Computer Geeks 1, Pedro 0

Pedro came.






Pedro was cheered.





Pedro coughed it up.


On his way through the interview room last night following the victory, Theo Epstein, according to an article in the NY Daily News, uttered the following statement: "Computer geeks one, Pedro nothing."

An interesting postscript on what was mostly a great evening. Pedro got his cheers and the Sox won, Theo's remark seemed like a release of sorts on what is reportedly a very tense relationship between the front office and the former ace.

Personally, I'm glad Theo's comment is on the record, because I like to see some sort of life from a general manager who, for the most part, does a very good job hiding his true emotions behind the party line.

And besides, I'd side with Theo over Pedro in a heartbeat.

Gammons Suffers Aneurysm, Recovering From Surgery

Hall of Fame journalist Peter Gammons suffered a brain aneurysm Tuesday morning while at his home in Cape Cod. He was lifted to Boston for surgery and is reportedly resting well in an ICU. For more details, here's the link to the article on ESPN.com.

I was in Cooperstown last year for his induction into the Hall, and his speech was... well, it was a doozy. In addition to his induction speech I've included a copy of his celebrated article after Game 6 of the 1975 World Series. Here they are, courtesy of the good folks at ESPN.

Hall of Fame Induction Speech: July 31, 2005 - Cooperstown, NY

Steve Jobs' advice at that time to a graduating class of Stanford this year was 'find what you love.' I am here today because I found what I love. Understand, I grew up in a household where when I got home from school my mother greeted me with, 'Can you believe they traded Jim Piersall for Vic Wertz and Gary Geiger?'

Ned weaned me on respect and reverence for the history and texture of the game. My sister Anne hit me fungoes in a small New England town where the Red Sox home opener was an acceptable legal excuse to leave school at 10 a.m. My father found what he loved in music and teaching and the goodness of man. He and Paul Wright, my godfather, teacher and mentor, remain the two greatest men I have ever known … teachers like Juney O'Brien and Jake Congleton. By the time I was 18, I knew my role models and my life's mission statement were defined.

When this award was announced, Mike Barnicle left me a simple message. 'Tom Winship would be very proud.' Winship was the editor of the Boston Globe, a Branch Rickey of a man who changed the newspaper business in Boston and opened a world for kids who were dying for a chance. Mine came as a summer intern in 1968. It started the day Robert F. Kennedy was shot. In those days you had a morning Globe and afternoon Globe, and when I walked in, I was introduced to my fellow intern Bob Ryan, basketball Hall of Famer. We were told to call every team in business, ask them what they would do for Robert F. Kennedy and write a story. We did. The 3:30 late stocks edition came up, and there on the front page of the entire paper Mr. Ryan and Mr. Gammons had their first bylines. We went to the Erie Pub, raised a couple of 10-cent drafts and decided, you know, what we found what we loved.

My career essentially has been very simple, Boston Globe, Sports Illustrated, ESPN. I have been fortunate enough to work for extraordinary people. There are hundreds, maybe thousands who I should thank, but it was Tom Winship and Fran Rosa who stuck their neck out to hire a kid who hadn't even graduated from college … Mark Mulvoy, who hired me twice at Sports Illustrated … Vince Doria, who brought me back to the Globe and anyone who I ever worked for believes is the best sports editor, if not the best boss who ever lived … John Walsh who had the crack-brained idea to bring a sportswriter into television because, as one of the businesses most creative visionaries, he understood that information is king. I am very proud to say today much of what ESPN is today is because of John Walsh and there are hundreds of people that have gone and followed me out of the print profession to ESPN because of Walsh.

I am not here as a television personality, but as an ink-stained wretch. Publishers and new editors have no clue. They have no understanding that the baseball beat is the toughest beat in the newspaper business. It means severe personal sacrifices. A few years ago Jayson Stark and I decided that over a 25-year period we probably talked to one another more than we talked to our wives and no one has sacrificed more than my wife Gloria, who saved me in an unpredictable storm of a business that knows no holidays.

The baseball beat today is much tougher now than when I was traveling with the Red Sox for the Globe. There is far less access, 10 times the bodies in the clubhouse. The Internet, radio, television have broadened the baseball information universe. And yet our business, I am proud to say, keeps producing generation after generation of young reporters who are tireless, good and fair. Throughout my career I have tried to be guided by one principle, that because I am human I have the right to like people. But because I am professional, I have no right to dislike any one. People ask me, as a New Englander, what was it like walking out there in the field when Aaron Boone hit a home run. To be honest, my first reaction was, I was ecstatic. I have known Aaron Boone since he was 13 years old, and that's my privilege. My second reaction, I saw Tim Wakefield, head down, and I felt despondent. He's one man who did not deserve that. As I walked out on the field to try to get introduced, I turned to my producer, Charlie Moynihan, and said, 'Look around here, you know what? I just got paid to cover the greatest game ever played in the greatest sporting venue in the world. I think I'm the luckiest man on earth.'

Jerry Coleman, I am honored to be in Cooperstown with you -- war hero, World Series MVP, announcer, gentleman. Ryne Sandberg, I think of a 40-home run season, a 200-hit season, a 50-steal season and the ego of a clubhouse kid.

But, to be here the day Wade Boggs is inducted is a special thing for me. This is a guy who played seven minor-league seasons, hit three something a ridiculous six straight years, went through three Rule 5 drafts and kept saying, 'my success will be measured in terms of dealing with adversity.' In the last half-century, Wade Boggs is the oldest position player to debut in the major leagues and make the Hall of Fame. He is the model for overcoming adversity of all kinds. I remember that afternoon in the spring of '86 when you and I were driving with Ted Williams over to have that night of discussing hits with Don Mattingly. Ted leaned forward in the car and said, 'Hey Wade, did you ever smell the burn of a bat?' Well, there are very few people who have. I have never forgot that. When the All-Century Team gathered around Ted at Fenway before the '99 All-Star Game, Ted asked Mark McGwire the same question. He retold the story. He said, 'Did you ever smell the burn of the bat?' There were six National League players in the room at the time around McGwire. What is he talking about? Well, let's face it, the burning of a bat is the lexicon of the gods.

And to stand here in front of the Hall of Fame players is like standing in front of the baseball dieties, and yet I feel so fortunate to have known so many of them as humans. I think of Carlton Fisk and I think of eight to 10 hours a day of rehab in the winter of '73-'74, mostly in the Manchester YMCA, to come back from a knee injury that very few humans could have recovered from. Eddie Murray, I think of the hours he took, watching him take BP, which allowed him to know all of those thousands of clutch hits which were only by design, not chance. I think of Robin Yount and the fastest he ever got timed to first was 3.9 seconds, the slowest 4.0. And I remember that George Brett always used to say he wanted his career to end on a ground ball to second base on which he busted his hump down the line. I think of Mike Schmidt mowing and lining the field in Palm Beach Gardens, Florida, so he can coach his son's high school team. Then there's Sandy Koufax telling me that I lived in L.A. the way he lived in Stonington, Maine. I think of Bob Gibson's handshake, of Tony Perez, Petuka Perez, I think he lived a quarter of mile from where I lived in Brookline, Massachusetts, and to this day not two weeks go by when someone doesn't say, you know, how are Tony and Petuka Perez? They are the greatest people who lived in this neighborhood.

I think of the hours and I thank Jim Palmer and Tom Seaver for discussing pitching with me. I will never forget the day that Orlando Cepeda hit four doubles in one game in Fenway Park and could barely walk. I think of Reggie Jackson and the two of us wandering around Kenmore Square in Boston after the Angels had lost the 1986 ALCS, outraged because Reggie Jackson's team had lost. I think of Dennis Eckersley and I think of his start in the 1978 Boston Massacre, when nearly 100 writers surrounded Frank Duffy because he made an error. He started pulling them off. He shouted, 'He didn't load the bases. He didn't hang a 0-2 slider. Get to the locker and talk to the guy who has an L next to his name.' Dennis Eckersley defines teammate.

I think of Kirby Puckett, my favorite days in baseball while the lights were still off in the Metrodome at 2 o'clock in the afternoon. Game Six, the night he won the World Series, probably the only guy in the world that called me Petey, says, 'Petey, get up in your SportsCenter and tell everyone that Puck is going to jack the Twins up on his back today.' Well, four hits, a game-saving catch, and a 11th-inning home run later, Puck took us to the greatest seventh game, World Series game I will ever experience: 10 innings, 1-0, Jack Morris. These players are great players whose success is measured in overcoming adversity, but no one had to be a great person, no one had to be a great player to be a great person stored in my memory bank. So I think from John Curtis to Bill Campbell to Jerry Remy, Buckethead Schmidt to Bruce Hurst, Ellis Hurst to George Lombard, I've been lucky to know thousands of people who loved the game as much as I do.

In 1985, the Globe sent me to Meridian, Mississippi, to do a story on Dennis 'Oil Can' Boyd's background. I had dinner with his father, Willie James, who was once a Negro League pitcher and maintained the field and team in Meridian. He was telling me how he financed his life in baseball by being a landscaper.

He told me a story of a day in 1964 when he was landscaping the yard of the grand dragon of the Ku Klux Klan. He remembered seeing the cars coming up. They all rolled up the street, up the road from Philadelphia [Miss.] to [Meridian] Mississippi to take care of some civil rights workers. Mr. Boyd looked me in the eye. He said, 'You know what? This is what makes this country great. Today that man is destitute and crippled with arthritis and my boy, Dennis Boyd, is pitching in the major leagues for the Boston Red Sox.' In my mind the Boyd family represents baseball's place in American society. Jackie Robinson was in the big leagues seven years before Brown versus the Board of Education and we should never forget it, just as we should never forget the important athletes of the 20th century, arguably one of the 10 most important Americans of the 20th century. I remember waking up to read the story of Roberto Clemente's death, a great baseball idol [who] died taking medical, food and clothing supplies to earthquake victims in Nicaragua. I was with Dave Stewart the morning after he won the third game of the 1989 earthquake series as he crawled through the rubble of the collapsed Cypress structure to hand out coffee and donuts to volunteers searching for bodies.

I walked the streets of Manoguyabo, Dominican Republic, with Pedro Martinez and viewed the churches, school, athletic complex, day-care center and houses that he built for poor people in his hometown. I was not far from Fidel Castro when he stood for the American National Anthem at attention, his hat across his heart because baseball came to Havana in 1989. I remember George Bush strode out toward the mound at Yankee Stadium before the third game of the 2001 World Series, weeks removed from the World Trade Center attacks, and turned and said to Karl Ravech and Harold Reynolds, 'We are among the 55,000 people who just experienced one of the great chills of anyone's lifetime.' When Bud Selig asked us to embrace the World Cup, it's not T-shirts in Taiwan. It's about celebrating that baseball, more than any sport, is who we are. It is reflected in our immigration patterns, our history because we're all immigrants. We should want the world to see us not for our politics, not for our business, but for baseball as our metamorphic soul, inclusive, not exclusive, diverse, not divisive, fraternal, not fractionalized.

If any of you are familiar with the Cape Cod League you probably might have heard of Arnie Allen, a special needs gentleman who for 40 years was a batboy for the Falmouth Commodores. He was diagnosed with brain cancer in the summer of 2002. Seventy-two hours later a duffel bag of Angels paraphernalia arrived in Falmouth, courtesy of two Falmouth players, Darin Erstad and Adam Kennedy. Of course, the Angels went on to the World Series in 2002 and after winning one incredible sixth game coming from a five-nothing deficit in the eighth inning. Before Game Seven, Erstad and Kennedy pulled me aside before they went out to stretch and told me, 'We know you are going to be speaking at the Hall of Fame inductions in two weeks on the Cape.' They said in unison, 'As you speak, could you do us a favor, Arnie will be there probably for the last time. Could you just tell him that Darin and Adam Kennedy said we are thinking of him before they went out and won the World Series?'

Every day at the ball park, for me, there's been something that's great. Ozzie Smith fielding ground balls, just seeing Willie Mays, watching Tom Seaver throw a 3-1 changeup to Don Baylor in his 300th win, George, Gossage in 1980. More important, what I have taken from all of these years is the knowledge that the people who play this game inherently care so much about that game, fellow players and those who love it. I am very fortunate to have baseball as a part of my life for 35 years. I thank you, Gloria, and all my family for standing aside me and all baseball writers for their friendship, support and maintenance of a great and proud profession. The game is also about players. I thank the thousands of players that I have known for making this ride better than I ever could have imagined. Ted Williams used to tell me, 'Hey, Bush, someday you want to walk down the street and have people say you have the greatest job in America.' Ted, it happens almost every day. For that I thank all of you, every one who read or listened to me, allowed me to try to be your eyes and ears, that allowed me to find what I love and hold on to it long enough to experience this, the greatest day of my professional career.

Thank you.

"Fisk's HR In 12th Beats Reds" - Boston Globe, October 22, 1975

And all of a sudden the ball was there, like the Mystic River Bridge, suspended out in the black of the morning.

When it finally crashed off the mesh attached to the left-field foul pole, one step after another the reaction unfurled: from Carlton Fisk's convulsive leap to John Kiley's booming of the "Hallelujah Chorus'' to the wearing off of numbness to the outcry that echoed across the cold New England morning.

At 12:34 a.m., in the 12th inning, Fisk's histrionic home run brought a 7-6 end to a game that will be the pride of historians in the year 2525, a game won and lost what seemed like a dozen times, and a game that brings back summertime one more day. For the seventh game of the World Series.

For this game to end so swiftly, so definitely, was the way it had to end. An inning before, a Dwight Evans catch that Sparky Anderson claimed was as great as he's ever seen had been one turn, but in the ninth a George Foster throw ruined a bases-loaded, none-out certain victory for the Red Sox. Which followed a dramatic three-run homer in the eighth by Bernie Carbo as the obituaries had been prepared, which followed the downfall of Luis Tiant after El Tiante had begun, with the help of Fred Lynn's three-run, first-inning homer, as a hero of unmatched majesty.

So Fisk had put the exclamation mark at the end of what he called "the most emotional game I've ever played in.'' The home run came off Pat Darcy and made a winner of Rick Wise, who had become the record 12th pitcher in this 241-minute war that seemed like four score and seven years.

But the place one must begin is the bottom of the eighth, Cincinnati leading, 6-3, and the end so clear. El Tiante had left in the top of the inning to what apparently was to be the last of his 1975 ovations; he who had become the conquering king had been found to be just a man, and it seemed so certain. Autumn had been postponed for the last time.

Only out came an Implausible Hero, to a two-out, two-on situation against Rawlins J. Eastwick III, and Carbo did what he had done in Cincinnati. Pinch hitting, he sent a line drive into the center-field bleachers, and the chill of lachrymose had become mad, sensuous Fenway again. Followed by the point and counterpoint.

In the ninth, a Denny Doyle walk and Carl Yastrzemski single had put runners at first and third, which sent Eastwick away and brought in lefthander Will McEnaney, who walked Fisk to load the bases and pitch to Lynn.

Lynn got the ball to the outfield, but only a high, twisting fly ball down the left-field line that George Foster grabbed at the line and maybe 80 feet in back of third base. Third-base coach Don Zimmer said he told Doyle not to go, but he went anyway, and Foster's throw got to Johnny Bench in time for the double play. As the Red Sox shook their heads, mumbling "bases loaded, nobody out in the ninth,'' the Reds had their hero in Foster, who had put them ahead in the seventh with a two-run double.

Then in the 11th, the Reds had it taken away from them by Dwight Evans. With Ken Griffey at first, one out, Joe Morgan crashed a line drive toward the seats in right. Evans made his racing, web-of-the-glove, staggering catch as he crossed the warning track ("It would have been two rows in'' -- Reds bullpen catcher Bill Plummer), then as Griffey in disbelief stopped halfway between second and third, Evans spun and fired in. Yastrzemski, who had moved to first for Carbo's entrance to left, retrieved it if to the right of the coach's box, looked up, and guess who was standing on first base, waiting for the ball? Rick Burleson, who had raced over from shortstop. So Dick Drago, who worked three scoreless innings, the Red Sox, and a seventh game all had been saved.

When it was over, it was almost incomprehensible that it had begun with Tiant trying to crank out one more miracle. But it had, and for four innings, the evening was all his. They had merchandized "El Tiante'' tee shirts on the streets, they hung a banner that read "Loo-Eee For President'' and everything the man did, from taking batting practice to walking to the bullpen to warm up to the rhumbas and tangos that screwed the Reds into the ground for four innings brought standing ovations and the carol, "Loo-Eee, Loo-Eee ...''

El Tiante had a 3-0 lead from the first inning, when Lynn had followed Yastrzemski and Fisk singles by driving a Gary Nolan kumquat into the bleachers over the pitching mound of the Boston bullpen. Nolan did not last long, followed by a succession of seven, but the Billinghams, Carrolls, and Borbons had apparently done what they had to do.

And the abracadabra that had blinded the Reds before began to smudge. In the fifth, after Boston had lost two scoring opportunites, Luis walked Designated Bunter Ed Armbrister, and before he could hear his father incant Grande Olde Game No. 56 ("Walks ...''), Pete Rose singled and Griffey became the first player in three games here to hit The Wall. Not only was it the first time anyone had scored off Tiant in Fenway in 40 innings, but as the ball caromed away to be retrieved by Evans, the park went silent. In his running, leaping try for the ball at the 379-foot mark, Lynn had crashed into the wall and slid down to the ground, his back hurt.

Lynn eventually was able to stay in the game, but by the time the inning was over Bench had become the second to tickle The Wall, with a single, and it was 3-3. Then when Foster sent his drive off the center-field fence in the seventh, it was 5-3, and when Tiant was left to start the eighth, Cesar Geronimo angled a leadoff home inside the right-field pole, El Tiante left to his chant and his ovations. And in the press box, Sport Magazine editor Dick Schaap began collecting the ballots that determined which Red got the World Series hero's automobile.

So, if the honey and lemon works on the throat and the Alka-Seltzer does the same for the heads, Fenway will not be alone tonight. She has one drama, and it is perhaps sport's classic drama.

Bill Lee and Don Gullett, the Cincinnati Reds and the Boston Red Sox, and a long night's journey into morning, a game suspended in time as Fisk's home run was suspended beyond the skyline, a game that perhaps required the four-day buildup it got.

Summertime has been called back for just one more day -- for the seventh game of the World Series.

Enough Is Enough

I don't care what we have to do. If Rudy Seanez can't be trusted to get an out with a six run lead, something needs to be done. Trade him, designate him, bench him, shoot him, or give him the Jimmy Hoffa, it doesn't matter. Something needs to be done to prevent Seanez from being given the ball again. Yes, I'm completely irrational, yes, this is pure fanboy speaking, but fanboys get to vent now and again.

No more Rudy Seanez. Ever.

Prodigal Son

Once every long while in baseball there comes along a personality so great that it swallows up all those that encounter it, and even change the way The Game is viewed by it's fans. Across the decades baseball fans young and old can recall the childish energy of Ted Williams (“Christ, Ced, it’s great to be young and full of vinegar.” “Sure, Ted, but not at six o’clock in the morning.”), the collected majesty of Joe DiMaggio, the enigmatic grace of Sandy Koufax, and the dirt-covered face and reputation of Pete Rose. The stories are forever young and the truths ever-burgeoning, but regardless of accuracy or proximity, the magic of these rare individuals becomes one of the many facets used to characterize The Game.

Pedro Jaime Martinez is one such personality. From the now famous shade of his mango tree in Manoguayabo, Dominican Republic, to the autumn obsession of Boston, and now the obscurity of celebrity on the Biggest Stage On Earth, this slight-framed pitcher has woven his way into the hearts and minds of baseball fans everywhere.

It was in Boston that Pedro made his most enduring mark, where he polished his legend with Koufaxian performances in an era renowned for it’s affinity for the home run. A fastball that singed the very air through which it passed and a changeup that waded through what seemed like an eternity of minutes to arrive at home plate allowed Pedro to make lineups of All-Stars seem like bushers up for their first cup of coffee. It was also in Boston that Martinez stamped out his reputation as a head-hunter, an unimposing man unafraid of the largest of bashers, his fastball certainly more lethal than any home run they could hit. It was there, inside the well-worn walls of the clubhouse that Pedro spoke at times without any regard for logic or timeliness, where up was sometimes down and white was sometimes black, but Pedro was always Pedro and seemed forever a Red Sox.

He’s a Metropolitan now.

After his part in the 2004 World Series run, Pedro was one of several long-term members of the Sox to depart for greener pastures, choosing the four-year contract of Queens over the smaller deal in the Fens. Safe in the National League and presented with unfamiliar lineups, Pedro reasserted his dominance by winning 15 games and posting a 2.82 ERA for New York’s JV team. Comments by the ace after his signing led to bitterness in The Hub, but as time went on and the distance became greater, It’s fans began to bury the hard feelings and remember him as one of their own.

This Wednesday, Pedro will return to that lyrical little bandbox swathed in orange and royal blue in an attempt to show the ownership that had (ahem) disrespected him what they had passed up. Many of the media moguls in Boston feel that the fans at the park on Wednesday should shower Pedro with boos and jeers in an attempt to shame him into submission. Such a reaction would be wholly unjustified, and would do nothing but reflect poorly upon the city and it’s team.

Williams, DiMaggio, Koufax were part of one team from the beginning until the very end, and even Rose was completely Cincinnati, despite a brief stint north of the border. Unlike the players that reside in our sepia-toned memories today’s ballplayers have the ability to seek their fortune wherever it may lead them. Rare is the player who remains in one place for more than a handful of years. Fans now have little choice but to cheer them while they have them and lament them when they’re gone. Sure, Pedro broke our hearts, but he also lent the Red Sox an aura of legitimacy and weight in an area that had been devoid of such clout since the Rocket departed. This is not to say that the Red Sox should roll over in reverence to Pedro’s majesty, but in no way should Pedro be booed in the way Johnny Damon was. Pedro never came out on the record against signing with the Yankees and then signed with them.

When #45 first takes the hill on Wednesday night, every fan should be standing and applauding the body of work that Pedro Martinez compiled during his time in Boston. They should cheer because they had the chance to witness one of the greatest pitchers of all time in his prime, and for that they should be grateful.

And when a current Red Sox connects for the first base hit of the Olde Towne Team the fans should cheer once more, because the Red Sox, with or without Pedro Martinez, are here to stay.

Eight In A Row, Win!

When the Sox were mired in the middle of their on-again, off-again slump... when the Twins thought it time to remind all of us here in New England who was the Best Show on Turf... that is when our mantra should have been, "Just wait 'til the NL East, just wait 'til the NL East..." The Sox have grabbed their 8th straight victory, tying their longest winning streak since August of last year.

Now, granted, it has been agains the Braves, Nationals, and now the Phillies, but a win is still a win. If you were to tell Josh Beckett today that last night, his performance really didn't mean anything because it was against the Phillies, something tells me he'd have a few choice words for you.

That more than anything is extremely encouraging. When the guy you gutted the farm for is able to throw a perfect game f0r 6.2 innings and throw only 105 pitches over 8 innings, you know things are starting to swing in your direction. It wasn't too long ago when Beckett was coughing up bigtime runs in the early goings of his starts, and it's very reassuring to see him assert his dominance once more.

Manny Ramirez continues his hot hitting and David Ortiz tonight proved once again why he and not A-Rod was the MVP from 2005. Another game, another walkoff jack.

Let's go get the Phils and get ready for the Metropolitans next week.

Belated Congratulations to the Whale

Congratulations, Hartford. Our biggest pro sports team since the Hartford Dark Blues has finally won it all... in another state. The Carolina Hurricanes won the Stanley Cup this week, and here's what a friend of mine, who was at the game only to look for a nice gift for his wife, had to say about it in a Miami Herald piece.

VIEW FROM HARTFORD

Though a number of fans were spotted in Raleigh wearing the distinctive Hartford blue-and-green jerseys during the playoffs, a majority of Hartford's fans swore off the team once it moved.

Anthony Gargano, a Hartford fan from Easton, Conn., traveled here for Games 5 and 7.

''I went to the last game in Hartford, and this is like a culmination, or even some sort of closure for me,'' Gargano said Monday night. ``Seeing them complete the circle, they have nothing more to prove.

``When they left, I said I would never root for them. I put everything I had into them and they didn't give me anything back. Then, Opening Day came in 1997, and I found myself rooting for them again.''

Gargano said watching the players lift the Cup was a thrill, but seeing Karmanos with it didn't make him happy.

''I wouldn't say it hurt a little bit,'' he said. ``It hurts a lot. I would like to see a parade on Trumbull Street in downtown Hartford and not one in Raleigh. But that's pro sports for you.''

I'll always miss the Whale.

Great Idea, Mr. Francona. I'm Glad You Thought Of It.

Well, folks, the day has finally come. Terry Francona has decided to give his young guns a chance in important situations. After all the ballyhoo and July Seanarez we could handle, it looks as if we're going to get the opportunity to watch our boys try and develop in the Bigs, just like the grownups. I don't have much else to say other than, 'It's about time.'

No Shame And An In-Game

Ok, ok... I give. It's time for a completely shameless plug for something linked to a commercial venture (WRTC forgive me). Here's the thing, I got an email today from a woman named Lauren and the subject line read "Blogging the MLB All-Star Game". After I dislodged the chunk of hot dog that had rooted itself in the back of my throat, I scoped out the rest of the email. As it turns out, Monster.com and MLB.com are teaming up to do this super-sweet contest where they hook you up with chance to win a trip for two to the All-Star Game, receive on-field press credentials, the ability to interview a player, a blog on MLB.com, and (wait for it) $2,000 in spending cash.

Sweet, huh?

The excitement totally wore off once I realized all you needed to do was register on Monster.com to enter the contest, but I was still flattered to receive an email. And yea, I know all you blogging purists may consider this some sort of selling out on my part, seeing as how my chances of winning are like 1 in a really big number, but you know what?

I'm getting a free hat. So there.




Seen this guy before? Nope, sorry. This is not a pitcher with a 22.50 ERA, who allowed 5 earned runs in only 2.0 innings pitched this season, a pitcher just released by the Kansas City Royals.No, friends, this is Kyle Snyder, my pick for the Aaron Small Award. In 5 innings tonight Snyder allowed only 3 ER, no walks and struck out 6 Nationals.

Is this significant? Well, yes and no. Yes, because he came out and silenced his critics with an effective outing after only taking the hill once this season (June 8). Two home runs is never a good thing, but I'll take those and no walks. His curveball wasn't Sheets-like, but at times it absolutely froze the hitters, and that's what you need to do.

Why shouldn't we be excited about this start? Well, because he's a product of the Royals' farm system, notorious for destroying young pitchers before they can fight back. Let's also not forget the face that the Nationals aren't exactly the Tigers right now. Still, one thing you can never quantify is heart, and all you hardcore stats guys can piss off if you disagree. I love all the numbers, but there really is something to be said for someone with something to prove.

It's safe to say Snyder won't be winning any Cy Youngs in the near future, but let's all hope that he gives the Sox what they really need: someone who isn't Matt Clement.

Mr. Silver Lining

I know that we've all been coming down on the Sox lately. Heck, even SawxBlog is down: " I just have nothing to say on this team right now...pathetic." Absolutely justified, given the fact that a team that once boasted pitching depth is now scrambling for castoffs from the Kansas City Royals (see: Kyle Snyder). But wait, what's that?

Fear not, true believers, for Jon Lester showed signs of the pitcher we all want him to be tonight against the Braves. Going six innings and allowing only 5 hits with 3 BBs, 5 Ks and 1 ER, Lester showed he has the ability to toss plus-quality pitches and obtain the whiffs he needs. I'm pretty sure that a decent outing against a struggling team like the Braves doesn't count as an "emergence", but we've had so little to be optimistic lately that we might as well hope, right? Add in the fact that Lester's first career win comes on the same day our $9 million D-Lowe Lite was placed on the DL, and it becomes even more significant.

This is the kind of thing the Sox need to get going. There needs to be a freakin' youth movement in that bullpen and pitching staff. We're probably going to see Abe Alvarez come in to take the place of Clement, meaning we'll have 3 starters under 30... something I'm sure nobody foresaw until at least next season.

So, on a day that saw Chad Cordero fail to hold the Yankees, Matt Clement go on the DL with a boo-boo, and (almost forgot) Gabe "The Babe" Kapler rejoin his former team, we saw what could be the future of the Red Sox rotation pick up his first MLB victory.

MetroDumps

There's something about playing the Minnesota Twins, in their home park in particular, that makes me tremble. Maybe it's the fact that the games start at 8:05 and disrupt my normal cycle; maybe it's that the lack of a sky makes the game seem post-apocalyptic, as if Minneapolis on the outside were a burning hunk of rubble; maybe it's the turf. Then again, maybe it's just because when we're at the Metrodome, the Sox always seem to suck.

This team is playing like they really want to just get off the field and take a nap. The only part of their makeup still functioning the way it should is the defense, and that's not something we're used to. The pitching has been great from Schilling and Papelbon, decent from Wakefield, and shitty from everyone else. After the barnburner we got in game 1, where Schilling and Santana lived up to every bit of the hype they garnered, Francona gave the ball and a 2-1 lead in the bottom of the 12th to the guy he's been giving the ball to a lot this year: Julian Tavarez.

I realize that the team has a lot of money invested in Tavarez, and in Rudy Seanez as well, but I don't understand the logic of continually giving the ball to your "veterans" when they've been proving on a consistent basis that they can't be trusted in a close situation. It's a sentiment I've expressed multiple times on this site, but there's no reason for those two relievers to continue to be overworked in close games when we give our rookies mop-up duty in the blowouts. Eric Wilbur of the Globe wrote a good blog entry of his own on this unfortunate trend titled "Young Gun Shy". Check it out.

Why are we paying guys close to $4 million/year to blow close games when we have rookies who seem to have a greater chance at succeeding who are making 1/4 of that? Actually, check that. We don't know if the rookies have that chance because we've never seen them. All Tito does is crack stupid "Hey, I can read!" jokes and says the prospects have "good stuff" and we need to get consistency from them. Here's what Tito had to say between the quotes:

`Manny's an interesting guy for us," Francona said last night. ``He's young, got a great arm. We tried to somewhat pitch him in situations where we're down a couple just to take a little bit of the heat off him. The other day, he pitched so well. If he can start duplicating that and following up with back-to-back outings, that would be great for our bullpen just because of the stuff he brings." (Globe)

Well now that's interesting, isn't it? Back to back outings? That's weird, Terry, because he hasn't been used in back to back games EVER, and he's only used when we're mopping up, isn't he? Now, whose fault is that, Mr. Francona?

See? This kind of shit annoys me. But I guess I should be happy with the fact that he's consistent in his actions. If I just stop thinking about it, it will cease to cause gridlock in my brain.

On to Atlanta.

Long Past Few Days

For both myself and the Sox it has been a long last few days. With the rain over the weekend forcing the doubleheader to move to Sunday, and the placing of Foulke back on the DL with elbow soreness, not to mention the fact that David Pauley got absolutely shitrocked and the Julian Tavarez really should not be trusted with any kind of lead, the Sox really need to get straightened out.

Tavarez and Seanez have both been miserable in holding opponents to no runs. I'm not going to get into specifics because I a) don't want to weep when I actually see them, and b) my brain is only functioning at half capactiy right now.

Sox at Twins again tonight, Clement at Radke.

[Insert Bull Durham One-Liner Here]

Yea, I know. Tonight's loss hurt. Pauley pitched a gem a day after we get blown out of the water and Francona has to go and ruin it. Still, at least there was some sort of silver lining.

What gets me most about tonight's loss isn't that we lost, it's that we witnessed another example of Tito sticking with his "trusty veterans" and losing the game. We saw it last year with Embree for half a season and Millar until October, and now we're seeing it with Tavarez and Seanez. With 2 out and nobody on in the bottom of the 7th, Pauley missed a ball that he should've collected and Miguel Cairo got on base by chance. Followed by a Damon single. Followed by a Cabrera walk. At this point in the game, every Sox fan watching knows that Rudy Seanez is warming in the bullpen and that Francona is about to make the slow walk to pull the determined rookie. I prayed it wasn't going to happen, I yelled, begged and pleaded to the point where I irritated everyone in the room. But like such faithful clockwork, Seanez trotted in from the bullpen and prepared to face Jason Giambi.

This is the same Rudy Seanez who has a fly ball percentage of somewhere near 55%, who has a WHIP somewhere just barely south of 2.00, whose OBA is close to .300, whose HR/9 is north of 1.5, and who is averaging 4.5 walks per 9 innings.

Get the picture?

Seanez has been struggling all year. His signing in the offseason really raised a few eyebrows because of 1) his age and 2) the fact that his league-adjusted ERA was closer to 4. His career numbers should really suggest a better fit in the DH-less National League.

Anyways, the point is he's been awful and that maybe, just maybe, a bases loaded, low-scoring situation is not the best place to bring him in. It's not like Pauley was doing terrible. In my opinion there was such a good chance at least one run was going to score with Seanez that there was far more to gain by letting Pauley pitch to Giambi and try and get himself out of his own mess than let Seanez bail him out. Either way the runs are charged to the rookie. Let him win or lose the game on his own merits, don't let some two-bit, over-the-hill middle reliever lose it for him.

That's what steams me about this game. Hats off to both clubs, they played and pitched their tails off. I was embarassed by last night, but tonight is just a loss you have to move on from. We had the chance to make Pauley's silver lining that much brighter, but Rudy Seanez tarnished that chance on just 6 pitches.

Spoke Too Soon

After an attaque écrit against M. Clement last night, Captain Inconsistency decided to come out and throw a solid game against the best team in baseball.

Who knew?

Six hits through six innings, 5 strikeouts, 2 walks and 3 earned runs on just under 100 pitches is, for Clement, the definition of efficiency these days. Granted, 3 ER is still more than you'd like to give up, but lets take baby steps, shall we? Offensively, picked up a number of long balls (4, to be exact) from Youk, Gonzalez, Ortiz and Ramirez, and hey! would you look at that, Youk even stole my fantasy team a base. Youk's dong was opposite field, too, which made it even cooler to look at.

Starting tomorrow the Sox head to the Bronx to take on their (yawn) hated rivals, the Yankees. Beckett will toe the rubber, and hopefully be a little better with his location than he was in Toronto. I realize I said a few posts ago that it wasn't as fun beating the Yankees when they were throwing the Trenton OF at us, but I was totally wrong. Probably because it still sucks when Trenton beats us. These are big games, 4 in the beginning of June with only one half game between them. If it were in any way possible to take 3 or even sweep, I would mess my pants. No lie. Problem with these teams is that their pitching is so streaky, anything can happen. That means the offense is going to factor in for serious, and with all the injuries to both clubs it looks like the Sox may have the advantage (with Jeter going day-to-day with his wrist plunking).

Stay tuned, boys and girls. Could be an interesting, though overdone, series.

The Japanese Language Yankees Blog You Never Knew You Wanted To Read And/Or Look At... Oh Yea, And The Red Sox Are In Detroit

I'd like to ask all of you loyal (imaginary) readers out there to head on over to this blog that my friend (a Yankees fan, unfortunately) has started recently. It doesn't really have a title to speak of, or really, one that I can understand, so I'm going to call it Ms. Mori's Super Cute Bomber Blog. Why, you ask? I challenge you to tell me your cute radar doesn't explode at the wallpaper. In any case she loves her Yankees like I love me Sox, so show her you're an educated baseball fan and stare at the characters.

In other news, the Sox are in Detroit, home of baseball's best record. With a comeback victory in the top of the ninth off the bat of everybody's new favorite hero, Kevin Youkilis, and a tough loss tonight for Tim Wakefield, the Sox look to the poster child for insecurity, Matt Clement, for a win. In all fairness, Clement would also be the "nice guy" poster child if not for Tim Wakefield. Clement's really been a bang-up piece of work, doing nothing but bad things on the hill for Boston. During his second to last outing he was drilled again in the leg by a come-backer, something that seemed to spoil what was shaping up to be a decent start.

Here's the FanGraphs link to Clement's pitching lines thus far in 2006:

Since When Did FanGraphs Do Pitching Lines For Slow-Pitch Softball?

Not pretty, is it? Six runs in 3.1 IP last time out at Toronto really isn't impressive, nor is the fact that after bitching about being skipped in the last Bronx series he decided to give up 8 ER in 4.1 IP. What is striking is the fact that in the 5 starts before that he allowed 4 earned runs only twice. It's gotta be a fluke though, because if you take a look at all of his peripherals, they're all in the "somebody please turn me into a journeyman middle reliever" range.

At this point we should all just get down on our knees and say our Rosaries before every start by #30, and make sure to avoid any heavy foods to headoff the heartburn. I will keep saying "I hope he can turn it around," but by this point it just looks like that's nothing but ignorance.

At least Carl Pavano doesn't have a 6.91 ERA in the first week of June...

715

In the 5 days that have passed since Barry Bonds broke Babe Ruth's home run record for sole possession of second place on the all-time list I have done a lot of thinking. Consider this the reasons for the lack of posts. Sure, I could tell you about the fact that Coco made his return, that we put Mike Timlin and Wily Mo Peña on the DL, and the David Pauley was lucky he didn't give up more runs than he did in his first start, but Bonds' home run trumps all of that.

Let me start by saying that I don't like Barry Bonds.

I've done the reading and I've done the research. I've listened to Barry's asinine interviews and seen all the highlight comparisions to Ruth. Over the winter I found myself hating Bonds for no reason other than the fact that he was about to break a sacred record with sarilegious substances, found myself hoping he would get drilled in the knee or just decide to retire. He was volatile, emotional with fans and media alike, and the decline in his skills pointed to utter selfishness in the continuance of his play. What was there to like about him?

Nothing. But then again, there was really nothing for me to hate, either.

I had never spoken with Barry, I wasn't a Dodger or Yankee fan. Sure, the Ruth record is sacred, but things change. Can you imagine what the talk must have been like when Aaron challenged and then sprinted past The Babe? Yes, steroids were against the laws of the nation, and yes, I believe he used them. You can't read the literature and believe he didn't.

The thing is, Barry wasn't alone. This whole scandal has turned into a witch hunt, an attempt to unseat a man at the very top of the game of baseball. Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa shattered Maris' record, and no one so much as batted an eye... until Barry and the Babe. Palmeiro broke 3,000 hits, but he was expelled from the game because of he turned on his teammates in an attempt to deflect blame. As a friend of mine said recently, "You can't put racing fuel into a Pinto and turn it into a hot rod." You've got to have the parts to begin with.

What Barry did was amoral, not immoral. We can say he's wrong, but according to whom? Purists? The Hall of Fame is filled with cheaters, drinkers, racists and men of similar ilk. Steroids, in the grand scheme of things, are probably not the worst thing to happen to the game. Add to that the fact that it has been speculated that a large percentage of pitchers used steroids themselves, and you have a playing field that begins to level out.

Barry was Hall-bound before he juiced, and in my opinion, as much as I may not like him as a person, he is on his way to Cooperstown even now. The game is changing and will continue to change. As fans we can either try and understand the full, multi-dimensional presence and impact of these changes, or we can stand tiptoed on our soapboxes and lament how the game "used to be."

Barry isn't the problem, he's the result.