people's lives.

Ladies and Gentlemen, tonight as I watched portions of the Red Sox game against the Blue Jays, I couldn't help but hear Jerry Remy talking about his status as lame-duck president of Red Sox Nation. Apparently, there is an election which will be held to fill that void. And what would an election be without a dissenting voice?

I say some concerned citizen of Red Sox Nation should nominate me. I can't nominate myself because that's just pathetic. But I could elevate the discourse in this election. I could be like Lyndon LaRouche, but sane. Or Ross Perot, but taller, bigger and with proportionately sized ears. I could bring a lot to the table, trust me. Hell, I've only horrifically insulted one of the New England states, Cambridge and Brookline in the last week.

The only drawback I see is that I'm not currently a citizen of Red Sox Nation, but I have some clever people working with me who can figure out a way for me to be a citizen of RSN without divulging my secret identity. I do think that with a concerted effort from a grass-roots movement, I could get on the ballot without being a citizen. After all, Red Sox Nation is more a brutal tyranny than a democracy.

Every once in a great while, the devastatingly perceptive announcing tandem of Jerry Remy and Don Orsillo manages to unearth a nugget that almost makes it worth my while to suffer through a game that they're covering. This afternoon was one of those times. Thanks to their stats gurus and fact checkers, I do not have to expend any effort to tell you that the Red Sox are currently 1-28 when trailing after 8 innings.

That news made my weekend considerably brighter. Perhaps, if you are a member or fan of this incarnation of the Boston Red Sox, you can find a reason to dismiss that stat. At that point, you might even be willing to believe that JD Drew, Julio Lugo and Coco Crisp are merely lulling the opposition into a false sense of security with their inferior performance at the plate. And that it's not a bad sign that Texas beat up on Josh Beckett yesterday. Of course, since I am not a Red Sox fan, I am free to look at events as they unfold untainted by a compulsion to whitewash the team's blemishes and imperfections.

Many things will end up haunting the Red Sox when they bow out of the playoffs almost before the postseason has begun. I think the fact that Alex Cora and that kid from Pawtucket whose name I might just learn should he get another start for the Sox were playing in the rubber game of a series whilst a 10 million dollar duo (Crisp and Lugo) warmed the bench should stun and dismay the citizens of Red Sox Nation. But that's just me.

I think what will bother Red Sox fans most about this season is that their team whom they have embraced wholehearedly cannot come from behind. Against the Dodgers or the Giants or another NL West team, it won't matter. The National League West doesn't look like it will turn out a serious contender this season. But against a team like the Tigers or the Twins, I think it will send the Red Sox packing early.

I am, or at least I try to be, a rational man. I don't expect that the Red Sox should come from behind to win every game in the late innings. I would probably be as surprised today if I found that the Sox were 28-1 or even 19-10 in late inning comebacks. That's just the way the world works. The Red Sox should be below .500 in that category, considering that every opponent has a pitcher prepared to enter tight games to preserve a victory. Even a few bad teams can have a closer who should end up with 30 saves. So teams with leads should close the deal in the 8th and 9th innings considerably more often than they fall apart.

But to have only come back once all season when the payroll comes out to be in the $140-$150 million range is disgusting. It tells me that this team has next to no character, nor heart. Good teams come back in the 8th/9th innings to help win games. More importantly, champions have to be able to do it. The Red Sox can front run with the best of them. That much is clear, but if they can't win when they're down in the last half of the 9th in Friendly Fenway more often, I'll be providing Red Sox Nation with the lyrics to the Crowded House opus "Don't Dream It's Over" far sooner than the citizens might hope.

Tonight was a big confidence booster for the Red Sox. So what if the Rockies aren't any good, and so what that they lucked out in not facing Brandon Webb when they played the Diamondbacks. That doesn't mean that even though the Yankees won again tonight the Red Sox shouldn't feel super confident that they're on the right track again. One of Terry Francona's questionable moves worked, apparently proving that there is some truth to the old saying that even a blind squirrel finds a nut from time to time.

Francona dropped Julio Lugo to ninth in the order and batted Dustin Pedroia in the leadoff spot. It was inspired strategery on the part of Tito. After all, it energized the hell out of the Red Sox lineup. When you face the Colorado Rockies in your park and you hold them to one run while scoring two runs of your own, you are onto something.

What might be lost in a mad dash to pat the skipper on the back for this piece of brilliant maneuvering is the fact that the Red Sox have invested more than $12 million of the $143,123,714 the team will pay its players this season on two guys who were each supposed to replace Johnny Damon at the top of the order. And what do they have to show for it but two broken toys?

Coco Crisp is currently batting eighth, and hasn't been asked to hit in the top spot since last season. He is batting .225 and is on pace to get 130 hits and score 84 runs this season. There was a time when the expression all glove, no bat was all the rage in professional baseball. It's just not supposed to be a part of the sport's vernacular in the 21st century, not in the AL, anyway.

Julio Lugo just hit a double, stole a base and scored a run tonight. Apparently being dropped in the order woke him up to his obligations to the team. Prior to the game, Lugo was hitting .215 and on pace to get 139 hits and score 80 runs. Of course since the Sox acquired Lugo prior to the NFL introducing its new personal conduct policy, the Sox could turn a blind eye to any disturbing allegations of character issues from Lugo's past.

Damon's numbers might not be so impressive right now, hitting .260 and on pace to score only 92 runs. But unlike Crisp or Lugo, Damon is trending up right now. Over his last seven games, he's hitting .320. It is true that he makes more than the two combined, but even with nagging injuries, Damon is still batting leadoff and has helped spark the Yankees offensive surge over the last 10 days. Crisp and Lugo are still in a downward spiral, and (coincidentally?) so are the Red Sox.

It's just too bad that the Sox are playing the Rockies and the Giants in Fenway. There is so much that should be giving me hope, but with two comparatively weak opponents, the Red Sox have far more time to iron out the wrinkles in their lineup before they give back enough games to make my ill-advised prediction of the not-too-distant past come true.

Every now and then, I like to do some investigating into weighty matters. And every now and then in the course of these investigations, I find myself confronting a situation that baffles me. For instance, one can purchase citizenship in Red Sox Nation for an annual investment of $9.95. However, if one would like the become a citizen of RemDawg Nation, that dubious honor will cost you $19.95. It's a full ten dollars more expensive per annum to belong to the legion of minions associated with the team's announcer than it is to join the team's official legion of fans? That just doesn't make sense.

Apropos of nothing else I have discussed to this point, here is a link you absolutely have to read. I laughed hysterically for about 15 minutes as I read it. It is a collection of results of bizarre attempts to mail outlandish objects via the US Postal Service.

GREAT MOMENTS IN RED SOX HISTORY #5 - 4/16/07

Ladies and Gentlemen, I realize that it's been a long, long time since I last posted one of these Great Moments in Red Sox History. But there really wasn't a lot I could do with the events that unfolded at the end of last season. The moments were either too insignificant or too catastrophic for me to mock. But that all changed on Patriots Day.

For the past year, I have portrayed Red Sox fans as a tribe of slackjawed morons, hypocrites and tools. And two fans sitting in the grandstand on the left field foul line decided they had to live up to all of the negative characteristics of Red Sox fandom in one shining moment of childish behavior. I'm sure you've seen this highlight a thousand times by now, but it's still worth watching again and again and again and maybe a fourth time.



So here it is, the triumph of Red Sox fan sophistication with the added benefit of Jerry Remy's keen analytical mind. One grown man took issue with another grown man eating a full pizza at a baseball game. In a free country. So the other grown man looked deep within his soul and summoned up every ounce of maturity he possessed. He took that maturity compressed it into a ball of fury, waited until his adversary was distracted by a foul ball and the opposing left fielder and lobbed a slice of the aforementioned pizza at the back of his antagonist's head.

It was a proud moment for Red Sox Nation. I have seen monkeys at the zoo comport themselves with a higher standard of decorum than these men exhibited. Of course when the monkeys are riled up what they tend to throw is a bit more unpleasant than cold pizza, but on the whole they're still better behaved than their less advanced cousins at Fenway.

I wonder what business is it of any fan's if a paying customer wants to eat pizza at a game. When a person goes to a game he or she tends to overindulge in unhealthy food and adult beverages. If the unhealthy food of choice happens to be pizza as opposed to the more traditional hot dogs or peanuts, so what? It's the same problem I have with people who decide that they and they alone are the arbiter of what potable can and cannot be consumed with a given food.

If I order a steak at a restaurant and I choose to have a Miller High Life with it, it isn't because I'm blundering along in the metaphorical darkness just waiting for some superior being to enlighten me as though I were one of the damn apemen from 2001: A Space Odyssey. It's because I like steak and I like High Life. I am what Charles Barkley would call a grown-ass man. I can make my own decisions. People should leave each other the hell alone, that way they wouldn't get a piece of pizza whipped off the back of their domes.

That said, people really hadn't ought to settle their differences by throwing pizza off the back of people's domes either. But what can you do if you happen to be a Red Sox fan and as such only discover your courage when an adversary is outnumbered or has his/her back turned?

To give credit where credit is due, I have to thank the man I go to for my Red Sox info and the man I go to for my Chicago (the sports scene, the city and the band of the same name) information, both of whom sent me the youtube clip first thing this morning. Keep up the good work.

And if that's not enough, Mitt Romney wants you to be his friend. On myspace, if not in real life. If only he'd explain what Elvis ever did to deserve such shabby treatment.

I know you might have a hard time believing this, but I do in fact have friends. And from time to time, these friends talk to me. Occasionally, they talk to me about this blog. Today, a friend of mine reminded me that this blog is entitled Sedition in Red Sox Nation, and yet I haven't blogged about the Red Sox in quite some time. Rest assured that will change over the next several months. Spring training is just around the corner, now. So I will be renewing my attacks on Red Sox fans and the Olde Towne Team in earnest. But don't worry, there will be plenty of time to rip on Ainge, Jim Rome and Mark Cuban as the basketball season limps to its end.

First up, today is the single most important day if you are a washed up baby boomer who masquerades as a lifelong Red Sox fan. Even the movements of the truck that carries the Red Sox equipment from Boston to Fort Myers becomes an occasion to wax very nearly, but not quite, poetic. I had no idea the trials and tribulations of a van full of stuff could make for such a ripping good yarn. So when do the Red Sox owners decide to slap a GPS tracking device on there to allow the faithful to track the station to station movements of Theo's guitar and Julio Lugo's unmentionables? Knowing them, I'm sure Red Sox Nation will be taxed for the privilege.

For those of you who are determined to venture to Fort Myers to get an early glimpse of the 2007 World Series Champion Boston Red Sox, you simply must read this. Who better than the experts at the Globe to help the Red Sox fans navigate the urban jungle in Fort Myers. Even better, is this little introduction to the Fort Myers that only Gordon Edes knows. Truly it is a movable feast, or it would be if it were Paris and Gordon Edes were Hemingway.

I guess I'm just not the kind of guy who draws the strength to gut it through the rest of an unpleasant winter from the hope born from the knowledge that the pitchers and catchers have reported. I also don't believe that a fat rodent can accurately predict the coming of spring by seeing his shadow. But then again, baseball season in Boston is the worst time of year for me.

Larry Lucchino's mouthpiece is all fired up for Dice K. He thinks 16-18 wins are likely, given the Red Sox lineup and provided he stays healthy. I think we all know that's the floor for him. The ceiling...34-0 0.10 ERA 1,000 Ks 3 BBs 5 terminal illness cured and the solution to the war on terror. There is no way he could disappoint. After all, Julio Lugo and JD Drew might deliver. Then again, they might handle Boston in much the same fashion as Edgar Renteria. Only time will tell.

Of course, it's no big deal for the CHB if his prediction on Dice K is off a bit, or all the way for that matter. Outside of myself and a few other lone gunmen in the blogosphere most people will simply forget that he even made it. Then the CHB can revert to his favorite hobby - attacking Theo Epstein for not showing him the proper respect.

I have another friend who is a Cubs fan. He's been complaining about Carlos Zambrano. Since he follows the team more closely than I do, I take his word for things like that. He is unimpressed with the 16 win season Zambrano turned in last year. According to him, most of Zambrano's wins came when the Cubs were well out of the playoff hunt, and, for that matter, out of the fourth place in the NL Central race.

I can see where he wants to get paid. Doesn't everyone? But does he have the leverage he thinks he has? Yeah, Ted Lilly got paid, Gill Meche got paid. But are the Cubs wrong to wait and see with Big Z (on another note, what guy refers to himself in the 3rd person as Big Z? Off the top of my head the only one I can think of is Zap Brannigan from the animated series Futurama. Probably time for a new nickname, if that's the other example)? Plus Carlos called Barry Zito a great pitcher. With judgement like that, I don't see him getting $15 million per year from the Cubs. Sorry about that dreadful rhyme a couple of sentences ago, but I'm too lazy to fix it.

The Cubs have pitching woes. The next couple of seasons might be a total loss, based on what's available in the free agent market, the geometrically growing going rate for bad pitchers and the depletion of pitching prospects thanks to Dusty Baker's management. I know Sweet Lou is no spring chicken, but it might be time to tie down what you can, build up an offense and hope that the organization and Jeff Samardzija have made wise choices. I wish them luck.

At long last, our long regional nightmare is over. Bud Selig will make the announcement sometime in the not too distant future (he'll hold it for a week or so to let the NFL have their little title game) that the formality that is the 2007 season need not even be played. The Boston Red Sox will be awarded the World Series trophy. Matuszaka will get the AL and NL Rookie of the Year awards, Schilling and Beckett will divide the two CY Young awards between them and Ortiz and Manny the two MVP awards.

The final piece of the puzzle is now in place. JD Drew and the Red Sox have finally agreed on the language which will enable the Red Sox to void the final years of the deal should JD surprise us all by hurting himself and missing significant time. After all, just because he's played a maximum of 145 games in his career, and only done that twice doesn't mean that Red Sox Nation should sweat his durability.

There are a few major concerns in this signing. First, JD Drew is not a good guy. He talked the Dodgers into letting him out of his deal this offseason so they could renegotiate. Fans in every city where he has played hate him (except Atlanta, where there are no Braves fans, only nitwits who show up to be seen at the games and do the foolish Tomahawk chop), even Philadelphia where he never played a game but pulled a John Elway and demanded a trade before he'd play for the organization.

Second, there are warning signs that he's not prepared for the pressures of playing in Boston. He spaced out in the playoffs for the Dodgers, getting thrown out at home immediately after one of his other teammates had been tagged. It's also not a good sign that Curt Schilling came out and implored Boston fans to give him a chance 6 months before the season even starts.

Third, the Red Sox have a three man outfield in place right now. Is it really clear that JD Drew is ahead of Wily Mo, Coco or Manny? How will the fans react to a fourth outfielder who earns $70 million over 5 years? Perhaps I'm being unfair, I imagine that Drew could fit in as a spot DH and maybe a first baseman. Obviously the moderate, even tempered citizens of Red Sox Nation will gladly embrace an overpaid underachiever.

There could be another motive behind the Drew deal. Even though he is not as talented as Manny, not a natural center fielder like Crisp and carries more baggage than Wily Mo, JD Drew could have been signed to make one of the other outfielders expendable. It would solve all of the Red Sox problems if they were to deal Manny and plug JD Drew into left field on a regular basis. Or at least as regular as a guy who might make it to 145 games if we all go down to the chapel and light candles can be.

Of all people, I shouldn't be one to raise questions or complaints about this signing, since it seems that the Red Sox "brain trust" is in a death struggle with galactic stupidity. For the guy who writes Sedition in Red Sox Nation, that seems like it should make me happy. But it confuses me. It seems like the only person who could like the Drew signing is the CHB, since it would set up his dream scenario, the Manny trade. I would like to see Manny traded because there is no way that trade makes the Red Sox better. But as I don't understand this JD Drew scenario, maybe it means the the Red Sox aren't stupider than I expect, but stupider like a fox to borrow a phrase from Homer Simpson in the Lemon of Troy episode.

Other things have confused me a bit over the last day or so. First, Gilbert Arenas is allowed to impugn Coach K and Duke's ability to stop him should Agent Zero get the chance to play the man who cut him from the US National team. Obviously, Gilbert needs to watch more basketball at the NCAA level. Yes, he could put up 85 points in an NCAA game, but in Cameron indoor stadium he'd have 3-4 fouls within 10 or 12 seconds of stepping onto the floor. I have to say that the Washington Wizards gold and black uniforms frighten me. They look like something out of a bad sports movie.

The two other things that are bothering me at the moment will have to wait for another day, since I'm tired. They are: the Winter X games and Toyota coming to NASCAR.

If I were the type of blogger in the habit of giving titles to posts, I guess I might call this one Damn Yankees. The Yankees fans might be consoling themselves with the dulcet tones of Crowded House in their hit "Don't Dream It's Over." I wanted the Yanks to win, not as a Yankee fan, but as a Red Sox hater. But I like Jim Leyland as a manager. I think he radiates an old school, more competent, less snakebitten Pop Fisher (the manager from the Natural) vibe. I've never been able to summon up any negative feeling against the Tigers, which is strange for me since I hate so many things with so few reasons.

The Yankees assembled one of the great paper champions of all time this season. But like another team I hoped would best a squad from Michigan this fall, they were ready for every eventuality but one. In case you're wondering or you don't read my blog regularly, I'm referring to the Notre Dame loss to Michigan. I still don't know whether the Irish are better than the Wolverines, I believe it but I'm biased. The Yankees seemed to deflate when Detroit battled back to win game 2.

It's just me talking, but I got the sense that the Bronx Bombers expected Damon's 3 run shot to put the kibosh on the Tigers. The whole team seemed to be looking around for some other one of the All Stars to step up and get the big hits. Unfortunately, no one stepped up against Bonderman or Kenny Rogers. I don't want to diminish the excellent pitching performances both gentlemen submitted. But the Yankees of 6,7 years ago with a lesser galaxy of stars made a living out of surviving against excellent pitching performances.

This Yankee team just seemed like it lacked guts in huge moments. The Tigers seemed more like the Yankees of old than this edition of Yankees did in this series, and it decided the series. Read this article from the Tigers website. It tells me that it's go time for Oakland, and in the immortal words of Marvin the Paranoid Android from The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy: "This will all end in tears" if your Billy Beane. Or at least another Bonderman inspired tantrum where he throws a chair into the wall.

Alex Rodriguez has to go. He's a great talent, I can't deny it. He says he wants to be part of the solution in NY, but I just don't think he can do it. The big stage and the pressure seem to eat him alive. It might be self-inflicted, he might take the pressure the media and the fans and his teammates put on him and internalize too much of it. But he has an absolute knack for saying the wrong thing at the wrong moment. First there was his infamous war of words with Trot Nixon a couple of years ago. In the recent Sports Illustrated piece, he complained that people didn't like him because he was biracial and good looking. That seems odd to me, what with the fact that the average Yankee fan would take a bullet for Derek Jeter, who is both good looking and biracial.

I looked at his Wikipedia page, and you who read this tell me that a Red Sox fan wasn't at this. I didn't know that ARod was openly gay. I didn't know he was gay at all. Somehow, with the amount of ESPN I watch and the sports articles I read, I think I would have heard that one of the most famous players in the game swas gay. Not that I care, because it's not my business, but it presents a chance to try Red Sox Nation. Are you really so petty, and pathetic that you need to call a high profile Yankee a homosexual to feel better about yourselves? Even homophobes should be horrified by this trend.

Some other team will take him if the Yankees pay a big percentage of his salary, and he'll fill seats for them. Any other team will be glad to make the postseason, and he just might make a difference (think Magglio Ordonez, but much more talented). In New York, a Yankees championship is not the amazing event that it is elsewhere. Even winning the World Series there has a "Nice work, you did what you were supposed to do, now shut up" feel to it. Outside of the New York pressure cooker, his errors will likely drop and his offensive numbers will probably go up.

The Yankees can afford to pay him to play somewhere else. They might be better off as an organization, as strange as it seems, to pay him to play for another team. He won't be a focal point, no more pressure, no more controversy. The Yankees will have a hole in the lineup, and they'll need to find a third baseman. Aaron Boone is available, since the Indians declined his option. He'll be a cheaper alternative, with less power, but the power numbers weren't there for any Yankee in this series. It's time for the team and the player to go in a different direction, and Red Sox fans surely share my fond memories of Aaron Boone's home run to end the 2003 ALCS.
Gary Sheffield will likely be gone from the Bronx next season too. His option is too expensive for the production one can expect from him. I'll miss him. His massive swing and his if looks could kill expression were pretty cool. I remember Bill Simmons saying that Sheff looked like the last guy you see when you get too deep in the hole with your bookie (I'd link the specific article if the ESPN archive fee weren't too steep for the limited budget of this blog). He didn't look good at first base today, and is he a better option in right field than Abreu (who is most definitely under contract for next season)? Big Stein spent a boatload on the two, but he can afford to cut his losses. And as the Walrus said, the time has come to talk of other things...

I think it was unfair to talk about this Yankee team as the best offense ever assembled. Obviously they weren't, when you look at the fact that Giambi, ARod and Sheff managed three hits among them in the ALDS against the Tigers. There are, or were, two factors oft overlooked in the rush to overhype and overanalyze this Yankee team.

First, it is insane to compare any team from this era to the Murders Row Yankees of the late 1920s and early 30s. In case you may have forgotten, let me remind you that in the dark ages, pitchers hit every day. There was no DH until the 1970s. So there was a weak link in the lineup every day for those Yankee teams.

Most people who know that Curt Schilling and Josh Beckett would have submitted the two most dominating pitching performances that the human mind can conceive understand that I am fabricating the second factor from thin air. Unfortunately for Red Sox fans, they spend too much time looking at the world through rose colored glasses or perhaps the bottoms of empty glasses. But the second reason I think it is pointless to compare the current MLB players to their far distant antecedents is this: they lowered the pitcher's mound after Bob Gibson (who disappointed me by not throwing a hellacious beating on scribes who compared him to Pedro Martinez in the mid to late 90s) ruinated the MLB hitters in the 1968 campaign.

I haven't even mentioned the other peripheral issues one ought consider in such a comparison. Advances in nutrition and exercise regimens altered the physical dimension of even the average American, so what has it done for pro baseball players? And then there are the ball parks. Back in the day, what is now Monument Park in Yankee Stadium was in play. The centerfield wall was 450 feet away. I'm surprised no one else mentioned anything like that on ESPN. That has to be like 12, 13 minutes of talk on Baseball Tonight. Perhaps it's too intricate for the average fan.

I think the Tigers will win it all. Right now, they have a serious team of destiny vibe. Kind of like the Red Sox had the vibe that they were destined to be swept by the Yankees in a pivotal five game series. Heads had to roll for this season, and they did. The path is now paved for a title run next season. Ron Jackson and Dave Wallace will not be joining us for the rest of their lives (to borrow a phrase from my favorite movie villain, Hans from Die Hard).

It seems like only yesterday that Ron Jackson was the genius who undid the singles hitter mantra the Twins tried to instill in David Ortiz and turned him into one of the most feared power threats in baseball. We live in a what have you done for me lately world, and apparently when they reckoned the account on Ron Jackson, the answer was not enough. Francona (or Francoma, as the Red Sox fan who told me he'd be happy with a 12-7 split in the season series with the Yankees calls him) is still in place for the time being, but like Nebuchadnezzar's kid, the writing is on the wall. I'm thinking of betting that he'll be looking for a job come next November. I take no joy in it, I merely use it as one more avenue to pour salt into the wounds of Red Sox Nation.

This offseason will be an interesting one. Will the Red Sox spend to compete with the Yankees? Or will they weasel out and rely on the dwindling reservoir of goodwill from the travesty of 2004? At some point, Red Sox fans might cowboy up and kick back against a team with the highest ticket prices in baseball, a penchant for charging nitwits $12 to tour an empty stadium and $9.95 for citizenship in Red Sox Nation, a skewed concession economy that leaves fan with a colossal thirst paying over and above the cost of a 30 banger in a packie for a round of watered-down Bud/Bud Light and an front office devoted to misinformation (OK, so I made that last one up, can you find it in your heart to forgive me?). Third place in the AL East sticks going down, even if they did win the title two years ago, and fickle friends in New England won't take it again.

Remember, you heard it here first. The Yankees will win it all next season if they sign Roger Clemens. I dreamed it two weeks ago, now we'll see if it becomes reality. I believe in mysticism and dreams and that irrational stuff. It's fine with me if you don't, but that's how I roll. I feel so strongly about it that I'm willing to be that guy and provide a link to my own post where I initially mentioned the dream. I hate the self reference, but just so you know that the Yanks were still alive when I dreamed it.

Notre Dame did what we expected them to do today. They beat Stanford, and I actually felt badly about it. I hate Stanford, I root against them all the time in every sport, but they looked like a high school team out there this afternoon. It was like me arm wrestling my four year old niece. Dallas plays Philly tomorrow. I'd be rooting for them anyway, but I have TO, Bledsoe and Jason Witten in fantasy. Poor drafting, I know, but I was drunk.

What did we learn from the rest of the college football games this week? Michigan beat Michigan State pretty badly. Last week Illinois upset Michigan State in East Lansing. Today Illinois lost a shootout at home to Indiana. The Fighting Irish needed a miracle comeback to beat the Spartans. So Notre Dame might get through the remainder of their schedule unscathed and face USC with a 10-1 record, but then again they might be in the weeds if Illinois or Indiana decided to pull a fast one and ambush them WWE style.

While it might be intriguing to see a team that had game planned for one opponent suddenly be surprised by another team jumping into the stadium without warning, that's simply not football. And I doubt the NCAA would approve. It might happen one day, with the degeneration of sports fandom. Hopefully, I won't live to see it. I think Michigan still isn't quite as good as they were on that day in South Bend, and Notre Dame wasn't that bad. But the long and short of it is, Michigan has national title hopes, and they killed Notre Dame's chances of competing for that stupid crystal football.

Ozzie Guillen is at it again. By now, everybody who follows sports has heard that he referred to Jay Mariotti with the same derogatory epithet that Jeff Spicoli used to describe the surfing prowess of his rivals, Mark "Cut Back" Davis and Bob "Jungle Death" Gerrard in the dream sequence from Fast Times at Ridgemont High. He was wrong to do so, and he apologized.

One can debate the merits of his apology, and its sincerity all day. At least you can. I have to be somewhere in an hour and a half. The real problem with living in an ostensibly free country is that you have to allow people the right to be ignorant. If Ozzie wants to shoot off his mouth and deal with the consequences in the form of a fine or sensitivity training, that's his right. He shouldn't lose his job over something like this. He is paid to win games. He is not paid to be a role model.

My problem with this situation is the hypocrisy in attacking Ozzie for being ignorant in this instance. Jay's own reaction is well worth reading, if only to see him hide behind his status as a journalist. He can claim he is merely staying above the fray, not descending to Ozzie's level. It is, of course, an admirable sentiment. You can check Skip Bayless to see a justification for avoiding locker room confrontations which dances nicely around the issue of whether or not the columnist who does so lacks intestinal fortitude.

Or it would be if it weren't a convenient cop-out. Let's not forget that Mariotti once threatened Hawk Harrelson and then backed off when answered in kind. It's hard to get tougher than a guy changing his tune to "I'll sue you" in an altercation. Mariotti's a bully and a coward, and shame on you Ozzie for expressing it with the regrettable term you used.

But back to Jay's response...

He opens with this gem worthy of Hemingway, provided of course that Hemingway had been lobotomized and a bad writer to boot: "Try as I do, it's hard to view sports as some sort of guiding light for humankind." This isn't 1947 any more, Jay. Sports is entertainment, now. Only this, and nothing more. Of course, I am running a grave risk with this post, since Jay staked the claim to the moral high ground. But the post must go on.

This particular passage, the link that connects what I've said to the central theme of tonight's stream of consciousness, is particularly noteworthy. Mariotti claimed that after an incident where Ozzie made an insensitive comment toward a homosexual that he criticized Ozzie for it. Not only that, but Sir Jay was "the only writer in Chicago who did, which is often how it works in a town softer and more politically driven by the sports franchises than a genuinely tough, independent sports media town such as Boston."

So, to quote Hans from Die Hard (for only the second time in the short history of this site): "I could discuss industrialization and men's fashion all day, but work must intrude." I leave aside the Ozzie vs. Jay mess and move on to the "genuinely tough, independent sports media town" which Mariotti apparently loves so well.

Boston has a sizeable gay community. Massachusetts has taken the lead on gay marriage rights. I am not interested in politics, at this point. I reserve the right to keep my opinion on these matters my own. But I must say this. A baseball manager calls a reporter a fag in Chicago and it's national news. He's being treated like Homer Stokes from O Brother Where Art Thou after he revealed that he was a Ku Kluxer. Ozzie certainly deserves punishment, whether or not it should be as severe as Mariotti wants is another question.

What is more important is the institutionalized homophobia of Red Sox Nation. Ozzie calls Mariotti a fag, and everybody has a problem with it. Thousands of fans in Boston wear "Jeter Swallows" t-shirts, and chant Gay-Rod at the Yankee third baseman, and no one says anything about it. Where is the outrage?

In case I missed the reaction in the media, I googled "Gay-Rod" and "Jeter Swallows." The closest I could come to finding anything like a repudiation of this phenomenon is this site. To its credit, Harvard stopped students from selling the shirts when gay student groups complained. A regrettable level of immaturity and ignorance pervades a more representative sample of the sites, like this tool's MySpace profile.

I checked a few other sites too. I went to the Yankee Hater homepage (because of a strong objection to the methodology of their top 10 Yankee haters of all time, I will never link to that site). They didn't seem to have much to say about the homophobia in the stands at Fenway Park. I came across this site which is full of pleasant little snippets calling various Yankees homosexuals. Yeah, the Red Sox were on Queer Eye for the Straight Guy last year, but does that make the Gay-Rod phenomenon go away?

As far as the Red Sox are concerned, they turn a blind eye to this particular aspect of Red Sox Nation's behavior. In Fenway Park A-Z, there is a section on ejection from the park for what the team deems inappropriate actions. Although it states:

Fans are also reminded that anyone observed with offensive articles will be promptly ejected from the park. The Club is committed to maintaining a high level of morality and denounces all forms of misconduct. The Red Sox will continue to make every effort to ensure socially acceptable behavior in order to allow fans to enjoy the game in comfort,

I have yet to hear of anyone ejected from the stadium for Jeter Swallows shirts or Gay-Rod cheers or any other homophobic act.

I managed to unearth this particular gem, by a Boston transplant writing for an Orlando paper. In his way of thinking, the same spirit that motivated the Sons of Liberty to throw tea into Boston Harbor inspires Red Sox fans to wear the infamous shirts and jeer at A-Rod. It reminded me of a professor I had when I was in college. He was fond of saying that in 1773, men disguised as Indians threw tea into a harbor to protest a three cent tax. Now we hand over one third of our pay to the government without thinking twice. Perhaps I would have reacted more favorably to the article if I shared the author's interest in the Red Sox, or the title didn't remind me of Ralph Wiggum's reaction to the card Lisa gave him at the end of the President's Day Pageant.

I looked pretty far and wide on google for any kind of criticism of this sordid mess of childish behavior. I even looked up psychological projection on Wikipedia, in case I could think of a decent joke to lighten the tone of this post. I haven't been able to come up with anything. I don't know why I am the only person that has noticed this behavior and thinks it's a problem.

I'm not gay. As a guy going to a Catholic school, I was as homophobic as the majority of my classmates. I've called people a fag in the same way Ozzie Guillen called out Jay Mariotti. It's just one item in the long list of things I've done and regret as I look back on it. The road to enlightenment has been difficult for me, like it is for most people. Like driving down Dorchester Ave. these days. My problem is with hypocrisy (except, as I've said, my own).

There is no way you can convince me that Ozzie Guillen can be justly punished for his stupid, insensitive, childish comments while sports fans, sports writers and MLB officials turn a blind eye to the homophobia in Red Sox Nation. I agree that Guillen's comment warrants a suspension and sensitivity training, but I don't think MLB can do anything to him without looking foolish (of course, the Selig administration has no problem looking ridiculous). You can't say that one man's homophobic comments are wrong, but the homophobic behavior in a whole group of fans is all in good fun.

The universe keeps conspiring to delay the new feature I keep promising. First it was computer trouble. Then it was travel. Then America's Prom Date got engaged. Now Roger Clemens has returned to baseball again. For those of you who live under rocks and rely on my site breaking this story some 48 or so hours after every other media outlet in the known world, he signed with the Astros.

Like anyone who has the ability to while away the hours talking to the flowers, I knew that he wasn't going to sign with the Red Sox. Of course, Red Sox fans and the media in Boston managed to convince themselves that they had a chance to land him. Among the reasons that were bandied about, my favorite had to be that Roger Clemens is a student of baseball history.

Whether or not he is a student of baseball history is not really all that important at this point. What takes the jam out of my doughnut is that Red Sox fans fly to their computers and dredge up all manner of statistics to prove that would induce the Rocket to return. The logic underpinning their argument, in one instance, depended on the fact that Roger Clemens remained tied for the lead in wins by a Boston Red Sox starting pitcher with Cy Young at 192. Apparently, Roger would be so eager to knock Cy Young from first place in the franchise record book that he would sign to play in Boston.

I would be willing to concede the fact that this is a compelling point but for two things. First, only a moron would leave the situation Roger had in Houston (proximity to home, retractable roof, only having to travel when he was slated to pitch, etc.) to come to Boston. Second, Red Sox fans are endowed with a marvelous ability to delude themselves into thinking that their team exists in a idyllic paradise wrapped in a vortex.

What would fans say when the Rocket passed on a road trip when his turn in the rotation came up if he played for the Sox? What would the media write about and talk about when the Rocket elected not to travel with the team? I can see wave after wave of tripe flowing from the laptops of the CHB, Steve Buckley, Bob Ryan and the rest of the knights of the keyboards. Apparently Boston fans have an insatiable appetite for clches and unimaginative prose. New heights in those areas would be reached with that media feeding frenzy.

That's pretty much all I have to say on that score right now. I don't want to get too far out on that limb until I see Clemens win a couple of games. The last thing I need is to end up looking like a tool because Clemens came back to the well one time too many.

I do have two other comments to make on Red Sox Nation. First, how did Jerry Remy become some sort of cult figure? I don't want to get in too deep about his playing career, since he nearly put a beating on Don Orsilio in that whole "I could hit .260" spat they had a few days ago. The man is a below average broadcaster. He hypes himself and his business interests without pause, and without shame. There are at least three or four plays per game where the audience is left in the dark about the actual action on the field so that Remy and Orsilio can babble about totally pointless and bizarre things (I am aware of the inherent hypocrisy in my criticism of anyone on these grounds, since this blog is nothing but one insane tangent to an insane tangent. I, however, am not paid to do this. There is also no editor or support staff to help me here.)

The other comment I want to make is back on Theo. Why does he insist on skulking around the city in disguise? I'm sure it must have been the thrill of a lifetime to jam with Pearl Jam. Imagine how much more thrilling it could have been if Pearl Jam had released a decent album in the last 8 years. And as for Pearl Jam's local fan base, I'm sure they felt cheated out of the chance to give Amerca's Prom Date a standing ovation when they found out the next day.

Today was a sad day for the female citizens of Red Sox Nation. I suppose it was also a sad day for some of the male citizens, but that is not the Cincinnati Kid's business. We here at Sedition in Red Sox Nation advocate tolerance for everybody, with the notable exceptions of Red Sox fans and the Boston media. We also refer to ourselves in the third person and show a flagrant disregard for employing the editorial we right on top of the third person. I think that makes it triply flagrant, using the editiorial we in a blog that cries to the heavens for competent editing.

Theo Epstein, or America's Prom Date as he's known on this site, is getting married. Personally, I don't care. However, it does afford me an opportunity to add insult to the injury some fans felt when the news broke.

I am not as impressed with Theo as everybody else in New England seems to be. He did bring Boston it's first World Series since Woodrow Wilson ran the show. That is a fairly impressive accomplishment. Of course, the list of Red Sox GMs from 1918 to 2003 doesn't read like a roster of Nobel Prize Winners. And yes, I am still deeply disappointed that the Sox won that title.

I don't think that I am bitter about it, though. I was bitter before that day, and I will be bitter come October, when I can throw a little Crowded House on the radio and torment Red Sox Nation when they fall short of the Promised Land. I do hate the Red Sox more now than I did before they won the Series, but I find myself hating the Red Sox more each day than I did on the day before. That's been going on for a long time now, it's actually starting to worry me. It can't be good for my health. But if it kills me, I will have died doing something that I loved, so I have that going for me, which is nice.

But back to Theo. I guess I wish him the best in his personal life. At least I try not to wish him any ill beyond total and complete professional failure so long as he runs the team. What bothers me is the amount of attention people pay him. I don't know that what he did was all that much more impressive than Ken Williams putting together a championship White Sox team.

Now that I think about it, I think Ken Williams had a much tougher task building that team than Theo had winning in Boston. The White Sox have a smaller payroll (103 mil vs. 120 for the BoSox), a longer tradition of losing (1917 vs. 1918 might not seem so big, until you factor in the thrown series in 1919), a worse relationship with the local media (the CHB for as big a tool as he is pales in comparison with Jay Mariotti) and maybe the worst behaved fans in the free world (Eagles fans are bad, but when has the wife of an opposing player been hit in Philly?).

And then there's Halloween. The GM of the team with the second highest payroll in Major League Baseball snuck out of the team offices in a gorilla suit? I'm still having trouble accepting that. Some of my friends, who for reasons of their own root for the Sox, have attempted to convince me that this was cool. I am not buying that. To me, it called to mind images of Magnum PI sneaking out of the Robin Masters' estate because he promised Higgins he'd water the begonias.

I think the best part of the whole mess is that it reaffirmed one key fact. The Globe sports department sucks. That fact has been well established. After all, I am but the latest in a long line of bloggers and other types who have gone at the CHB. But when push comes to shove, the lions in their dens between Landsdowne and Yawkey Way tremble at the CHB's approach.

Our beloved Theo, Prom Date to the Dateless, Spendthrift Disciple of Billy Beane and Mastermind To End All Masterminds dressed in a gorilla costume. A nice nod to the day, perhaps, but not the way to go out. If I were going to go out, I'd go out like Brian Cox when he came out to the boos of the Buffalo fans, with both birds held high. Or maybe like a drunken Tony Montana bidding his fellow restaurant patrons to say good night to the bad man.

I suppose I'm being a bit harsh to Theo. No matter what he's done among my enemies, his grandfather did write Casablanca. That should be worth a free pass for a generation or two. I imagine it would be, were I not a sad, small person consumed by trivial hatreds. But I admit that. That makes me a good person.

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.