Du retour d'une amante

Here's the funny thing: I used to hate the Boston Bruins. As a kid growing up just outside of Hartford, Connecticut, my dad used to take me to Hartford Whalers games. If you've any sort of NHL knowledge, you know that the Whalers were one of the truly terrible league expansion teams, a minor league club in a market that was much too small, with terrible management and an inability to push past the first round of the playoffs. Still, they were the lifeblood of Connecticut sports, the blue and green littered my youth. I still vividly remember trying to convince my folks that I could play youth hockey for real, despite my size; and I will never forget the day they traded Ron Francis to the Pittsburgh Penguins for a bag of pucks and a roll of tape. It was the only time outside of 9/11 that there was a moment of silence in the classroom. Peter Karmanos (may he burn in hell) held the carrot in front of the fans' collective mouths, promising to keep the team in Hartford if only he could bleed a few more full-season ticket plans out of them. I remember being in awe of the kid at my new middle school whose father was part of the coalition attempting to buy the Whalers and keep them local. But it didn't work out, as we all know, and the blue and green forever left the Civic Center, taking with it the true meaning of "Brass Bonanza" and the hearts of too many hockey fans.

The NHL did everything in its power to alienate me after that. With the Whalers now the Carolina Hurricanes, I had nobody to root for, and it was just as well. The league became, essentially, irrelevant with the infusion of expansion teams in born and bred hockey cities like Tampa Bay, Anaheim, Nashville and Phoenix. The strike two years ago was just proof positive that it was a screwed up sport on the decline, and that there was no reason to go back.

Until last week.

I hated the Bruins growing up a Whalers fan, but there was no way in hell I could allow myself to root for the Rangers or Islanders, so with the distancing of my Whaler allegiance, I adopted the Black and Gold as my own. Loosely, mind you, very loosely. Occasional games are fun to watch, but the Bruins under Jeremy Jacobs seemed destined to repeat the mistakes of their former rivals to the south. Joe Thornton, a lightning rod young center was sent packing to San José for the same bag of pucks and Marco Sturm, who would end up being the only part of the trade that would work out for the B's.

When Patrice Bergeron went down this October with a concussion, I figured that the season would be more or less the same as the rest, but something about Claude Julien's salt-of-the-earth Canadian face and X's and O's system kept the young Bruins pressing onward into the playoffs to face, of all teams, the Montreal Canadiens.

After a miserable opening period in Game 1, the Bruins put on quite the show, going toe-to-toe with the best offense in the east, and losing some hard-fought and unlucky games, eventually ending up down 3-1 at the Bell Centre. There they staged a massive third period rally to rattle rookie goalminder Casey Price and send the series back to the Hub with a 5-1 win. At the new Garden, the old denizens of NHL seasons past came out from their hazy, dust-covered shelters and filled as many seats as they could around the contingent from Canada, just in time to witness a stunning 5-4 victory to force a Game 7 back on the road...

...where, tonight, the Bruins were shut out, 5-0. I am by no means a diehard hockey fan, but for the last week I was unable to rip my eyes from the ice as I came to love Milan Lucic, Phil Kessel, and Zdano Chara. I was comforted by the paternal image of Claude Julien so cool behind the bench. I was able to deactivate my automatic translation of PK to "penalty kick" and activate the automatic response of "penalty kill". I dug up the definition of icing and remembered all the hand signals for the various penalties. I let myself be at ease, surrounded by French Canadian names so similar to my own, like Bégin, Bouillon, Julien, and Carbonneau, while waiting for the return of a savior named Bergeron. I found myself kneeling on the floor screaming at the television as the B's created a lot of traffic in the Habs' zone but couldn't find the net. I finally figured out why they were called The Habs.

It is truly unfortunate that the Bruins were unable to finish off Les Glorieux in a remarkable first round comeback, but somehow, it's OK. My love of hockey was never able to mature. I never learned the subtleties or the nuances of the game, grew to cling faster to my first love, baseball. But this week has brought me back to hockey in a way that so few other things could, so much so that I will be waiting for next season; and while my heart will forever hold tight to blue and green, it now finds itself wearing a sweater of black and gold.

Huge Night in the Hub

Before I hit the Sox game I think everyone should take a moment to tip their caps to the Bruins tonight. This is a team who, after finishing six games under .500 in 2007 and have been without their star player since the end of October, has managed to bump, thump and crash their way back from a three games to one deficit and force a Game 7 on enemy ice. The climax is Monday night in Montreal, and the Sox won't even have to be bumped off of NESN because of the early Patriots' Day start.

On the diamond it was another disappointing outing for Jon Lester. He managed to get one out into the sixth inning but gave up 10 hits in the process. The fact that he only allowed 3 runs speaks more to the defense and the suckitude of Gerald Laird than it does to Lester's ability to pitch effectively. Luckily, the bats woke up in the late innings and managed to scrape out a 5-3 win on the back of Manny Ramirez yet again.

Until Lester can move in and out of the strike zone with confidence and consistency he's going to continue to struggle against big league lineups. His stuff isn't overpowering, though he can be deceptive enough to miss bats. Still, it so frequently seems as though he's just crossing his fingers and hoping it gets into the zone.

Buchholz goes tomorrow in the third game against Texas.

Who Says Baseball Is Just a Game?

From today's New York Post, "High 'Jinx' Hits Yankees."

Evidently one can claim that Red Sox Nation has spies, spies everywhere when a construction worker seals a piece of Sox memorabilia in the concrete beneath the future visitors' clubhouse of the new stadium. Some people may write it off as silly rumor or just plain stupid, but I for one am super-psyched for the possibility that we got to the very core of Ruth's House early. Maybe it can counteract the effects of the good luck charm placed in the framework of the current stadium during construction in the 1920s. Either way, it's a fun read.

Last night's game was, frankly, not very interesting. The Bruins and BC Eagles were playing postseason games on the ice, and the Sox managed another run-of-the-mill game, one where Wakefield was decent, the offense very quiet until the final innings, and where the middle relief was just freaking god-awful. The good news is that the Sox will activate Mike Timlin off the DL before the start of today's Yankees game, and though he may be 80 years old, I trust him more than 75% of the bullpen right now.

Tonight's matchup of Chien-ming Wang and Clay Buchholz could certainly prove to be a nailbiter. Buchholz has been at times dominant and always streaky (as is a young pitcher's wont), and facing the potent Bomber lineup will be a test of the highest caliber. Wang, on the other hand, is dominant with most of the league but has a tendency to get lit up when pitching against Boston. The cold weather will benefit both pitchers, but Wang a bit more just because of his prevalent sinker/slider use.

It's All About Going Home

The Red Sox were finally able to breathe a sigh of relief today. Beating the Detroit Tigers 5-0 today was sweet, sweet success behind the masterful dealing of Daisuke Matsuzaka, who allowed nothing across to move to 2-0 on the season. Add to the win the receipt of World Series rings and the redemption of Bill Buckner, and it was, at the very least, a moving early spring day in the Hub.

It's always great to fête the accomplishments of seasons past, particularly when those accomplishments include winning the division for the first time in 12 years and winning the second world championship in four years as well. Unlike in 2004, this year's ceremony hit the amount of pomp and circumstance just right. The banners, the rings, the city celebrities were all just to the perfect degree, without any of the oversentimentality so common with the events of Charles Steinberg. The best moment for me was by far the walk of Bill Buckner from the outfield to the mound to throw out the first pitch. He was absolutely buried in standing applause, and it was incredible to see a man so publicly reserved about his time in Boston moved to tears as he was asked to throw out the first ball. Really, just incredible. Whoever managed to pull off that coup deserves free coffee for a week.

The game itself was encouraging. Despite walking four men he managed to strike out seven in the free-swinging yet (theoretically) potent Tigers lineup. Going into the game I had a sinking feeling that we could possibly have ended up the slumpbuster for the recently impotent Detroit nine, but Matsuzaka impressed early. His fastball, though not perfectly located, he kept down in the zone and was thrown consistently for strikes, which set up his devastating changeup and off-speed pitches. His biggest jam came in the sixth, when he loaded the bases with two outs, but managed to get Carlos Guillen to fly out to center.

The offense came in spurts, though there was resounding encouragement from David Ortiz, who missed a grand slam in the early goings by barely five feet, a difference caused by the wind blowing in from center.

The best part of today was the knowledge that tomorrow night will be a 7:05 pm EST start, with Jon Lester toeing up with Jeremy Bonderman, praying to God he's as effective as he was in Oakland. It's taken 19 days and three countries, but today, finally, felt like true Opening Day.

Post script: Steve Tyler singing "God Bless America"? Not that impressive.

Help A Friend

Got this in the HC inbox this evening:

LOST RED SOX HAT!
Hello my name is Chad Dolby from
New Jersey. On a cold Friday night
there was trouble in the Bronx Zoo. A
Red Sox fan had decided to wear his
Red Sox hat to Yankee Stadium. As usual
the crowd went wild with hate. His hat then
preceded to be thrown down level by level until
it somehow reached the concourse area, where
it was found by a friend of mine.
We are looking for the owner of this hat.
It was lost during a Tampa Bay Rays game
against the Yankees on 4/4/08 in Bronx, NY.
Any help from Red Sox Nation in finding
him would be great! It looked like his favorite hat.
Well-worn and probably precious.
I am a Met fan looking to heal open wounds
who was tossed in the middle of a heated rivalry.
If you could post the poster on your website that
would be great!
Thank you all very much for any help you may give
on this vital search.
~ Chad Dolby

It looks strangely like all those emails I get from the former wife of the late Zambian president looking to give me cash for Catholic charities due to a lack of heirs, so this could be a total hoax. If it is, it's something very dear to my heart. As a true believer in the existence of "The Hat" for each individual, I can certainly comprehend the desire to seek it's return. Plus, it makes Yankee fans sound like absolute jerks, a characterization that has been made numerous times by rooters of opposing clubs in the Bronx. If you know anything, give the guy a shout.

When The Man In The Middle Is DFA'ed

Ever want to take a pitcher who has blown a close game in the span of less than an inning and cut him from the roster straight away? Well, we all got our chance today when Kyle Snyder, after promptly coughing up whatever hopes the Sox had of keeping the game against Toronto close, was designated for assignment. Out of minor league options, Snyder will linger in Waiverland until another team (like Detroit, Kansas City, or many others) decide to take a flyer and try and help their miserable bullpens. Either that, or he'll go to Pawtucket in hopes of some sort of midseason callup miracle. Thanks for the dimishing K:BB ratio, Bronson Arroyo Lite.

It's been a damn shame to watch a team that seemed to really warm up in Oakland fizzle north of the Border, but there has been a silver lining. In five innings of work Clay Buchholz managed to strike out 7 Jays and pitch himself out of some serious jams. His line of 6 hits, two walks and 4 runs allowed (3 earned) are not at all indicative of the kind of game he had. It all unraveled with a textbook bunt single and a cringe-worthy error by Sean Casey at first base that chased the young starter from the mound. If it had been Youkilis, there's a chance the Sox would have escaped the inning unscathed.

Still, Buchholz was good. His changeup was disgusting, his fastball was decent, and when his curveball was in the strike zone, it was mind-blowing.

Back to Normal

The Sox return to Oakland was a happy one, with two satisfying victories over the A's. Both starting pitchers threw exceptionally well, something that is not often said about Daisuke Matsuzaka and Jon Lester, considering they're known for being high pitch-counters. 

A few notes from the end of the longest series:

- David Ortiz got his first hit of the season, a little bloop over the infield. He then followed it up with a two-run jack.

- Jonathan Papelbon is clearly just fine after striking out the side on Tuesday night. His touchy performances in Japan and Los Angeles had been cause for concern.

- Kevin Youkilis broke Steve Garvey's record for consecutive errorless games at first base, with 194. 

- It's much nicer to watch a ballgame when it's not 5 am or midnight. 

Another thing that came out of this first series was our first glimpse at how the outfield is likely going to shake up as the season gains momentum. J.D. Drew's back spasms had allowed both Coco Crisp and Jacoby Ellsbury playing time, but when Drew returned this afternoon (going 1-5 with 2 K's and 4 men LOB), we all had our first collective cringe upon discovering that Crisp and not Ellsbury would be patrolling center field. Granted, Crisp had two hits this afternoon and scored a run, but he just looks so insecure at the plate and so clearly devoid of any sort of approach to his at-bats that he's painful to watch. I would much rather see Francona commit to Ellsbury and use Crisp as a utility man, or vice versa, than have this constant juggling. Then again, it makes the most sense to play Crisp as much as possible, in hopes of moving him to a starting role somewhere else.

Land of the Rising Fans

This morning was a testament to just how deeply rooted baseball's rhythms are to one's own body cycles. When I awoke at 6 am to start getting ready for work and turned on the radio to listen to the opening game of the 2008 season, my body became immediately confused. Here were the sounds and silences of summer evenings weaving textures over the dawn sky. I felt just a little bit disoriented, to say the least.

It was definitely a good game, too. Daisuke stunk up the joint with his first three innings of work, missing wildly with just about every pitch he threw and giving up Jack Hanahan's first home run of the season and Kurt Suzuki's first career stolen base. He settled down after that and ended up with a line much like Tim Robbins' character in "Bull Durham" after his first outing. The offense was surprisingly quiet, with J.D. Drew out because of back soreness and Brandon Moss his fill-in. It was, ironically, Moss who ended up hitting the game-tying home run in the top of the ninth inning to keep the Sox alive, and it was Manny Ramirez, he of the $20 million option years, who brought in four of the six Sox runs. Jonathan Papelbon was human, but effective, and everybody went about their work day a little bit happier.

The sad part about the game today was Kyle Snyder, who managed to ruin Daisuke's win opportunity with one meatball served right down the middle of the plate. It was Snyder who made me a little bit regretful that the Sox were unable to find a more effective tweener reliever than he, and made me fearful of the future bullpen implosions just waiting to happen.

Still, what was most important was that it was baseball that counted, and that soon those radio broadcasts will reclaim their rightful place in the dwindling daylight of summer evening, and all will be right with the world. See you in the morning.

Manny-san

There are certainly downsides to this trip to Japan: the fact that it carries over into the regular season, that the games are hell to listen to, and the fact that you feel like you're living in some sort of alternate universe where you need to use complex fractions just to figure out a game's start time. Or maybe that's just me. Either way, despite the drawbacks to this trip, it's a blast to see the Sox heralded like conquering heroes from across the sea, and it's nice to see them engaged in a friendly contest, an exchange, it seems, between nations and cultures. Add to all the warm fuzzies an article by Amalie Benjamin revealing that Manny wants to finish his career in Boston and hit 7,000,000 home runs (or 700, I could be wrong), and it makes for a good read.

Manny's a funny guy. Not funny in the "ha ha, Manny just went into the scoreboard" kind of way, but funny in the way the fans perceive him. I've given my share of crap to a lot of players over my long 25 years, but I can't recall very many instances of giving it to Señor Ramírez. No, it's the Coco Crisps of the world that drive me to obscenity; all those I-like-to-talk-a-big-game-bug-swing-at-anything-thrown kind of players make me climb the walls. They don't (as Theo put it in the above article "understand it", the "it" being hitting, of course. They don't get their role on the team, they don't understand hitting as a philosophy. They don't learn from at-bat to at-bat, but rather go up their hacking, the embodiment of a single solitary link ignorant of the rest of the chain that surrounds it.

It's true that Manny's defense can be frequently below average and occasionally atrocious, that his effort in the field has him jogging after balls instead of sprinting. His time with the media in the last few seasons has been countable on one hand, and he's provided more conflicting copy than just about anybody currently on the team. What isn't true is that he's cheated the fans. When he stands and the box and strikes out, there's a knowledge that he's walking away from the plate having learned something, even if it's a small sort of something, that is going to help him the next time. When guys are all turned around, having confused their big fly swing with their Texas leaguer swing and have killed the thought of The Other Way swing, Manny has shown us how effective that little flick to the right can be, or how a clutch walk can turn the tide of an inning.

He's a goofy guy, no two ways about it, but I love Manny Ramirez. When he stops producing it will be absolutely tragic, and it will be sadder still when he inevitably leaves the Hub. But for all the haters of the world who jump on the Walter Reed bandwagon and scream bloody murder from the rooftops, I say, Leave the guy alone.

A Sit-Down Standoff

We all know the Red Sox and A's are going to Japan, right? And we all know that the games played in the Land of the Rising Sun are going to bring in buckets of money and publicity for Major League Baseball, right? What about the fact that the players get an impressive $40K purse just for making the trip? Sounds decent, doesn't it? Then I guess that with all these dollar signs floating around that team employees should be compensated at least for any expenses the may incur during this MLB-imposed outing, right?

Wrong. As usual, Bud Selig and his minions have managed to step knee-deep in the smelly stuff. This time they're reneging on a prior agreement to pay all Boston and Oakland coaches, trainers and other personnel a stipend similar to the ones the players are receiving. Fortunately, the sense of decency so lacking in the league's New York (fitting) office has managed to hang on inside the hearts of our very own. The team voted unanimously this morning to boycott their final Spring Training game against Toronto this afternoon unless the league agreed to pay the coaches as previously settled.

Rest assured, the matter has apparently been resolved and the final game of the spring is now underway. With all the negative press and fallout that has arisen in the wake of the steroids scandal and Sox issues like the release of Doug Mirabelli and the center field sniping, such unity in the face of blatant usurpation of league power over the faceless cogs of the major league machine is both refreshing and inspiring.

Here's to Japan, and smooth sailing back to Boston.