Good evening sports fans. Things have been a bit hectic here as I juggled a side project or two, a possibly broken TV and my preparations for the upcoming season of fantasy football. If only I had the desire to apply the time and energy I currently devote to foolishness to a positive, career building strategy.

The West Coast has not been kind to our friends in the AL East. Yes, the Red Sox are coming off of a sweep at the hands of the Mariners. Yes, they are 6 and 1/2 games out of first. Yes, the CHB has dusted off the wait till next year bit in his own inimitable fashion, and utterly butchered it. Yes, it looks bleak for the Old Towne Team, but I am not convinced. The lone voice of optimism for the 2006 edition of the Red Sox is the author of Sedition in Red Sox Nation.

It scares me. But I remember doing a victory lap on my friends and family after the Yankees beat the Sox like they stole something in Game 3 of the ALCS in 2004. I even got an "eff you" out of my brother as soon as he picked up the phone after a big home run by the Bronx Bombers. And then there was the comeback. And I had to listen to every person I taunted taunt me. In case you wonder, ladies and gentlemen, crow is singularly unappetizing. But I answered the calls, because only a tool taunts when things are good and then hides when they aren't. So I am waiting until the Sox are mathematically eliminated this year before I celebrate.

For as poorly as the Red Sox performed against the Mariners (who are themselves, an unfortunate 13 games behind Oakland), there is still the fact that they lost no ground to the Yankees on this trip. It doesn't matter in the end that the Red Sox can't beat Tampa Bay. Nor does it matter that the As savaged the Red Sox not long before my long silence. It doesn't even matter that the Yankees trounced the Tigers when they met earlier this season. There are too many games left to be played for me to rest comfortably. But that isn't the theme of tonight's post.

Nor is the theme the bizarre recusatio (Latin for a rhetorical device where a speaker claims he will not talk about something in the act of talking about it. I try to avoid being a nerd whenever possible, but you can see how many words it took me to explain one Latin term, had to do it) Shaughnessy published in the Sunday Globe. Read it, and tell me that it's not a rip job on Manny. I'll warn you ahead of time that if I'm not buying it from the CHB, I probably won't buy it from you. But if those few who read this and know me can convince me, I will apologize.

Tonight's theme has been on my mind for a long time now. Every year, people in Red Sox Nation think Jim Rice should be in the Hall of Fame but he doesn't make the cut. Every year, I don't think he should get in and they tell me he was the best power hitter in baseball in his era. To borrow a quote from a Roy Orbison song (and I don't feel guilty, since Gram Parsons covered it and Nazareth mauled it): "I'm young, I know, but even so...I know a thing or two." And to borrow a quote from Skip Bayless, "It's the Hall of Fame, not the Hall of Very Good."

Jim Rice was a good player. He was not however, the best power hitter in baseball in his era, unless you restrict his era to 1077-1978, or you discount the great fighting city of Philadelphia. In 16 seasons, Jim Rice hit 382 home runs. Mike Schmidt hit 548 home runs in 18 seasons. Rice drove in 1451 runs, Schmidt drove in 1595. Both retired in 1989, and only one is in the Hall of Fame.

1978 was a magical season for Jim Rice. He hit 46 homers and drove in 139. He had 15 triples, 406 total bases and won the MVP. He also batted .315. Mike Schmidt only hit for an average over .300 once, the strike shortened 1981 season. In his best statistical season, Schmidt hit 48 home runs, but drove in 121 runs and had just 342 total bases.

He hit .298 for his career, which is higher than Schmidt's .267 average. Rice also hit 20 more triples in 2 fewer season. But then he played in Fenway Park, not Veterans Stadium. And Jim Rice played in a lineup that featured a pitcher hitting in only World Series games in 1975 and 1986. Conversely, Schmidt only played in games with a DH following the 1980 and 1983 seasons.
When one looks at the career number, it is then that the advantage is much more clearly in Schmidt's favor. Jim Rice hit 30 or more home runs four times in his career. Mike Schmidt hit 30 or more home runs every year from 1974 to 1987, with the exception of 1978. Jim Rice out homered Mike Schmidt in 1977, 1978 and 1988 in the years their careers overlapped. Mike Schmidt 40 or more home runs 3 times, compared to just once fore Rice. The Phillies third baseman led the league in homers a mere 8 times, whereas Rice managed the feat a robust 3 times (77,78 and 83). Schmidt was MVP 3 times, to Rice's 1. Rice won two Silver Slugger awards, Mike Schmidt won 6. Schmidt won the World Series in 1980, and won the World Series MVP. Rice, as we all know, won 0 titles.

Rice batted .333 in his lone World Series (1986). Schmidt hit .220 in his two World Series, but there was his disastrous showing in 1983 where he hit .050. In 1980, he hit .381 with 2 HR and 7 RBI (for those of you keeping score at home that matches the totals for Rice's 18 playoff games, none of which came in World Series play). In 2 more seasons, Schmidt drew 201 intentional walks to Rice's 77. He was also hit by 79 pitches while Rice was hit a mere 64 times, for someone who was allegedly unpopular with his rivals on a colossal scale.

It is somewhat unfair to compare the two, as Schmidt was the greatest third baseman (just think of the 10 Gold Gloves he won from 1976-1984 and 1986) of all time, and Rice was Jim Rice. For someone like ARod to rival Schmidt he'd have to hit 800 HR and tap dance across the confluence of the Hudson and East Rivers. Jim Rice was a very good player and a good hitter, but he didn't earn a place in a league with Mike Schmidt.

As much as people say Fenway isn't the hitter's park we all think it is, there is no way you can convince me that a hitter like Mike Schmidt wouldn't have out up more home runs here than in the Vet. Nor can you convince me that Jim Rice didn't have an artificially high triples stat because of the stadium, not to mention RBI that might have been outs if he didn't play in what John Updike called the lyrical bandbox of Fenway Park. And if you don't believe me, go to this site and compare for yourself.

Ladies and gentlemen, after long absence, I'm back. It's quite fortunate for me that it coincides with the Boston Massacre 2006. When I last posted on July 24, the Sox were in first place. Now the Sox are 6 and 1/2 games back in the division and four back in the wildcard following today's loss. It's not every day that the team you hate above all others loses 5 consecutive games to their most hated rivals over the course of four days, so I trust you'll forgive me for gloating a little bit.

Unfortunately, nothing so enjoyable comes without cost. In this case, the cost is nearly substantial enough to outweigh the triumphant sweep. Dan Shaughnessy, better known to three generations of science fiction fans in the British Isles as Dr. Who, is back with a vengeance. This presents me with a dilemma. You who read this might think that because I wish to annoy and depress Red Sox Nation I should have no problem with the CHB. After all, his apparent goal in writing what he writes the way he writes it seems to be to cause the greatest amount of aggravation to the greatest number of New Englanders.

However, I do not like the CHB as a writer or as a guest commentator on various and sundry TV and radio programs. It is my opinion that his MO can be explained thusly: he wraps a misdirected sense of moral outrage in poorly worded prose rife with awful allusions and ghastly turns of phrase (just check my earlier post which enshrined him in the Max Mercy HOF). He pretends to be a defender of the people and a chronicler of Red Sox history because those two angles can fill half of his columns with the barest minimum of effort. And for some strange reason, he has decided that the safest place for him to conclude his not so illustrious career is safely (he hopes) ensconced in Larry Lucchino's pocket.

In another of my past posts (it's been so long that I am willing to commit the sin of self-reference again), I drew from the film Kelly's Heroes to criticize Terry Francona's managerial style. I will do so again, this time to draw an interesting parallel to the CHB, albeit one that is unfair to the original. In the film, there is an exchange between the platoon sergeant Big Joe played by Telly Savalas and the corrupt supply sergeant Crap Game played by the immortal Don Rickles. Big Joe accuses Crap Game of only taking risks when he smells a profit, and Crap Game's defense was merely to say: "Well, I'm coming out now." Shaughnessy's piece in this past Sunday's Globe was his version of emerging when he smelled a profit.

As much as it pains me to defend America's Prom Date, I think I have to now. I am amazed that Theo still has a job after the CHB so elegantly skewered him with this gem: "The computer-geek management style has been thoroughly exposed in the last two days and there's a perfect storm brewing upstairs on Yawkey Way." For an unfortunate change of pace this July/August, Dan Shaughnessy found himself in the cat bird seat.

If Theo didn't make a trade, the CHB could attack him for that. If Theo parted with one of his young arms to fill one or two of the holes that riddle his lineup and it didn't pan out, the CHB could have had a field day with that situation. Of course if Theo made that theoretical trade and the Prom Date turned out to be this generation's Lou Gorman (by that I mean selling a hot prospect to rent a player for a single pennant race), the CHB would be set to wind out his career rehashing that mistake 25 times a season until he retired. And in the worst case, if Theo had acquired Bobby Abreu, the CHB could complain that the Sox couldn't afford to take on the remainder of this season's salary, next year's $15 million and the $2 million buyout for 2008. It must be nice to have to do so little to earn your daily bread.

I can only hope that the CHB didn't strain his formidable intellect when he crafted this: "Odd that Henry would be celebrating Epstein's engagement at a time when the honeymoon is officially over for the most popular and bulletproof general manager in Boston sports history." The late, great Ernest Hemingway might have classified that as the one true sentence which he himself so desperately sought, provided that Hemingway were a dreadful writer and a mental midget.

Before the CHB stepped down from his soap box, he fired this parting shot at America's Prom Date: "The cruise is over and so is the free ride for Theo. No disgrace in that, it happens to all of them, but the Sox need a quick turnaround to keep Epstein out of the shark-infested waters that devoured the likes of Lou Gorman and Dan Duquette." I feel compelled to point out that the CHB tailored this piece around the engagement party John Henry threw for Theo on his yacht, lest you get the impression that the nautical references were completely from left field.

I was unaware that Theo got a free ride. After all, there was the CHB to carp (couldn't resist the bad pun against the shark-infested waters, which must surely have included a small element of ego on the part of the author) at him during his tenure as Sox GM. As for Theo being bulletproof and maybe sharing the fate of Lou Gorman and Dan Duquette, I can't believe that such a perceptive and enlightened knight of the keyboard could ignore one simple fact. Unlike Dan Duquette, Lou Gorman, Haywood Sullivan and every other GM from 1918 to 2004, Theo presided over a World Series championship team. Or maybe Dan happened to be on vacation in 2004. Maybe he had a lot of work to do in his side job, traveling in a phone booth protecting the space-time continuum against the Daleks.

There are a few other facts that the CHB might want to consider before he takes to the keyboard and charges Theo like Don Quixote going after the windmills. First, unless I missed something, no World Series champion has repeated since the Yankees in 2000. Second, the fans I talk to don't seem quite ready to mutiny. And third, he ran the show when the team won the World Series for the first time since 1918. I know, I said that before but it bears repeating.

Of course the piece wouldn't have been complete without a quote from the CHB's puppeteer, Larry Lucchino. The president of the Sox had this to say:

"This is not the best time for me to offer comment. I'm a little agitated, as
the average fan is. Everybody feels a sense of disappointment about these first
three games. I would understand if the manager is keenly disappointed in the way
these first three games have gone. It's still a long season. Come and talk to me
later."

According to the CHB, John Henry was unavailable for comment. Theo, or "young Theo" as the CHB insists on calling him, was also unavailable when the CHB was writing his article. Of course, this was the day before America's Prom Date faced the press for his now famous 26 minute grilling on Sunday. I started wondering whether Lucchino kept the CHB locked up in his basement like the gimp from Pulp Fiction, but that was far too frightening a prospect to dwell on.

I had intended to gloat like crazy over the debacle that this series was. Then I started thinking that it might be just a little early to start a victory lap. The Red Sox have had an irritating habit of surviving improbable situations of late. So I was checking out some of the stories on boston.com. And then I read the CHB's latest "effort." His article was so well conceived and well written that it inspired the pseudonymous author of Sedition in Red Sox Nation to waste his first post in nearly a month defending a guy he's attacked since the birth of this blog in April. It's amazing what a talented writer can achieve.

There is an underappreciated old movie I enjoy quite a bit. Actually there are quite a few, but this one particular film has been on my mind since last night's game with the Mariners ended the way it did. It's called Khartoum, and it's about an uprising in the Sudan in 1884. Charlton Heston stars as "Chinese" Gordon, a British general leading the defense of Khartoum. The Mahdi, the leader of the Sudanese attacking the city, is played by Laurence Olivier. It's quite good, I highly recommend it.

It is of particular significance to this evening's post because there is a particular scene where the two rivals meet in the Mahdi's tent. The backstory, as simply put as possible, is that a British relief force is slowly marching down the Nile, ostensibly to rescue Gordon. In reality, Prime Minister Gladstone ordered the commander to move slowly, so that Gordon would be forced to flee the city and that British troops would not have to fight in the Sudan. Gordon refused to leave, and sent his deputy to force the advancing force to come more quickly. The Mahdi's forces intercepted and killed the deputy, but the Mahdi sent a fake message to Gordon saying the British army was picking up the pace. Not long after, the Mahdi summoned Gordon to his tent for a conference, where he revealed the ruse.

Believe it or not, this does actually relate to the defeat in Seattle. The Mahdi tells Gordon that the message was fake, and explains why he did it. By the Mahdi's rationale is that if you allow your adversary a few sunny moments of false hope, then he will be utterly devastated when he sees the totality of his defeat looming before him. To make a long story short, that's a bit like what befell the Red Sox yesterday.

Every time Seattle took the lead, the Red Sox tantalized their fans with comeback. Then the Sox would do something dumb. Alex Gonzales managed to flip the ball in Mike Lowell's general direction, which may have been a nice play, provided, of course, that a Seattle baserunner weren't running between them. The throw hit the runner in the back, and turned a potential force play at third base into a run.

Then there was Manny being Manny, sliding every which way but where the ball was. Actually, that's a bit unfair, he did manage to slide into the ball in the seventh. Might have been a nice play, if they went to Seattle to play soccer. Alas, that it had to be baseball.

But the play of the game had to be Coco Crisp's over the top effort to make a circus catch on Beltre's potential home run. Unfortunately, Coco was coco-nuts on the play and the ball bounced off the wall 10 feet behind him. After that came a series of mishaps that would have horrified the Three Stooges. By the way, I feel redeemed from that awful pun, as the Red Sox currently sell t shirts with that dreadful play on words on the front and Crisp #10 on the back. I know. I've seen them. And I am aware that one really ought not write a parenthetical paragraph, but I'm only human. In case you were wondering, Reason # 77 that you ought to know you're a tool but obviously don't realize it, is you are wearing an "I'm Coco Nuts" shirt (apologies to my good friend who was wearing one when I was hanging out with him over the 4th of July, reason # 13 that you are given immunity from tool status is that you hooked the Cincinnati Kid up with a quality cigar).

Manny couldn't/wouldn't/didn't do more to back up his center fielder than point to the ball. Then there was the wild throw that wasn't cut off by Alex Gonzales. By the time Lowell came up with the ball and threw home, it was too late. What should have been a loud out, or maybe a double because it was a reasonably well hit ball, and a lot of things can happen became an inside the park home run because the Red Sox vaunted defense fell asleep at the switch.

And then Jason Varitek stepped to the plate, the captain had the last shot to tie the game. And he took a two out, two strike pitch deep into the right field seats. The Red Sox had their few sunny moments of hope. They had a bit of life. As Tito said, Varitek had a "beautiful swing" at it. And then Richie Sexson reached out and snatched it from their grasp. He hit a walk off homer off of Mike Timlin. I wonder whether that took the jam out of Timlin's doughnut.

It was so stunning in its perfection and timing that it left only me to question why Francona left Timlin in for the ninth inning. Surely after something like the Keystone Kops turn a long fly ball into an inside the park home run a man of even moderate intelligence might have thought that it wasn't Timlin's day. That the stars were aligned against him. That maybe karma was coming for him like that old bat in the car came for Earl Hickey. Not Francona. Not yesterday. Mariners win.

Ladies and gentlemen, I'm sorry it's been a while since I last tormented my public. A variety of things have happened which have contributed to my intoxication. For the first time in the history of this blog I am attempting to post a serious entry after a night of drinking beer.
There was not a whole lot to say about the series w/ the Royals. Yes, the Sox swept them, but then again, it was the Royals. I'm sorry too, about the lack of links, but I'm drunk, and too tired for due diligence. Then there was the makeup game against the Rangers. But that is neither here nor there as far as the blog is concerned.

The Sox did manage to lose today, which is nice. It might touch the cockels of my heart, but I realize that I exist in a minority of one in this instance. If I had the time abd the desire, there would be a post or two up that I've been holding back. In the next 2 nights, I will return to eairing my grievances in blog form. Soon enough, I will be back to writing the way I want, so take comfort or gather your patience, and this blog shall be back.

Would that I had more to say on the A's punking the Red Sox this evening, but who can do a beating like that justice? Plus it was my misfortune to run into a cat with a 2004 World Series ring this evening. That coupled with an old friend who told him that I stopped drinking St. Louis beer (Bud/Bud Light) in the wake of the Cardinals collapse in that unfortunate series is enough to put a damper on my enthusiasm. In my defense, I am (and have been since those who know the Cincinnati Kid can remember) a Miller High Life drinker.

The Cardinals awful play is merely one excuse for not drinking St. Louis beer. I have some others, but I will not expend both barrels on Anheiser Busch until I get paid for it. The only reason I'm posting tonight is that I have been alerted to the existence of this site recently. It can take you to this site, which was surprising and disappointing for a brief moment, until one realized that the English and their govt were left behind in the New World.

Go here, and see how short and expensive life can be. I must say I wish I had more to add, but I must disappoint my loyal readers. All I can say is got to the site above, or click on this particular link. Even if it won't find you treasure, it might help you find the missing piece which can make us all soldiers.

It is now about 36 hours after the main portion of this post was composed. I have no idea what the hell I was thinking when I wrote it. I don't know why I made the English government reference. I have no idea what it meant. Nor do I understand where the make us all soldiers bit came from. The original intention with the last link above (which sends you to a site entitled "When Tools Attack") was to make some bad joke about tools attacking failing to include the Red Sox who are, as we all know, giant tools.

It wouldn't have been very funny, so I guess it's just as well that I went the Kellen Winslow II route. It was certainly in poor taste with the unpleasantness overseas, so I apologize. Part of me wanted to delete this post altogether, but in the spirit of honesty and cynicism that are the hallmarks of this blog, I had to leave it up with my apology. This is yet one more from the long list of reasons why one shouldn't drink and blog.

From beer with dinner to White Russians at the bar to more beer on my return, I should never have posted. But I did, and I won't try to save myself the embarassment. I only wish I had the flight data recorder going to help me understand the English in the New World referrence. All I can say in my defense is that at least I wasn't dumb enough to drive that night.

Haloscan commenting and trackback have been added to this blog.

Believe it or not, I'm not going to dwell too much on the 2nd consecutive game the Red Sox dropped in extra innings. It was a master stroke of strategy for Francona to pinch run Willie Harris in the 9th. While he did manage to get picked off in a botched hit and run (of course we have to blame Francona for that, since it's his call), surely he did it with style and flair that Trot Nixon could not have summoned in that situation. As for Loretta's error, these things happen. Alas, they do not happen enough.

Nor do I have much to say about the All Star game. I watched some of it over at a friend's place. I left early, though. I am one of the many, many people who haven't bought the "This time it counts" line. If it truly counts, then Eric Gagne's consecutive save streak should have stopped after he let up the home run that clinched home field for the AL the first time they tried this foolish experiment.

The MLB All Star game is a giant sham. If you've read even one of my previous entries, you can tell that I like sports (baseball, basketball and football anyway). I watch at least an hour of sports a day. In the fall, I watch maybe 36 hours of football, between college and the pros. And yet Tuesday night, I left my friend's place at 10:30 to hustle home because Things to do in Denver When You're Dead was coming on IFC at 10:45.

For those of you who haven't seen it, I highly recommend it. It's a very underrated movie. And more importantly, it inspires the question: "What happened to Gabrielle Anwar?" She did some excellent work in this film, she was good in the tango scene from Scent of A Woman and she wasn't bad in the Three Musketeers, which wasn't horrible (given the rest of the cast and the Disney production, that's high praise).

But that's another story for another day. What concerns me today is something that might bear looking at. The All Star break is over, the second half of the season begins in earnest today (since some teams had yesterday off). As I look at the MLB landscape, it is the best of times and it is the worst of times. Two careers have experienced a resurgence in the American League's Eastern Division over the last season and the first half of the current campaign. The question before us, as sports fans (and lovers of truth?) is how have these careers emerged from the ashes?

Last season, Jason Giambi won the Viagra MLB Comeback Player of the Year Award. Leaving aside the irony of said award being sponsored by an ED drug, we must look at the issue objectively. Giambi admitted to using illicit performance enhancing drugs. He apologized to the fans, for what he didn't specify at the time but it seemed clear that it was for the steroid use. But he is back now, hitting homers like he used to (although his average isn't that great).

Some people choose to believe that he's clean. Red Sox fans know better. I have been assured by some of the Red Sox fans whom I encounter from time to time (and who know my opinion on their favorite team, but not necessarily that I am the author of this blog) that Giambi is getting around on pitches that he couldn't get to in '04, or even last season. That he's as big as he ever was (whether or not he's as strong is another story). And there can only be one reason. He's on something, steroids, growth hormone, something.

For my part, admitted cynic though I am, I think he's clean. Or more precisely, I hope he's clean. Not because he hurts the Red Sox, and has a very nice habit of hitting big home runs off of Big Schill, but because after his horrific health scare, he'd have to be the dumbest man alive to be back on the juice. And we know he's not the dumbest man alive, because he's not this guy.

Then there's Mike Lowell. If he continues to put up numbers the way he has to this point in the season, he may well win the Comeback Player of the Year for 2006. After all, he has 12 home runs in 84 games for the Sox this season, compared to 8 for the Marlins in 150 games. Does that strike any one as suspicious timing? 2005 was a bad season to have a surprising drop in productivity (Lowell's HR total dropped from 27 in 2004 to 8, that's a big drop). To put this in perspective, I refer you to Tom Verducci's SI piece, in which he mentions that Neifi Perez hit more HRs and out-slugged Lowell last season.

But he's back now, and playing well for the Sox, so he must be fine. Giambi hitting home runs off Schilling can only be steroids, but the change in scenery, and a smaller park can work wonders for a guy's image. After all, it was the big park and a slow start that led Lowell to press last season, but in a better lineup with less pressure, it all came back together. If I didn't do it last week, there'd be a George Strait quote here.

P.S. On another note, Gene Wojciechowski must be stopped. As a Notre Dame fan, and not just because I'm Irish American, or because I jumped the bandwagon, but because I admire legitimate traditions, there must be no talk of national championships in July. And I don't want to hear how awesome Clausen is. Until he proves that he can play at that level and produce consistently, he's not the second coming of Joe Montana. Being a cynic, I have to say that if the bloodline were really that impressive, why isn't a Clausen penciled into the opening day lineup in the NFL? There are 32 teams, and some dreadful quarterbacks (just think Da Bears on this one), but no Clausens. Like Thomas in the Gospel, I'll believe it when I see it.

P.P.S While I was watching the All Star game, my friend and I talked about movies. He has Shawshank in his top five. I refuse to see it. I didn't much enjoy the story when it was called Falconer, and John Cheever wrote it (I am aware of the differences, but the story of the soul of an unjustly imprisoned man is close enough) and it was called Falconer. I won't see Shawshank because too many people have told me it's in their top 5. I don't want to pick on my friend here (I prefer to do it to his face), but I have to question the rationale behind someone (and he's not the only one I've noticed doing this) making a top 5 films list when they have yet to see (among others) The Magnificent Seven, The Great Escape, The Maltese Falcon, It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World (which was so funny that it was even kind of funny when they remade it as Rat Race), Citizen Kane and a whole host of other movies that should be considered among the all time greats.

P.P.P.S I hate postscripts, and yet I write them. I had these three things to post, and this was the best way I thought of to do it. This is the last. I hope you enjoyed this post and this blog as much as I enjoyed writing it. This could very well be my last entry. I don't know how long it might take, but I fully expect zombie Charles Dickens to rise from Westminster Abbey and come looking for me after the Tale of Two Cities allusion above. I had a pretty good run, all things considered.

So the All Star Break is upon us now. The Red Sox are riding in with some momentum, having won 2 of 3 from the Real Sox in Chicago. Yesterday's never ending game could be one a momentum crusher though. It's not every day that I get to see the Red Sox surrender the lead 3 times in one game. Of course 19 inning games aren't exactly a common occurrence for that matter.

Things were looking bleak for me, a couple of days after I started referring to the White Sox as the "Real Sox" they have to go and lose the first two games of the series to my mortal enemies in their own park. I just have that kind of timing. But one doesn't watch the team he hates above all others win the championship in 2004 without developing coping skills, like the ability to find the negative in everybody else's good time.

So I was ready for this post, even if Papelbon didn't come up big with a split that didn't split with 2 outs and a 1 run lead. It was his 3rd blown save of the year, and the first time he'd allowed a run on the road. The good thing about that is from here on the games get bigger as the playoffs approach. Papelbon was up for the stretch run last season, and he did appear in two playoff games, so he has some experience. The question is: "Will he be able to bear up under the strain of closing big games in a pennant race?"

As you might expect, I'm hoping that he won't hold up under the strain. I wonder too, what might happen to his psyche if he blows a few big games and finds out for himself exactly how fickle Red Sox Nation can be. I wasn't very impressed with this analysis of the home run Jermaine Dye hit off him last night:

``I threw it really lackadaisical," Papelbon said. ``He hadn't seen my split the day before. I wanted to throw him something to where he would look at and not swing at, but it caught the middle of the plate.

``At the same time, he hasn't seen my split, and even though it wasn't a good one, you've got to give him credit for keeping that ball fair, one, and taking it out of the park. He was smokin' hot, on fire, between last night and today."

Never having faced the media after blowing a save, I can't really say that I'd carry myself better than Papelbon did. That said, I think he could probably have come up with something that didn't come off as petulant as that excerpt from the Globe story on the game.

He is a bit young. For his sake, I hope he learns that he shouldn't throw lackadaisical pitches with two outs in the bottom of the ninth when trying to protect a one run lead. For my sake, I hope he keeps throwing pitches like that. There is also the chance that his honeymoon with Red Sox Nation might come to a bitter end if he keeps throwing lackadaisical pitches in big situations.
Over the weekend, I watched Gladiator again. Aside from the fact that it might be the best movie of the last ten years, it's also full of amazing scenes, from the battles to the scene where Proximo grabs the slave trader by the junk and yells at him for selling queer giraffes. As I watched the Battle of Carthage reenactment, I realized that Joaquin Phoenix playing Commodus is Mark Cuban. Watch it again, look at the way Commodus reacts to the sword thrusts, it's just like Cuban reeling and flailing when Dirk Nowitzki fails to kick 4th quarter ass (to quote Jason Whitlock).

I wonder now, whether the Benefactor sits in his office reviewing game tapes before sending them off to the league office watching Dwyane Wade driving through the defense and looks at Avery Johnson saying something like: "Why wasn't this called a charge. It vexes me that this wasn't an offensive foul. I'm terribly vexed." Does he sit in his chair at league meetings twirling a sword on the floor like Commodus did in his first meeting with the Senate? Would Mark Cuban make Stu Jackson embrace someone dying of plague?

If Mark Cuban is Commodus, and Bill Simmons is his new hero, does that make the Sports Guy Cuban's version of the loyal senator who tells the story about the sea snake that lets its enemies take bites out of it?

I feel that it is my duty to point out that I am not the first person to make this comparison. Here's what I assume is a representative sample of the people who've thought of this before I did. I thought I had something original here, but it was funny enough to roll out anyway. Or so I thought.

After tonight's unfortunate 9th inning, I find myself with very little to say on the finale of the series with the Red Sox. I do not find myself feeling humbled after my earlier statements, what with the fact that the lowly D-Rays did manage to take 3 of 4 from the mighty Red Sox. Perhaps the Red Sox might have a bit more difficulty with the teams they face from here on out than they did with the NL East.

Two things caught my eye in my reading before bed, which is what prompted this unprecedented third post in one day.

First, was this gem from the NY Times. It has absolutely nothing to do with the Red Sox, baseball or sports in general. But I thought it was worth reading. If I were the husband described in this piece, I would be more than a little upset that this made it into the "paper of record," but that's just me. As a disclaimer, I should note that I am single, so I have no idea what it takes to make a marriage work. I do know from a series of failed interpersonal relationships what makes one go tragically wrong, and sometimes spectacularly wrong. I just think this guy is a loser. Also I wonder how this particular piece fits into the "all the news that's fit to print" mentality of the Grey Lady.

Then there's the Letters to the Editor page of today's Globe. I really don't know how this particular letter, from some tool in Wellesley made the cut to be published by a major metropolitan newspaper. So the guy saw a monarch butterfly on a growth of milkweed in Yawkey Station. And his communion with the natural world set a nice counterpoint to the harsh, apathetic crowd of Red Sox fans who were ignorant of a mystery of life unfolding in their midst. Ordinarily, I am in favor of any avenue to criticize Red Sox Nation, but the world is a big a complex place, not every one has the time to look at butterflies. Nor is it some red badge of courage to point out that you have the sensibilities to appreciate both baseball and a butterfly.

I really don't like posting twice on the same day. It provides yet one more conformation that I have no life. When I saw that LeBron had yet to agree on the extension with Cleveland I just had to get something up on that topic. I'm also sorry that I didn't provide many links for my wild speculations. It was just something that occurred to me, and I thought I should run with it. I think I might just be the first guy to get anything on the possibility (albeit a very slim one at best) that LeBron could one day wear a Celtics uniform.

This post has been in the works since last night, and now that we've put basketball aside for the moment, I can return to attacking the Red Sox for an evening (which is, after all, the stated purpose of this site). This has been quite a series down in Tampa. The local nine have dropped three straight to the lowly Devil Rays. Bob Ryan says it's too early to panic, and he's right. But it still has to hurt a bit, especially when someone like me throws a little salt in the wound.

The Devil Rays may be better than you think. Weird things can happen in the course of a long season like the catch Crawford made against Youkilis last night. But the Red Sox were red hot, winning 15 of 16 before they came to Tampa. They had, prior to this series, lost 4 of their last 6 in Tampa. But the Devil Rays are a last place team. Unless of course they win tonight and the Orioles lose to the White Sox (or as they'll be called on this site henceforth, the Real Sox).

The Sox seemed like they had good reason to feel optimistic entering this series, with Josh Beckett starting the first game and Schilling starting game 2. I bet no one would have thought that the last line of defense against a Tampa Bay sweep would be Tim Wakefield. Of course, no one expected that the mighty Red Sox lineup would be 2 hit by Scott Kazmir. Or that Big Schill would allow 3 home runs. But these things happen.

As for Big Schill himself, I'm still waiting for his response to Mitch Williams. I hate to link to the androidsdungeon so soon after the whole Dr. Who episode, but it was the first place where I found the reference to Mitch Williams calling Schilling out. Quite literally. After the blown save that blew the 1993 World Series, Wild Thing took issue with comments Big Schill made. According to him, Big Schill had best borrow some guts and meet the Wild Thing outside. I am not commenting on the truth of this story, necessarily. I like to take things like this with a grain of salt. I just bring it up to be a thorn in the side of Red Sox fans. And, lest we forget, they say a charge not answered is a charge believed. For what that's worth...

Carl Crawford quite literally stole the show last night. It's not every day that you see a guy steal home. In fact, it hasn't happened to the Sox since 2000. It was such big news, it even made it into a nice little featurette in the KC Star, where Crawford revealed that no one had pitched from the windup with him on 3rd base until Schilling did it 2 nights ago. Then Jason Johnson, he of the notorious ability to lose games, did it. The rest, as they say, is history.

Then there was the wacky play where Crawford caught a ball that Kevin Youkilis hit off a catwalk in the outfield (see the bottom of this piece for "keen" analysis). The Greek God of Walks screamed bloody murder that he should not have been called out. Unfortunately, according to the ground rules, he was out. Francona called it "putt-putt golf stuff" and said it had no place in baseball. I disagree. Crawford made one hell of a play on that ball. To break back and catch a ball fading away from you after it hit a catwalk is worthy of an out.

And for all you Red Sox fans, before you agree with Francona and lobby for rules changes in Tampa, ask yourself whether or not you'd agree with Carl Crawford being called out had it been him at the plate and Manny Ramirez made a catch like that in left field. From time to time, a little intellectual honesty is good for the soul (for those few Red Sox fans that have one). I doubt you'd rally for justice had the shoe been on the other foot.

Meanwhile, I address my parting shot at Kevin Youkilis. In a somewhat ironic gesture, he threw a tantrum at the call. Without the field being miked, it seems that he may have done a bit more to get himself ejected than Jorge Cantu did, but that's neither here nor there. Of late at Fenway, Youke has been coming to bat to the dulcet and underplayed tones of "Jump Around" by House of Pain. And, work with me here Red Sox fans (I'll try to use simple words and write slowly, lest you think too hard and sprain something), here's where we reach the ironic part.

In the intricately composed opus with which Youkilis gets himself in the hitting zone, there is this line: "I ain't goin' out like no punk b----." In my way of thinking that is ironic, since that is exactly how he went out after that call.

This is just a quick postscript to last night's effort. A longer post on the Devil Rays recent rejuvenation will be forthcoming tonight, maybe tomorrow.

There is a big question looming in the minds of Cleveland fans. And it's not "Theo Epstein gave up cash or a player to be named later for Jason Johnson????" Aside from the fact that America's Prom Date is slipping, the real question is: "What is LeBron's future in Cleveland?"

The other big stars who came out of the 2003 draft like Dwyane Wade, Carmelo Anthony and Chris Bosch have all indicated that they would extend their contracts 5 years for the maximum salary allowed by the bargaining agreement ($80 million dollars). None of them have signed yet because the NBA rules prohibit them from signing until July 12. But LeBron hasn't said a word yet. He does have a pretty large window of opportunity (July 12-October 1) in which to make his decision.

But it still begs the question, what will happen if LeBron didn't sign? King James isn't eligible for free agency until after the upcoming season, but can the Cavs afford to keep him for a year and have him walk away after the season. I don't see how you can trade LeBron and get even 75 cents on the dollar in return, but you can't let a guy like that walk and get nothing for him.

This question is of interest for two reasons. Number one, is there a possibility that the Celtics could acquire him? And number two, if LeBron is dealt from the Cavs this offseason, where does that leave that team. The first question is the most intriguing, but the second is the most important as it is, at post time the more realistic of the possibilities.

But first things first. I don't see the Celtics being able to acquire LeBron James. To do so, they would almost certainly have to give up Pierce and one, maybe two of their promising young players. Plus the amount of money under the salary cap and the insanely complex economics of the NBA would make a two team deal nearly impossible. If you click on Pierce's name up above, you'll go to his player page on realGM.com, and you'll find that he's the 16th highest paid player in the NBA. Good luck dealing him, or acquiring a legit 2nd option (I think that Wally is at best a 3rd option, unless, as is the case for Cs, there is no one better).

Any trade for LeBron would have to be a multi-team, multi-player nightmare of a deal with spare parts flying every which way. And we've all seen, by now, that Danny Ainge can't be in a multi-team trade without finding the way to minimize the value the Celtics receive in return to an insane degree. There's no way that could happen and leave LeBron in a Boston uniform.

As for LeBron ending up in LA or NY, which seems to be the object of the exercise for the overall NBA marketing plan...the Knicks are too screwed up right now. He can't play with Kobe. And who knows if the Clippers could sustain the type of spending they did to make a playoff run into another season. He certainly can't play with Paul Pierce. Their particular style of play would be too similar, or would be if LeBron were less talented than he is. Paul Pierce for his part has shown reluctance to share the spotlight. So that can't happen.

As for him coming here in trade for Pierce (presuming Danny Ferry subscribed to the Danny Ainge How To Paralyze a Franchise Correspondence Course at the Isaiah Thomas Institute for Killing a Basketball Team), that seems ridiculous to me. The thing that holds King James back in Cleveland is an inferior supporting cast. And somehow, Boston would be better? The trouble with the Celtics is that all of these kinds have potential (in the NBA parlance of our times guys like Jefferson, Gomes West, Perkins and so on might even have tremendous upside potential), but they haven't managed to accomplish much as yet. In the long run, it would be better for LeBron to stay in Cleveland than come to the declined and fallen Celtic empire (apologies to grammar and Edward Gibbon).

Of course, there is always the possibility that Danny Ainge might have to do something dramatic to remind people that there is a basketball team in town. He might even realize that Bostonians might discover the closely guarded secret that Antoine Walker helped a team win a ring, even though Ainge didn't like his game. If that story broke, Ainge might find the media and the fans keeping a watchful eye on his stewardship of the Celtic franchise. That's the last thing he needs, if he wants to remain employed.

The more likely scenario is that Cleveland will trade LeBron and the Celtics won't get him. Getting 75% value for LeBron might net a few decent players. But they won't be a contender. They might not be a playoff team, which would leave them with a lottery pick next season. Interestingly enough, in a story that seemed to be broken on this site (it wasn't) based on the attention it received at the time, the Celtics once owned the rights to the Cleveland pick in the first round in 2007.

And since no one paid as much attention to this as they should have, you might wonder where said pick went. It went to Phoenix, along with $1.8 million to pay a retired stiff whom you may know as Brian Grant. In return Celtic fans get Rajon Rondo. I could do a better job running the Celtics in my sleep than Danny Ainge does.

And if you don't believe me, just watch Theo Ratliff trying to Willis Reed his way around the court in the season opener. Tell me that he's not an overpaid, overage version of Kendrick Perkins with serious, lingering health issues. I hated Raef. I screamed bloody murder about the Antoine trade because he was part of it. He was useless. His contract was terrible. He was soft. But at least he was consistently in the lineup. Now he's gone, and his replacement has two "redeeming" qualities. First, allegedly he can play defense. He could at one point, I concede, but it's 2006 not 1999. And last, his terrible contract expires on year before Raef's terrible contract. And yet it is only the Cincinnati Kid who calls for Danny's termination. And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.

Ladies and Gentlemen, it's been a while since I posted an update on my blog. Rest assured, I have my reasons. My computer is in the weeds with what I assume is a virus problem. I have a theory or two to account for this problem. If you visit Mark Cuban's blog (Bear in mind, you do so at the risk of your own intellectual well being) with its continual critique of journalism such as it is, perhaps you might see where I'm coming from. If you can find the point in the latest entry, I think you win a prize.

Is it a coincidence that my computer is wracked with a virus while Mark Cuban treats a topic (Ozzie Guillen's recent verbal verbal misstep) covered in agonizing detail by a site in which Mark Cuban himself has been the subject of a vicious attack? Most likely, it is a coincidence. We here at Cincinnati Kid Industries do endorse most forms of paranoia. Particularly the delusional variety.

There is also the possibility that the Red Sox themselves are tired of me, the lone voice of truth in a sycophantic region devoted to glossing over their foibles. As was the case in the Seinfeld episode where Kramer tried to scam the Post Office into replacing Jerry's stereo, the Red Sox just might be endeavoring to drag the Cincinnati Kid from his cushy lair and force me to rely on internet cafes to expose me to the harsh, clear light of day as the monster I am. A monster so vile...

Whatever the case may be, I ought not rule out coincidence, especially as I am a great believer in Ockham's Razor. The likelihood of Mark Cuban or the Red Sox knowing who I am and what I write is pretty slim. My fame has yet to measure with my capabilities as a writer. I realize that, but I can live with it. But I am still paranoid. And yet, I am not quite prepared to rule out the possibility that I am right and you all are out to get me. For my part, I believe that paranoid and arrogant is a winning combination, although it might explain why I'm still single. I've also been told that I'm immature and afraid of commitment. It just might take that weird cult leader from eHarmony.com to get me off the market. Then again, I think I'd rather be single than go through a process like Warren Beatty went through in the Parallax View. I wouldn't want to live in a world where I might come out the other side of the looking glass a Red Sox fan, or worse.

The real subject of my post should have been up a week ago, when it was relevant. Alas, it has little to do with Scott Kazmir markedly outpitching Josh Beckett. I'm going to hold off on commenting on Curt Schilling's brilliant effort for a little while, too. Nor is the pathetic weakness of the NL East my concern on this fine evening. I must confess, that there was very little to say toward the stated purpose of this site with the recent wining streak ruining my days. And I have nothing patriotic to say to celebrate America's 230th birthday. Tonight my subject is Danny Ainge, and the inexplicable lack of criticism for his stewardship of the Celtics.

From what I saw of the NBA Draft (and I watched until Dee Brown was off the board because I thought he was vastly underrated), it seemed to me that Danny Ainge set out to make himself the worst GM in NBA history. Alas, Isaiah Thomas stole his thunder. No one will criticize Ainge when they can wonder why Isaiah picked Renaldo Balkman at 20. For those of you scoring at home, Balkman would almost assuredly have been available in free agency. After this, it mattered little whom Mr. Thomas selected with the 29th pick. For all the good this draft will do the Knicks, Isaiah might as well have drafted me.

The real issue is how poorly Ainge manipulated the draft process. In hindsight, the Cs could have ended up with Randy Foye or Brandon Roy, based on what Portland and Minnesota did with the 6th and 7th picks. For my part, I think that if Sebastian Telfair is all hype. Without that documentary film on ESPN, how many people would know him if they fell over him? And then there's Theo Ratliff. Who knew he was still alive, let alone still in the league? Read the last portion of this passage to get a realistic assessment of this trade.

If you read the article in the last link in the preceding paragraph, you'll find that Bob Ryan gave this draft an F-, and the two guys at the bottom of the piece have problems with Ainge's moves. But Peter May is willing to give Ainge the benefit of the doubt, and Shira Springer is guardedly optimistic. I hate to say this, but I agree with Bob Ryan. That is becoming a disturbing trend in this blog.

As for Rajon Rondo, according to Shira Springer, Ainge had him ranked 7th overall. Of course, Shira also pointed out that Danny Ainge has as much use for media mock drafts as he did for Antoine Walker. While the pro-Antoine anti-management bias of this site is overt, that doesn't mean that we are opposed to showing some consideration to those harboring opposing views. Nevertheless, I feel compelled to ask where Ms. Springer has been for the last several weeks.

In case she didn't notice, Antoine Walker earned a championship ring. As far as I know, not being familiar with the owners of the Pistons or the Heat, I cannot say the same for Danny Ainge as an executive. If I owned the Pistons, I would have been sure to give Danny a ring for the Rasheed Wallace trade where the Cs took spare parts (I will admit that Lindsay Hunter has been a solid player for a number of years, but how can he count when he never played for the Cs?) and Detroit took the O'Brien Trophy. As for the Heat's owner, I think he might make a nice gesture as Bob Kraft did on his visit to Russian head of state Vladimir Putin. After all, two of the players who helped win him the title had spent last season helping the Celtics to achieve their lone playoff appearance in the Danny Ainge Era.

Antoine Walker is vastly underappreciated as a basketball player. He can be arrogant. He misses a lot of shots. In many ways, he reminds me of me. People in Boston that think they know the Celtics, or think they know basketball still use his name as a punchline. To them, he's a poster boy for what's wrong with the NBA. And yet, he was a contributing member of a championship team. It is true that Danny Ainge was also a contributing member of the Celtics' dynasty of the 1980s, but what has he accomplished since then?

In the Miami Herald piece I linked above (see underappreciated), there are two paragraphs that need to be quoted:

In explaining the trade of a seven-year veteran and Celtics co-captain, Ainge reportedly told the media that Walker's leadership "stifled'' other players' leadership and had a ''grasp'' on the Celtics franchise that wasn't ``a positive thing.''

Walker pointed out, ``Look at Boston, look at me right now. Last time I checked, I don't think Boston's had that great a record since I've been gone.''

That speaks for itself. Perhaps Antoine Walker wasn't stifling the leadership of his former teammates. Perhaps there was no leadership there to be stifled. The Celtics cannot ignore the fact that Danny Ainge is a terrible GM. His hat hangs on his draft record. But the team is young, and as yet unproven. They have a great deal of potential, but the trouble with potential is that more often than not it is never reached.

And yet, there is no serious criticism of Danny Ainge the GM. Bill Simmons almost seemed like he wanted to go there in his Draft Diary. Instead, he chose a far easier target in Isaiah Thomas. To be fair, Isaiah's decisions are so bad that they demand immediate response and often overshadow the folly of those around him. I even considered inducting the Sports Guy into the Max Mercy Hall of Fame for leaving Ainge out of the bad GM summit he wrote a few months back (there is no link to this piece, Cincinnati Kid Industries cannot afford the archive subscription fee at ESPN.com). I had to rule against it, since I laugh out loud when I read his stuff. So for the immediate future, Bill is immune to the Max Mercy HOF, especially since the next inductee deserves a special ceremony.

As I said before, Shira Springer blithely said that mock drafts rank up there in Ainge World with Employee Number Eight. So I will wrap up this post with some cheerful thoughts for the last remaining Celtics fans. Danny Ainge elected to pay the money the Suns owed Brian Grant to sit home and watch TV (as he retired on June 28). For the record, that is $1.8 million to a guy who won't even play a game of basketball, let alone play for Boston and a first round pick next year (granted, it comes from Cleveland so that it won't be all that great unless King James vanishes from the material sphere) for Rajon Rondo, a point guard who prompted this reaction from Bill Simmons in his running diary:

9:40 -- Just when this draft couldn't get any crazier, my beloved Celtics just bought the 21st pick from Phoenix to take Rajon Rondo, the Kentucky guard who Chad Ford touted all summer because he mistakenly thought Rondo was foreign. Unfortunately, Rondo can't shoot. This is an understatement. As Bilas says, "Teams in the SEC didn't even guard him." Put it this way: The list of NBA teams that won an NBA title with a point guard who couldn't shoot looks like this:
1. (empty)2. (empty)3. (empty)
On the other hand, my Celtics moles told me that Rondo absolutely DESTROYED Foye and Williams in their workout a few weeks ago. So who knows?
God, I'm a sap ...
9:43 -- My dad's reaction: "So we have two new point guards, but one of them's 5-foot-11 and the other one can't shoot? And I'm supposed to be happy about this?" Tough to argue with that one. I'm not even going to bother telling him about Rondo's freakishly long fingers. Maybe tomorrow.

At least the Celtics will have a dance team for the first time in franchise history in the coming season. It's almost ironic that two teams broke tradition in a big way in the last few months. Boston, with it's arena rafters filled with championship banners and the retired numbers of past heroes now has cheerleaders. Miami, the former expansion team whose first ever field goal came from the immortal Rory Sparrow, made its first finals appearance and won its first title. But I'm wrong about Antoine Walker, and Danny Ainge is right.

And Sebastian Telfair and Rajon Rondo will be a championship back court one of these days.

In the immortal words of country music legend George Strait: "I've got some ocean front property in Arizona. From my front porch you can see the sea. I've got some ocean front property in Arizona. An' if you'll buy that I'll throw the Golden Gate in free."

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.

While I am two days late to the party, I really meant to post this after Miami won. Unfortunately, I didn't get a chance because I had to get up early in the morning to TCB (not that I own any TCB memorabilia, but Elvis' motto should be good enough for anyone). Then I started watching Firewall last night, and just didn't feel like posting last night. But it's official now, the Heat are the champions of the NBA.

Antoine Walker has a championship ring, and Danny Ainge is locked up in a secure location planning to draft the player that will cost the most money, take the longest to develop and compete for playing time at the 2 or the 3, like 9 other players on the current roster. There is always the possibility that Kevin Pittsnogle could be available. What a compliment he'd make to Raef LaFrentz (he's far too awful to get a link from this site). They'd have the tallest, softest front line that the NBA has seen in many a year. Read the profile in the link above and see if this is a fair synopsis: "He'd be a pretty good pro player, if he didn't suck." BTW, that site with his profile has Pittsnogle going to Charlotte at #50. Ainge won't let that happen.

Something occurred that was slightly more important than Antoine earning a measure of redemption (yes, his shooting percentage was everything the CHB et al. could have hoped for, but he played defense very well and he did pull 11 boards in game 6). The hexagonal conspiracy against Mark Cuban claimed another victory, although it was by the slimmest of margins. Mark Cuban served notice that he was through taking crap from David Stern's minions by staring the commissioner down after Game 5. Stern, however, seems not to have received the memo that Mark Cuban was not a man to be trifled with lightly. Game 6 went off according to plan, Miami won. Dallas lost. Wait till next year? Justice delayed is justice denied.

Every thinking person in America knows that Dallas should have won the series. Not only that, but they should have accomplished that feat in five games. No less a light than Ric Bucher said so on Sportscenter at the start of the series. Alas, he didn't say it in print on the ESPN site, so you have to take my word for it. And we all know that Ric is never wrong. Just ask him, and he'll tell you so.

For his part Mark Cuban denied that he stared the commissioner down, and denied that he ever said the series against Miami was rigged. You really have to read the blog to get a sense of the level of oppression endured by the Benefactor on the course of a given day. Tears sprang to my eyes when I read his impassioned plea to the editors/publishers/fact checkers at the Miami Herald to take the time to find out whether or not he owned a boat. It is a pleasant surprise to see Mark Cuban react to the events of these playoffs with everything but magnanimity. It makes it so much easier to criticize him.

blogMaverick is a treasure-trove for someone like me, who cannot stand its author. Aside from the fact that he's whiny and has a morbid aversion to the apostrophe, there is so much to criticize. This particularly entry, on the merits of cursing, Cuban comes off like a 12 year old talking trash to an authority figure to make his friends think he's hard. The Benefactor says he has no patience with people who waste his time. I wonder what else he had to do other than answer a simple question. A reporter asked him if the loss in question was the worst loss ever. Not the most intelligent of queries, I concede, but it was a chance for Cuban to drop an F bomb.

The Benefactor announced that he was commencing a crusade against corporate crime on HDNet in a recent post. It was unclear from his language whether his sale of broadcast.com to Yahoo! will be among the topics covered. According to his bio on NBA.com, broadcast.com is the "leading provider of multimedia and streaming on the Internet." Wikipedia does not present such a rosy picture. Here is an interesting case study of the build-up to the Yahoo! acquisition of broadcast.com. This guy seems to share my opinion of Cuban's business acumen, although it would be nice if he knew Jerry Jones owned the Cowboys and not Jerry Johnson.

The level of discourse present in the comments section of blogMaverick is pathetic. So pathetic in fact the author has discontinued them. But if you look on some of the older entries I linked up above. It seems that there is an infinite number of Dallas/Cuban fans willing to massage his ego and drink his Kool Aid. But based on the fact that they've met their demise, I must not have been the only person that had a problem with them. Perhaps Mark Cuban has at long last learned that the postings of a legion of sycophants in Dallas aren't enough to get a billionaire into a trendy New York City night club.

While I don't much care for the journalistic integrity of the New York Post, every now and then there's a gem like this in there. Read it to unearth tidbits like Mark Cuban seemingly making reference to his endowment (or lack thereof). Gossip must be taken with a grain of salt, and hearsay and conjecture aren't admissible in a court of law. Of course, this blog isn't a court of law. To me, the story has the ring of truth because I won't give the Benefactor the benefit of the doubt and because nothing can make Mark Cuban look more ridiculous than his own actions. All the money in the world, but not much in the way of class.

Mark Cuban was quick to declare that Bill Simmons is his new hero (based on the way his superstars played in crunch time against the Heat, he needed one) . Of course supporting almost everything Mark Cuban says is the surest path to wisdom. The Sports Guy's claim to that pinnacle rests on this plaintive lament about the future of the NBA. Of course, his statement that a Dallas victory might be better for the NBA because Miami riding Wade's success would inspire imperfect imitators (Vince Carter, Paul Pierce, Gilbert Arenas, et al.).

These would-be Wades will drive into the teeth of the defense time and time again at crunch time with their teammates watching them in Simmons' nightmare scenario. Dallas, in his view, is a much better role model because their offense is more diverse than that. So many players can shoot and score they never become a one man team. Of course, one could easily posit the argument that no one on the Mavs is man enough to take over a game when it really matters which is why their offense didn't stagnate at the end of the game vs. Miami. It disappeared entirely.

Yet one more reason to go after Mark Cuban is that he inspired Bob Ryan to write this column, which very nearly made me regret inducting him into the Max Mercy Hall of Fame. This particular tidbit just might be the second best evaluation of the Benefactor's behavior:

Each time a call is made against the Mavericks, [Cuban] stared intently at the big screen to see the replay. Invariably, he reacted to what he had seen by a) making a face, b) shaking his head vigorously, c) making a face while shaking his head vigorously, or d) spinning wildly while making a face and shaking his head vigorously.

I don't think that captured the ridiculously childish behavior of the Mavs owner as well as the quote I used from "As I Please 6," where George Orwell described someone as "looking more like a monkey on a stick than you would think possible for anyone who is not doing it on purpose." That is Mark Cuban in a nutshell.

I think by now I've spent enough time on the Benefactor, so I will move on to the series in general after a parting shot. This link will take you to an article by Jason Whitlock where he argues that the NBA ought to suspend Mark Cuban for a period of time to get him to tone down his criticism of officials. I think the writer overstates his case, but the parallel between Artest and Cuban is not entirely unreasonable. I think (perhaps hope might be a better word) that an owner cannot incite a riot. But the idea of banning the Benefactor from the arenas until he can behave like an adult is intriguing. Also, since I pride myself on giving the devil his due, I must applaud Cuban for his charity work on behalf of families who have lost loved ones in the ongoing unpleasantness overseas.

I noticed that the Maverick PA system played the Eye of the Tiger down the stretch in a timeout. Would that it had worked out to inspire the team. While Dwyane Wade came up big, the Dallas stars came up small (no pun was intended on the performance of the Dallas Stars hockey team who also came up small this postseason). I saw a woman in the crowd wearing a Nowitzness shirt. I hope the round-trip tickets to St. Louis, KC, San Antonio or Houston (courtesy of the Benefactor and American Airlines from Fan Appreciation Night) are enough to console the fans of the Mavs who found themselves Nowitzless in the 4th quarter.

I will not jump on the Wade bandwagon. He is a great player who was unbelievably clutch in this series, but I am not a bandwagon jumper. Never have been, never will be. I will dwell some more on the Mavs. Dirk did have 29 points in Game 6, but he went 0 for from the field in the 4th quarter and only had 2 points. He helped cause a turn over late in the 4th when he threw a relatively difficult pass to Erik "Hands of Stone" Dampier rather than take a shot himself. And when the Mavs were down 3, it was Jason Terry who took the last shot, not Dirk.

I understand that Miami took great pains to keep the ball out of Dirk's hands as much as possible. That said, great players are expected to find a way to lead their teammates to the promised land. Look at the lyric sheet for Springsteen's Promised Land, and tell me whether Dirk qualifies as a boy or a man. Miami got big contributions from role players. Haslem shot very well, Antoine got some big rebounds. Without Marquis Daniels, who knows if Dallas could have kept it close.

In the immortal words of Jim Morrison: "when the music's over, turn out the light." As the lights go out on the Mavericks, they and their can take consolation from the fact that it took all the Commish's horses and all the Commish's men to get Miami the title. That should tide them over, provided that they don't dwell on the infinite improbability that they are the only victims of human error in officiating.

Ladies and gentlemen, tonight isn't a good night for us here in Cincinnati Kid land. It's Friday night, and I'm updating my blog. I am a giant loser, apparently. Of course, I could have done something interesting. I elected to take it easy, since I overindulged myself last night.

Since it's Friday and I don't have anything better to do, it's time to revisit the Max Mercy Hall of Fame. Tonight, we have a double induction. The Globe's own Dan Shaughnessy and all the way from Chicago, the pride of the Sun Times... Jay Mariotti.

What can I say about Dan Shaughnessy that hasn't already been said by the legion of people who hate him. This site also hosts a blog that tracks the CHB's career and highlights some of his "finer points" as a journalist. I don't know anybody who likes him as a writer. And yet he's paid to write. There is no justice in this world.

A lot of people have noticed that the CHB hasn't writing about the Sox much, until the recent departure of Chris Snow. Most people seem to have enjoyed that respite. The optimists I talked to about this situation had a variety of opinions. Some people thought that the years of antagonism and backstabbing had finally caught up with him and shut him out of the clubhouse. A few even thought that the NY Times might have put pressure on the CHB as an employee of their subsidiary to stop attacking the team in which the Paper of Record owns a 17% stake.

I think the CHB confined his "talents" to puff pieces because he was otherwise occupied. I think Dan Shaughnessy has been leading a double life. Not only is he employed by the Boston Globe to strip mine the simple joy a fan should feel watching a grown man play a child's game, but he is also a Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey defending the space-time continuum from the Daleks. That's right. Dan Shaughnessy, the hero whom you so callously call the CHB is the real identity of Dr. Who.

(Sorry about the formatting, still learning this stuff)

Yeah, it's a bit of a stretch, and I probably vaulted myself into the extreme upper echelon of losers throughout the world with the Dr. Who reference. It is, however, something that doesn't seem to have been done before when someone criticized the CHB. In all likelihood I'm wrong, but I tried. I googled it, and everything. I also tried Yahoo! and came up with nothing. Of course, somewhere there is a record of hits on Dr. Who websites that increased by one on a Friday night. Soon the nerds will emerge from their nerderies to drag me off to join them. All I ask is that you who read this tell the world my story. And try to make me look just a bit cooler than I have managed thus far.

But now he's back, with a vengeance.

I could spend hours combing through his columns to find each and every flaw, but I am colossally lazy and I like to pretend I have a life (even though I already fessed up to staying in and searching for Dr. Who tonight). But this article from this morning's Globe has more than enough of the quirks that have made Dan Shaughnessy a favorite among masochists everywhere.

I hope you got a chance to read it, or to click on the link above. Among the many words/phrases which should be grounds for capital punishment, boffo has to be near the top of the list. If you use a word like boffo, you are a douche. The CHB referred to the pitchers' duel between Schilling and Santana as a boffo pitching match-up. Boffo. In the 21st century. I imagine he wrote that piece, he made his way down to the soda fountain to have a malt with Potsie.

The CHB called the Sox the "Henrymen." With any luck, that odious little nickname won't stick. He also referred to the team's principal owner as "Papa Jack." He also took yet another swipe at Manny Ramirez, reminding us that Manny went hitless as the team was swept by the Twins. "0 for Minnesota" was the CHB's blithe epigram to describe the cleanup hitter's failure to, of all things, clean up. Maybe it's ego on my part, but I think mine was the cleverer split infinitive and all.

There was also the recent gem of a column specifically about the pitcher's duel mentioned above. Aside from the constant references to the 16 inning game between Spahn and Marichal as though he'd been there and the Coffee Talk allusion, the biggest problem with this particular "effort" is the mention of the election in 2004. According to the CHB we must: "never forget that [Curt Schilling] delivered Ohio for Geroge (sic) W. Bush in 2004." The typo was there on Boston.com. Check it out if you don't believe me.

I know Schilling appeared at a rally for the president the night before the votes were cast. I'm sure that the president didn't lose to many votes because Schilling appeared on his behalf. In fact, I'd concede that the appearance may have garnered him a few votes. However, the final margin in Ohio was over 100,000 votes. As a pitcher for a team beat out the Indians for the AL Wild Card, it seems unlikely that Schill brought 50,000+ votes to Bush. It seems like nothing more than a mean-spirited attempt to create animosity toward Schilling among Red Sox fans. For all their failings (and they have many), Red Sox fans seem to recognize that the politics of the individual players have little or nothing to do with their effectiveness of the field. The CHB needs to start acting like a man, or stop writing. Better the latter, but I have learned to live with disappointment.

Jay Mariotti and the CHB go into the Max Mercy Hall of Fame together because they're a lot alike. Both seem to have proprietary rights to the moral high ground in their respective sports markets. Both have personalities which make Marvin the Paranoid Android from The Hitchhikers' Guide to the Galaxy seem like a top of the line sentient being to roll with at cocktail parties. Both have bizarre histories of feuds with the local sports teams (Mariotti vs. the White Sox/Hawk Harrelson, The CHB vs. Theo, Carl Everett and Manny). And nobody I know seems to like either of them (I must admit that I only know a few Chicago fans, but they all hate Mariotti).

For a reasonably accurate sample of Mariotti's writing, you can read this column about the World Cup. This particular sentence (I use that word for lack of a better term) seems like a good place to start: "What the rest of the world calls football, we call soccer, simply because we already have our football and it reflects America's desired macho profile of bleeding, crippling physicality." That is a run-on (and yes, I am aware of the hypocrisy in criticizing another writer when my blog cries out for competent editing). Not only that, but it is preachy, whiny, cliched and devoid of insight.

One run-on is insufficient. The next sentence takes his inelegance a step further: "Our soccer is a fringe sport of moms, kids and diehards, contrary to their football, a life-and-death psychosis that can breed hooliganism, suicide and occasional murder if a player heads a ball into his own net." Another sentence: "To this day, our biggest and best kid athletes play football and kids too small generally play soccer, which could be a metaphor for American life" begs the question who edits his columns and why isn't he/she doing his/her job? Last time I checked, kid isn't an adjective. I'm reasonably sure that nouns aren't supposed to modify other nouns, but then again it's been a while since I last perused the MLA book.

Read the rest of the column at your own risk. Jay Mariotti has achieved the status that every bad college sports writer yearns for in the wee hours of the morning. He's on Around the Horn. His whiny, nasal voice can shout down his fellow disputants. The lions of Chicago sports tremble in their dens at his approach. He is free to pander, to drown readers in strident hyperbole, to wallow in his self-satisfaction like a pig in a sty and to bully his inferiors with impunity. In short, Jay Mariotti is Max Mercy, without the redeeming quality of being a character in a work of fiction.

It is a curious dysfunction in the psyche of a sports fan that makes them want to be set on edge by the people who cover their teams. The CHB and Mariotti command large salaries to browbeat and annoy readers. They're on TV and radio, they have a celebrity status that far exceeds their talents as writers. Then again, we've come a long way since Grantland Rice and Ring Lardner.

Grantland Rice gave us the image of the Four Horsemen of Notre Dame. He drew his imagery from the Bible. The CHB gave us the Curse of the Bambino. His inspiration...New York Times writer George Vescey. Ring Lardner covered the Black Sox. Dan Shaughnessy brought us Jurassic Carl and Theo-gate '05. Yet again, I find myself glad not to be a Sox fan.

P.S. I am not a Dr. Who fan. I got all that stuff from google. I do remember it, as I'm sure is the case with a lot of people who are old enough to remember the dark days before cable came to town. In the Stone Age, you were lucky to get 2, 4, 5, 7, 25, 38 and 56. Finding something good on TV was, at times, almost a miracle. I also remember when V66 showed music videos and it was such a novelty that normal people would sit and watch something like "Careless Whisper" by WHAM and like it. I had a huge crush on the lead singer from 'Til Tuesday because of the video for "Voices Carry." The difference between myself and you is that I admit this stuff. I have nothing to hide, but my true identity.

About an hour ago, it looked like this was going to be a very melancholy post this evening. I could take a Red Sox win in extra innings, and maybe I could take Dallas beating Miami big. I wasn't sure that I could take both on the same day.

And then, things went far better than I could plan. Julian Tavarez melted down like only he can. Without any Devil Rays in the immediate vicinity for him to punch without provocation, Tavarez let up a walk-off grand slam in the bottom of the twelfth. Just like that, it went from a 1 run lead, two outs away from a series opening win to a 5-2 morale crushing defeat. Good times.

I was much more pleased with the end of the Miami game. I am sure blogMaverick will contain a laundry list of reasons why the Mavericks should still be shooting free throws right now. Unfortunately, no one else has the rose colored contacts Mark Cuban wears to each game. The horribly cruel and capricious system of officiating has conspired to delay the just reward for Cuban's investment again.

What is even better is that the law of averages struck again. When you make 90% of your free throws, you miss 10% of the time. Too bad for Dirk that his miss had to come when his team trailed by 1 with 3.4 seconds to play. Then he went down and fould Dwyane Wade a bit harder than the situation probably required. Of course Wade committed at least 3 separate lane violations and 4 variations of loose ball fouls on the play in Mark Cuban's mind.

I don't like Dirk. I have hated him since he came into the league, and I'm sure I'll still hate him when he slinks back to Germany without winning a title, God willing. I must confess, I am mildly xenophobic. I hate the French and I hate Germans, other than that I don't have any specific dislikes where foreigners are concerned.

I hate Germans because they made David Hasslehoff an international singing sensation. Baywatch was inspired TV and Knight Rider sort of didn't suck at times, but Hasselhoff is a total cheese ball and a terrible singer. And yet German people love him. And Dirk has said that he sings "Lookin' for Freedom" to himself when he stands at the foul line. A tool of that magnitude deserves to fail in pressure situations.