Well, tonight's come-from-behind win makes up for Tuesday night's crap-out. PawSox crew delivers, led by Jonathan Van Every, who'll probably do just fine as an everyday player should J.D. Drew, you know, need some rest and rehabilitation from time to time.
Something to ponder, though, as April comes to a close: Who'd of thought at this early juncture that our most reliable starters would be Tim Wakefield and Justin Masterson?
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury, I'll Be Brief
The 11-game winning streak comes to a close on a night when it seemed predestined to extend to 12.
At the bookends of the streak we have Javier Lopez suffering the losses in almost Little League-like fashion. Got news for you, bro. Hunter Jones is taking your job.
Mostly, though, Tuesday night's ugly game in Cleveland raises two basic points:
1. Why Julio at short? He's not really much of an upgrade on Nick Green, who did little over the previous 11 games to warrant being taken out of the lineup. He might not be the most potent hitter on the planet but, shucks, he catches the ball when it's thrown to him.
2. Brad Penny has struggled with command every time he's pitched this season. If the trend holds, it's a no-brainer about what to do with Justin Masterson when Dice-K returns.
At the bookends of the streak we have Javier Lopez suffering the losses in almost Little League-like fashion. Got news for you, bro. Hunter Jones is taking your job.
Mostly, though, Tuesday night's ugly game in Cleveland raises two basic points:
1. Why Julio at short? He's not really much of an upgrade on Nick Green, who did little over the previous 11 games to warrant being taken out of the lineup. He might not be the most potent hitter on the planet but, shucks, he catches the ball when it's thrown to him.
2. Brad Penny has struggled with command every time he's pitched this season. If the trend holds, it's a no-brainer about what to do with Justin Masterson when Dice-K returns.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Sox-Yanks, Round 3
Giddy as a schoolboy on Christmas morning, brethren. Still buzzing over Jacoby's steal of home, which stands as the exclamation point (or middle finger, if you are of a hostile bent) to this weekend's sweep of the Yankees.
Preferring the eloquence of punctuation, I'll go with proper grammar and add this simple declarative sentence:
This latest series and its crowning jewel of Jacoby's swipe of home illustrate the point Brian Cashman made last week at SCSU. The Yankees, as an organization, are still chasing after the Red Sox and their more efficient business model of drafting well, developing from within, plugging gaps with free agents and not overpaying for older talent.
What a lovely role reversal. No wonder I can watch games calmly these days. Larry Lucchino may make us cringe from time to time, but at least Sox ownership, as a whole, has little of the impetuous egoism and occasional insanity that are hallmarks of The House of Steinbrenner.
Those are the true standings, the "big picture" that lies behind the actual three-game gap between Nation and Empire in this morning's paper.
Sunday's series finale underscored this point. There was none of the comeback drama of the first two games, just a lesson in the ways one storied franchise has gotten the upper hand on another.
*Exhibit A: Young Jacoby's steal on a still-effective, but aging Andy Pettitte.
*Exhibit B: Young pitchers. Justin Masterson starts and gets the win. Farmhand Michael Bowden, up for one game only, helps close it out. Now he goes back to Pawtucket and continues to develop with the likes of Clay Buchholz and Daniel Bard.
Would the Presence of A-Rod have made a difference this weekend? Maybe. But you know what? We're still waiting for the Presence of A-Rod to make a difference.
Right now, from the bushes to the bigs, the Red Sox are the better franchise.
Preferring the eloquence of punctuation, I'll go with proper grammar and add this simple declarative sentence:
This latest series and its crowning jewel of Jacoby's swipe of home illustrate the point Brian Cashman made last week at SCSU. The Yankees, as an organization, are still chasing after the Red Sox and their more efficient business model of drafting well, developing from within, plugging gaps with free agents and not overpaying for older talent.
What a lovely role reversal. No wonder I can watch games calmly these days. Larry Lucchino may make us cringe from time to time, but at least Sox ownership, as a whole, has little of the impetuous egoism and occasional insanity that are hallmarks of The House of Steinbrenner.
Those are the true standings, the "big picture" that lies behind the actual three-game gap between Nation and Empire in this morning's paper.
Sunday's series finale underscored this point. There was none of the comeback drama of the first two games, just a lesson in the ways one storied franchise has gotten the upper hand on another.
*Exhibit A: Young Jacoby's steal on a still-effective, but aging Andy Pettitte.
*Exhibit B: Young pitchers. Justin Masterson starts and gets the win. Farmhand Michael Bowden, up for one game only, helps close it out. Now he goes back to Pawtucket and continues to develop with the likes of Clay Buchholz and Daniel Bard.
Would the Presence of A-Rod have made a difference this weekend? Maybe. But you know what? We're still waiting for the Presence of A-Rod to make a difference.
Right now, from the bushes to the bigs, the Red Sox are the better franchise.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Sox-Yanks, Round 2
Listened the Sox on the radio Saturday en route to seeing "Hair" up at UConn, which was overrun with the madness of Spring Weekend. Somewhere in that orgy of home runs, hippies and hedonsim all things merged into one, and a 16-11 Red Sox win ran through it.
Unreal.
Good Morning Starshine.
Let the Sunshine In.
Burn it, Berger, burn it. Burn that Yankees bullpen. The Connecticut Repertory cast wasn't the only thing standing naked in public Saturday.
And that's the lesson of the day. At this juncture, the Sox have one arm fully up on the Yankees based on relief pitching, a disparity that, for the moment, increased with Brian Bruney going on the DL. The X-factor for the Sox is definitely this Ramon Ramirez.
That and Mike Lowell's pride. Joe Girardi: His moves don't seem to pan out too often, do they? When does his honeymoon end? The post-Torre Age of Aquarius in Bomber Town has yet to dawn.
Unreal.
Good Morning Starshine.
Let the Sunshine In.
Burn it, Berger, burn it. Burn that Yankees bullpen. The Connecticut Repertory cast wasn't the only thing standing naked in public Saturday.
And that's the lesson of the day. At this juncture, the Sox have one arm fully up on the Yankees based on relief pitching, a disparity that, for the moment, increased with Brian Bruney going on the DL. The X-factor for the Sox is definitely this Ramon Ramirez.
That and Mike Lowell's pride. Joe Girardi: His moves don't seem to pan out too often, do they? When does his honeymoon end? The post-Torre Age of Aquarius in Bomber Town has yet to dawn.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Sox-Yanks, Round 1
"Hey, hey, Bay; that's what I say."
Much satisfaction from Friday night's game, at least from the bottom of the ninth on.
For a while there, it was looking like the first week of the season all over again. A pitiful parade of double plays and unproductive outs. Just when I was resigned to defeat -- almost on the verge of logging in and blogging out my frustration -- Jason Bay did his thing, reprising the role of Mo Killer previously held by Billy Mueller, a player cut from the same cloth: hustler, hard-working, team guy, no bullshit, someone you can root for 100 percent.
In other words, the anti-Manny.
Sure, Manny, if he were still a Sox, could very well have taken Rivera deep in the same situation. But he wouldn't have made the diving catch Bay did in the 7th, which backed up the great bailout work by Manny Delcarmen and set the scene for his own homer heroics.
I've liked Bay from the get-go and haven't missed Manny one iota. Don't know about you, but I always disliked the dilemma posed by Manny's presence on the Red Sox. I found him to be a compromise of one's values. Does greatness ever outweigh character?
Much satisfaction from Friday night's game, at least from the bottom of the ninth on.
For a while there, it was looking like the first week of the season all over again. A pitiful parade of double plays and unproductive outs. Just when I was resigned to defeat -- almost on the verge of logging in and blogging out my frustration -- Jason Bay did his thing, reprising the role of Mo Killer previously held by Billy Mueller, a player cut from the same cloth: hustler, hard-working, team guy, no bullshit, someone you can root for 100 percent.
In other words, the anti-Manny.
Sure, Manny, if he were still a Sox, could very well have taken Rivera deep in the same situation. But he wouldn't have made the diving catch Bay did in the 7th, which backed up the great bailout work by Manny Delcarmen and set the scene for his own homer heroics.
I've liked Bay from the get-go and haven't missed Manny one iota. Don't know about you, but I always disliked the dilemma posed by Manny's presence on the Red Sox. I found him to be a compromise of one's values. Does greatness ever outweigh character?
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Cash & Carry
The Red Sox and Yankees meet tonight for the first time this season, but we here on the Nation-Empire frontline know the 2009 series began Jan. 6 when the Yankees introduced Mark Teixeira as their new first baseman.
The signing, coming fast on the heels of CC Sabathia and A.J. Burnett, was the final piece of New York’s free-agent triptych of the offseason. It was also made in the wake of Boston’s failed push for the top positional player on the market.
Where have we heard that before?
That’s OK. We Sox fans haven’t regretted missing out on A-Rod for a solitary second. Hopefully the same will hold true for Teixeira, though I’m doubtful. At the very least, Tex lacks those personal qualities of A-Rod’s that border so hard on the farcical.
But, dig this, we could have had him — should have had him.
That was the word from ESPN’s Peter Gammons at Wednesday’s Fusco Distinguished Lecture Series at SCSU. Gammons, sharing the stage with Yankees GM Brian Cashman, indicated the Sox went wrong when two team owners accompanied GM Theo Epstein on a trip to Teixeira’s home.
One of the owners — Gammons didn’t name names, but my bet’s you can pin this on that hub of discord, Larry Lucchino — made the face time go terribly awry. In my mind’s eye, I see “Rock of Love” and all those other reality shows featuring people with puffed-up body parts.
“There was definite friction in the meeting room,” Gammons said. “Theo, who is a good people-person, was not pleased with how that meeting went.”
The implication was Tex would be a Sox had Epstein flown solo.
Instead, there was Cashman, swooping in and picking up the very guy he was gaga about from the beginning, but had to cool his jets while locking up the pitching the Steinbrenners coveted first and foremost.
“We weren’t after Tex all winter, which is why people were so shocked,” said Cashman. “We were shocked.”
This story, just like the A-Rod story and the “Bernie Williams almost went to the Red Sox” story, are easy to take when heard through the lovely white noise of Boston’s 2004 and 2007 World Championships, which stand like a massive fulcrum between the modern day and the Yankee dynasties of yesteryear.
That’s a reality Cashman readily acknowledges. He’s spoken twice in these parts this year — the Middlesex Chamber event in February being the first — and while it’s clear he’s a sharp, shrewd dude who cloaks much behind a public persona of tact, graciousness and self-deprecation, Cashman has the confidence to call it like it is. As the bearer of four World Series rings, he’s got the cache to do so.
And here’s what he said Wednesday about the Red Sox as he twiddled one of those rings:
“Even the years we won these, Boston was always on our heels. Because we won World Championships, people forgot how tough they made it.”
Now, under the Henry-Epstein regime, the Sox have the Yanks playing catch-up, following their model of preserving picks, drafting well, developing talent, building from within and mortaring with select free agents rather than relying on them so heavily, a trap into which the Yankees fell in the middle years of the decade.
“You gravitate to programs that consistently put out a winning product and you try to learn from it, even if it’s your hated rival,” Cashman said. “They’re doing a fantastic job, but we’re trying to close the gap.”
This weekend will provide some measure of Yankee progress.
So far, it’s mixed. Burnett has been solid, Sabathia hit or miss and Teixeira slow out of the gate. I’ll be honest, after watching Teixeira in last year’s ALDS, admiring his great range in the field and exceptional eye at the plate, I hoped the Sox would land him even though it would have meant parting with the highly admirable Mike Lowell. Wish I was in that room with Theo.
Some other highlights from Wednesday’s gig at SCSU:
- It was well attended. Most of the Lyman Performing Arts Center’s semi-circular auditorium was filled, though the far wings were as empty as the four-figure ringside seats at the new Yankee Stadium.
Cashman was asked about that and deferred. “I’m the director of spending, not the director of revenue.”
He did maintain that, overall, 50 percent of tickets are still at same price they were in the old Stadium.
- An increase in home runs is another matter: 26 in the first six games at the new Stadium, with 17 to right field. “It’s something we have to keep our eye on because the numbers don’t lie,” said Cashman, who did note the early returns comprise only a small statistical population.
- Re: Statistics. “Moneyball” came up and Cashman, a numbers guy by reputation, advocated blending the new statistical approaches with old-school player evaluation.
“What the explosion of Moneyball did was illustrate how important it is to acquire as much information as you can, because your eyes can deceive you sometimes,” he said. “We don’t (rely) solely on that stuff because it’s still about scouting the tools of the player.”
It seemed a case of Cashman playing it down the middle for public consumption. After all, a Moneyball mentality lay behind the acquisition of Nick Swisher. Last year, with the White Sox, Swisher batted only .214. Yet other numbers — line drives, putting balls in play — were consistent with previous seasons.
“The guy was unlucky, in our opinion. We think last year was an aberration,” said Cashman, as assessment so far borne out by Swisher’s performance.
Cashman also noted how technology dovetails with statistical analysis. Exhibit A: Chien Ming-Wang’s early struggles. In the past, a coaching staff could only speculate and try to discern from video if a pitcher’s arm angle had changed. Now they can actually measure it. The Yankees found Wang’s has risen by five inches.
- Carl Pavano’s name came up. Cashman was talking about how he’s learned to have a thick skin in the New York media market. It’s the kind of glare, he said, that magnifies mistakes that create little buzz in other markets.
“Carl Pavano played loud in New York. He got hurt for four years. Mike Hampton got hurt (in Atlanta) for four years, but you didn’t hear much about it while you heard about Carl east and west.”
- On steroids and A-Rod admitting he once used them: “We’ve gone through a generation in this game that made big mistakes. It’s now up to everyone in the game, including those who made the mistakes, to get it back on track.”
- Recovery was a recurrent theme. Gammons talked about the aneurysm he suffered in 2006. On the first day he came to in the hospital, a FedEx package arrived. Inside was a chain medallion with a cross sent by Don Mattingly, sent in hopes that it would keep Gammons alive. Gammons hasn’t taken it off since.
The signing, coming fast on the heels of CC Sabathia and A.J. Burnett, was the final piece of New York’s free-agent triptych of the offseason. It was also made in the wake of Boston’s failed push for the top positional player on the market.
Where have we heard that before?
That’s OK. We Sox fans haven’t regretted missing out on A-Rod for a solitary second. Hopefully the same will hold true for Teixeira, though I’m doubtful. At the very least, Tex lacks those personal qualities of A-Rod’s that border so hard on the farcical.
But, dig this, we could have had him — should have had him.
That was the word from ESPN’s Peter Gammons at Wednesday’s Fusco Distinguished Lecture Series at SCSU. Gammons, sharing the stage with Yankees GM Brian Cashman, indicated the Sox went wrong when two team owners accompanied GM Theo Epstein on a trip to Teixeira’s home.
One of the owners — Gammons didn’t name names, but my bet’s you can pin this on that hub of discord, Larry Lucchino — made the face time go terribly awry. In my mind’s eye, I see “Rock of Love” and all those other reality shows featuring people with puffed-up body parts.
“There was definite friction in the meeting room,” Gammons said. “Theo, who is a good people-person, was not pleased with how that meeting went.”
The implication was Tex would be a Sox had Epstein flown solo.
Instead, there was Cashman, swooping in and picking up the very guy he was gaga about from the beginning, but had to cool his jets while locking up the pitching the Steinbrenners coveted first and foremost.
“We weren’t after Tex all winter, which is why people were so shocked,” said Cashman. “We were shocked.”
This story, just like the A-Rod story and the “Bernie Williams almost went to the Red Sox” story, are easy to take when heard through the lovely white noise of Boston’s 2004 and 2007 World Championships, which stand like a massive fulcrum between the modern day and the Yankee dynasties of yesteryear.
That’s a reality Cashman readily acknowledges. He’s spoken twice in these parts this year — the Middlesex Chamber event in February being the first — and while it’s clear he’s a sharp, shrewd dude who cloaks much behind a public persona of tact, graciousness and self-deprecation, Cashman has the confidence to call it like it is. As the bearer of four World Series rings, he’s got the cache to do so.
And here’s what he said Wednesday about the Red Sox as he twiddled one of those rings:
“Even the years we won these, Boston was always on our heels. Because we won World Championships, people forgot how tough they made it.”
Now, under the Henry-Epstein regime, the Sox have the Yanks playing catch-up, following their model of preserving picks, drafting well, developing talent, building from within and mortaring with select free agents rather than relying on them so heavily, a trap into which the Yankees fell in the middle years of the decade.
“You gravitate to programs that consistently put out a winning product and you try to learn from it, even if it’s your hated rival,” Cashman said. “They’re doing a fantastic job, but we’re trying to close the gap.”
This weekend will provide some measure of Yankee progress.
So far, it’s mixed. Burnett has been solid, Sabathia hit or miss and Teixeira slow out of the gate. I’ll be honest, after watching Teixeira in last year’s ALDS, admiring his great range in the field and exceptional eye at the plate, I hoped the Sox would land him even though it would have meant parting with the highly admirable Mike Lowell. Wish I was in that room with Theo.
Some other highlights from Wednesday’s gig at SCSU:
- It was well attended. Most of the Lyman Performing Arts Center’s semi-circular auditorium was filled, though the far wings were as empty as the four-figure ringside seats at the new Yankee Stadium.
Cashman was asked about that and deferred. “I’m the director of spending, not the director of revenue.”
He did maintain that, overall, 50 percent of tickets are still at same price they were in the old Stadium.
- An increase in home runs is another matter: 26 in the first six games at the new Stadium, with 17 to right field. “It’s something we have to keep our eye on because the numbers don’t lie,” said Cashman, who did note the early returns comprise only a small statistical population.
- Re: Statistics. “Moneyball” came up and Cashman, a numbers guy by reputation, advocated blending the new statistical approaches with old-school player evaluation.
“What the explosion of Moneyball did was illustrate how important it is to acquire as much information as you can, because your eyes can deceive you sometimes,” he said. “We don’t (rely) solely on that stuff because it’s still about scouting the tools of the player.”
It seemed a case of Cashman playing it down the middle for public consumption. After all, a Moneyball mentality lay behind the acquisition of Nick Swisher. Last year, with the White Sox, Swisher batted only .214. Yet other numbers — line drives, putting balls in play — were consistent with previous seasons.
“The guy was unlucky, in our opinion. We think last year was an aberration,” said Cashman, as assessment so far borne out by Swisher’s performance.
Cashman also noted how technology dovetails with statistical analysis. Exhibit A: Chien Ming-Wang’s early struggles. In the past, a coaching staff could only speculate and try to discern from video if a pitcher’s arm angle had changed. Now they can actually measure it. The Yankees found Wang’s has risen by five inches.
- Carl Pavano’s name came up. Cashman was talking about how he’s learned to have a thick skin in the New York media market. It’s the kind of glare, he said, that magnifies mistakes that create little buzz in other markets.
“Carl Pavano played loud in New York. He got hurt for four years. Mike Hampton got hurt (in Atlanta) for four years, but you didn’t hear much about it while you heard about Carl east and west.”
- On steroids and A-Rod admitting he once used them: “We’ve gone through a generation in this game that made big mistakes. It’s now up to everyone in the game, including those who made the mistakes, to get it back on track.”
- Recovery was a recurrent theme. Gammons talked about the aneurysm he suffered in 2006. On the first day he came to in the hospital, a FedEx package arrived. Inside was a chain medallion with a cross sent by Don Mattingly, sent in hopes that it would keep Gammons alive. Gammons hasn’t taken it off since.
Monday, April 20, 2009
I'm Digging It
Listened to Sunday's 2-1 win over Baltimore on the radio while toiling in the garden.
Naturally, it occured to me: Listening to baseball on the radio speaks volumes about advancing age.
But now, hours later, listening to Wilco, which speaks volumes about enduring taste, a deeper thought surfaces: The Sox season so far is an awful lot like that soil I worked this afternoon.
And that's good news, because the backyard patch is coming together quickly.
Real ratty-ass to begin with. Leaves and assorted autumnal debris gouged into gullies scoured by winter's icy runoff. The wear and tear of the seasons hits the hips and hydrangeas with equal vengeance. All you can do is get out the sharp instruments, prune here, prune there and get ready for the new buds of spring.
But spring we know to be fickle, at least in the early going. It takes a while to get rolling. But once you grab a shovel, dig around, get a little dirty, mix things up and rake it out nice, a 2-6 dust bowl suddenly seems ready for the first wave of pole beans.
Brethren, today we saw the return to form of Johan Lester.
On this homestand, we have seen the return of the heavy lumber and that old Fenway magic. Once we got a few back in the bottom of the second after falling behind 7-0 on Friday, who among us didn't say, "Shoot, bro, there's still a lot of baseball left to be played in this one; grab me another frosty."
Youk is an absolute felon with the bat (hopefully it's contagious and will infect Papi), the bullpen is an absolute force (with Javier Lopez the only suspect link at this juncture) and our defense wins us games others lose (again, witness Friday night).
Weirdly enough, considering where we were when the season dawned, the prime concern is starting pitching. What are we going to get? Hardly sold on Penny. Who could possibly be? The Diceman?
But this is rich man crying poor, or at least I hope so. Smoltz looms as a nice pocket kicker, not to mention Clay Buchholz. If Ramon Ramirez and Okie and Delcarmen are consistent set-up guys, Masterson becomes more and more viable as a starter.
We'll see how he does today. Based on the long outing in Oakland, you've got to expect good things, especially if the slider's movin' and groovin'.
Just throwing seeds here in April.
Space two inches apart in rows two feet apart, thin to 6-8 inches.
That's what the instructions on the packets say like so many scouting reports. Sun and rain bring more to bear, and the best gardens bear deep into October. Here in April, it's enough to say the soil's shaping up fine.
Naturally, it occured to me: Listening to baseball on the radio speaks volumes about advancing age.
But now, hours later, listening to Wilco, which speaks volumes about enduring taste, a deeper thought surfaces: The Sox season so far is an awful lot like that soil I worked this afternoon.
And that's good news, because the backyard patch is coming together quickly.
Real ratty-ass to begin with. Leaves and assorted autumnal debris gouged into gullies scoured by winter's icy runoff. The wear and tear of the seasons hits the hips and hydrangeas with equal vengeance. All you can do is get out the sharp instruments, prune here, prune there and get ready for the new buds of spring.
But spring we know to be fickle, at least in the early going. It takes a while to get rolling. But once you grab a shovel, dig around, get a little dirty, mix things up and rake it out nice, a 2-6 dust bowl suddenly seems ready for the first wave of pole beans.
Brethren, today we saw the return to form of Johan Lester.
On this homestand, we have seen the return of the heavy lumber and that old Fenway magic. Once we got a few back in the bottom of the second after falling behind 7-0 on Friday, who among us didn't say, "Shoot, bro, there's still a lot of baseball left to be played in this one; grab me another frosty."
Youk is an absolute felon with the bat (hopefully it's contagious and will infect Papi), the bullpen is an absolute force (with Javier Lopez the only suspect link at this juncture) and our defense wins us games others lose (again, witness Friday night).
Weirdly enough, considering where we were when the season dawned, the prime concern is starting pitching. What are we going to get? Hardly sold on Penny. Who could possibly be? The Diceman?
But this is rich man crying poor, or at least I hope so. Smoltz looms as a nice pocket kicker, not to mention Clay Buchholz. If Ramon Ramirez and Okie and Delcarmen are consistent set-up guys, Masterson becomes more and more viable as a starter.
We'll see how he does today. Based on the long outing in Oakland, you've got to expect good things, especially if the slider's movin' and groovin'.
Just throwing seeds here in April.
Space two inches apart in rows two feet apart, thin to 6-8 inches.
That's what the instructions on the packets say like so many scouting reports. Sun and rain bring more to bear, and the best gardens bear deep into October. Here in April, it's enough to say the soil's shaping up fine.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Pacific Pacifier
I'm on vacation this week, tending to a lot of baby stuff. Settled on a pediatrician this morning and got some tips tonight in childbirth class on how to soothe a crying baby.
In between, in the vast nursery of Red Sox Nation, Ol' Timmah Wakefield demonstrated his own particular technique. Seven-plus innings of no-hit ball in Oakland to cap the West Coast swing. He didn't just eat up the innings, he ate up the A's.
And so an A+ for Ol' Timmah.
Just what the doctor ordered for our struggling club.
That and the six-run eighth inning. Did we actually bat around? String together a long two-out rally?
Perhaps today's win, coupled with a nice long upcoming homestand, will be the catalyst that reverses the 2-6 start. (Though I am tempted to posit the recovery started with the great relief work of Justin Masterson and the bullpen in Tuesday's 12-inning loss. Finally, something consistently good.)
In the big picture, the biggest downside to the West Coast jaunt wasn't the lost games, but the lost bodies:
*Jed Lowrie, for all his early offensive struggles, will be missed. We are suddenly dangerously thin at shortstop, though Nick Green sure played a good game today.
*Revolver Beckett loses a start due to suspension from a game in which he wasn't even ejected. That's sort of like doing hard time for a crime for which you weren't even arrested.
*And, lastly, the Diceman with his shoulder strain.
You know where he got that? Not pitching for the team paying him millions, but for Ol' Nippon in the World Baseball Classic, which I suppose would make good theater if not for the casualty list that builds in its wake.
Pedroia and Youk both hobbled away from it back in March. The Diceman's woes seem to be on tape delay -- sorta like the way he pitches.
But this is just me whining when I should be kicking back and relaxing in my crib. Think I'll swaddle my hand around a pale ale and contemplate the good days to come.
In between, in the vast nursery of Red Sox Nation, Ol' Timmah Wakefield demonstrated his own particular technique. Seven-plus innings of no-hit ball in Oakland to cap the West Coast swing. He didn't just eat up the innings, he ate up the A's.
And so an A+ for Ol' Timmah.
Just what the doctor ordered for our struggling club.
That and the six-run eighth inning. Did we actually bat around? String together a long two-out rally?
Perhaps today's win, coupled with a nice long upcoming homestand, will be the catalyst that reverses the 2-6 start. (Though I am tempted to posit the recovery started with the great relief work of Justin Masterson and the bullpen in Tuesday's 12-inning loss. Finally, something consistently good.)
In the big picture, the biggest downside to the West Coast jaunt wasn't the lost games, but the lost bodies:
*Jed Lowrie, for all his early offensive struggles, will be missed. We are suddenly dangerously thin at shortstop, though Nick Green sure played a good game today.
*Revolver Beckett loses a start due to suspension from a game in which he wasn't even ejected. That's sort of like doing hard time for a crime for which you weren't even arrested.
*And, lastly, the Diceman with his shoulder strain.
You know where he got that? Not pitching for the team paying him millions, but for Ol' Nippon in the World Baseball Classic, which I suppose would make good theater if not for the casualty list that builds in its wake.
Pedroia and Youk both hobbled away from it back in March. The Diceman's woes seem to be on tape delay -- sorta like the way he pitches.
But this is just me whining when I should be kicking back and relaxing in my crib. Think I'll swaddle my hand around a pale ale and contemplate the good days to come.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Glass Houses
I really dig that AMC show "Breaking Bad." Problem is, the same title can apply to Red Sox games here out of the gate. Six games in and we're 2-4, two clicks under .500 for the first time since '05.
OK, all right. We're just two series in. No need to chuck it all and start cooking crystal meth in an RV out in the desert in our tighty-whiteys with the local street punk. Our boys are showing early April ills, but who's to say it's terminal? Who's to say we must resort to methods desperate and extreme?
I'm not going to freak, even though Revolver Beckett, who I wager will be getting Cy Young votes when all is said and done this season, was on the losing end this afternoon.
The starting pitching is going to be fine. Dice isn't going to give up three bombs every game and Wakefield, even at his worst, is going to eat up innings. The bullpen is still forging its identity. Okie's looking shaky, but Ramon Ramirez is fast developing as this year's set-up find.
No, the problem, brethren, is obvious. The lineup lacks not so much punch, but timely punch. We're just not hitting worth a lick with men in scoring position and, just as bad, our outs are not productive. We saw that time and time again this weekend. Take away Jason Bay's heroics on Saturday and we get swept in Anaheim.
A roller coaster of series, wasn't it? On Friday night, with the Angels playing two days after the death of Nick Adenhart, a true fan of the Human Condition could only empathize with the home team.
"I kind of want the Angels to win," my wife said, and I certainly couldn't disagree with her.
Our condolences, Anaheim. We'll spot you one.
Then, by Sunday, it was back to pure hardball, with Revolver zipping one in the vicinity of Bobby Abreu's head. Hey, that's the potential hazard of a timeout granted after a pitcher is into his windup. Stay in the box, pal.
In the end, though, fireworks gave way to fizzle, with J.D. looking at a game-ending strike three an inning after he and Mikey Bones Lowell failed to deliver in the eighth.
The numbers are grim: Of the usual starting nine, six are hitting .208 or less. We're averaging 3.6 runs a game. Big Papi is becoming petite grandpapi (all lower case, no CAPS whatsoever) right before our eyes.
Please don't let it be real. Please let it be a momentary hallucination, a temporary lapse, a strange wander in the desert. Let's get cooking, boys, in the right direction.
OK, all right. We're just two series in. No need to chuck it all and start cooking crystal meth in an RV out in the desert in our tighty-whiteys with the local street punk. Our boys are showing early April ills, but who's to say it's terminal? Who's to say we must resort to methods desperate and extreme?
I'm not going to freak, even though Revolver Beckett, who I wager will be getting Cy Young votes when all is said and done this season, was on the losing end this afternoon.
The starting pitching is going to be fine. Dice isn't going to give up three bombs every game and Wakefield, even at his worst, is going to eat up innings. The bullpen is still forging its identity. Okie's looking shaky, but Ramon Ramirez is fast developing as this year's set-up find.
No, the problem, brethren, is obvious. The lineup lacks not so much punch, but timely punch. We're just not hitting worth a lick with men in scoring position and, just as bad, our outs are not productive. We saw that time and time again this weekend. Take away Jason Bay's heroics on Saturday and we get swept in Anaheim.
A roller coaster of series, wasn't it? On Friday night, with the Angels playing two days after the death of Nick Adenhart, a true fan of the Human Condition could only empathize with the home team.
"I kind of want the Angels to win," my wife said, and I certainly couldn't disagree with her.
Our condolences, Anaheim. We'll spot you one.
Then, by Sunday, it was back to pure hardball, with Revolver zipping one in the vicinity of Bobby Abreu's head. Hey, that's the potential hazard of a timeout granted after a pitcher is into his windup. Stay in the box, pal.
In the end, though, fireworks gave way to fizzle, with J.D. looking at a game-ending strike three an inning after he and Mikey Bones Lowell failed to deliver in the eighth.
The numbers are grim: Of the usual starting nine, six are hitting .208 or less. We're averaging 3.6 runs a game. Big Papi is becoming petite grandpapi (all lower case, no CAPS whatsoever) right before our eyes.
Please don't let it be real. Please let it be a momentary hallucination, a temporary lapse, a strange wander in the desert. Let's get cooking, boys, in the right direction.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
The Return of Old Testament Tom
It had been a while, a little over a year, since we'd last seen Old Testament Tom prowling the by-ways of our town.
But here he came again, snuffling along the ground by the corner Dunkin' Donuts like a cloaked bloodhound, then rearing upright like a wild horse, throwing ratty gray locks and polished curses to heaven.
"HOUSE OF STEINBRENNER! KNOW YE NOT THE ERROR OF YOUR WAYS IN THESE DARK RECESSIONARY DAYS? THE STREETS RUN RED WITH INK AND YOU HEED IT NOT! IT WILL RISETH UP THE WALLS OF YOUR NEW PALACE AND WASH AWAY THE FALSE IDOLS THAT ARE YOUR MONUMENTS! THE BABE HAS FORSAKEN THEE! THE CURSE OF TORRE IS UPON THEE! GIRARDI LEADETH THEE BLINDLY THROUGH THE DESERT!! A-ROD IS NOT THE CHOSEN ONE! SABATHIA IS A GOLDEN CALF!!!"
Much of the assembled crowd at Dunkin Donuts fled before his verbal and olfactory onslaught. Like I said, it's been a while since Tom came around.
"Tom," I said, plucking at his tattered sleeve and breathing through my mouth. "Tom, where have you been?"
He gave me the old thousand-yard stare, but had the consideration to lower his voice to a seething whisper with only the occasional howl that I knew he could not help.
"Have I not walked every HILL and dale of Red Sox Nation, from Hartford to HALIFAX, preaching the RIGHTEOUS WORD, since the glorious October of '07?"
"Preaching?"
"Yes, to great HALLS and assemblages gathered from MILES around."
"People paid to see you?"
"Yes, and DEARLY, delving DEEP into savings and 401Ks now worth little more than the paper upon which their values daily DWINDLE!"
Having done book promotions to mixed success and reminded of my own retirement savings, I found dispiriting envy rising in my heart.
"How can that be?"
"The midges. The sweet, swirling MIDGES that descended upon Joba Chamberlain in the ALDS of '07 like some VISITATION! The hand of I AM WHO AM in Cleveland after an entire season of me HOWLING against the Yankees! I was hailed as a prophet."
"But how did anyone know about that?"
"Because you wrote about me in your blog."
Here was a revelation.
"You gotta be f***in' kidding me."
"No, and MIND THY WICKED TONGUE in my presence! Scott Boras read about me during your 2008 holdout, sent forth his MINIONS, who found me upon a PATH low in protein but rich in marketability. They packaged me up and put me on tour. The appearance fees nearly SMOTE me dumb."
"SO THE PROPHET HAS BOWED BEFORE PROFITS!"
Now it was I who raged and foamed and before whom others fled.
Tom chuckled and ducked into Salon Sciarrino, the very establishment that tends to all my grooming needs on days of book promotions.
My very own Jayneanne was there to greet him.
"Come on, Tom. Get in here and let's get you tidied up."
"It's a new season, son," said Tom, as the door swung to. "A new tour and a whole new GLORIOUS season!"
But here he came again, snuffling along the ground by the corner Dunkin' Donuts like a cloaked bloodhound, then rearing upright like a wild horse, throwing ratty gray locks and polished curses to heaven.
"HOUSE OF STEINBRENNER! KNOW YE NOT THE ERROR OF YOUR WAYS IN THESE DARK RECESSIONARY DAYS? THE STREETS RUN RED WITH INK AND YOU HEED IT NOT! IT WILL RISETH UP THE WALLS OF YOUR NEW PALACE AND WASH AWAY THE FALSE IDOLS THAT ARE YOUR MONUMENTS! THE BABE HAS FORSAKEN THEE! THE CURSE OF TORRE IS UPON THEE! GIRARDI LEADETH THEE BLINDLY THROUGH THE DESERT!! A-ROD IS NOT THE CHOSEN ONE! SABATHIA IS A GOLDEN CALF!!!"
Much of the assembled crowd at Dunkin Donuts fled before his verbal and olfactory onslaught. Like I said, it's been a while since Tom came around.
"Tom," I said, plucking at his tattered sleeve and breathing through my mouth. "Tom, where have you been?"
He gave me the old thousand-yard stare, but had the consideration to lower his voice to a seething whisper with only the occasional howl that I knew he could not help.
"Have I not walked every HILL and dale of Red Sox Nation, from Hartford to HALIFAX, preaching the RIGHTEOUS WORD, since the glorious October of '07?"
"Preaching?"
"Yes, to great HALLS and assemblages gathered from MILES around."
"People paid to see you?"
"Yes, and DEARLY, delving DEEP into savings and 401Ks now worth little more than the paper upon which their values daily DWINDLE!"
Having done book promotions to mixed success and reminded of my own retirement savings, I found dispiriting envy rising in my heart.
"How can that be?"
"The midges. The sweet, swirling MIDGES that descended upon Joba Chamberlain in the ALDS of '07 like some VISITATION! The hand of I AM WHO AM in Cleveland after an entire season of me HOWLING against the Yankees! I was hailed as a prophet."
"But how did anyone know about that?"
"Because you wrote about me in your blog."
Here was a revelation.
"You gotta be f***in' kidding me."
"No, and MIND THY WICKED TONGUE in my presence! Scott Boras read about me during your 2008 holdout, sent forth his MINIONS, who found me upon a PATH low in protein but rich in marketability. They packaged me up and put me on tour. The appearance fees nearly SMOTE me dumb."
"SO THE PROPHET HAS BOWED BEFORE PROFITS!"
Now it was I who raged and foamed and before whom others fled.
Tom chuckled and ducked into Salon Sciarrino, the very establishment that tends to all my grooming needs on days of book promotions.
My very own Jayneanne was there to greet him.
"Come on, Tom. Get in here and let's get you tidied up."
"It's a new season, son," said Tom, as the door swung to. "A new tour and a whole new GLORIOUS season!"
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
How Do I Begrudge Thee?
Rain.
Rain?
RAIN!
Rain on this day of all days?
Opening Day.
My wife's birthday.
The sun must shine on such occasions!
Figuratively, it always does. But, come on, a Red Sox win for the birthday girl would have been a perfect confluence. Instead, we have a perfect confluence down at the Portland Fairgrounds, where the Connecticut River is overflowing its banks and will take that scenic stretch of road out of my bike rotation for the rest of the week.
So, to paraphrase another April 6 baby -- none other than your favorite sports fan and mine, Elizabeth Barrett Browning -- I find soggy grounds to say, "Rain, how do I begrudge thee, let me count the #*#@* ways."
Rain?
RAIN!
Rain on this day of all days?
Opening Day.
My wife's birthday.
The sun must shine on such occasions!
Figuratively, it always does. But, come on, a Red Sox win for the birthday girl would have been a perfect confluence. Instead, we have a perfect confluence down at the Portland Fairgrounds, where the Connecticut River is overflowing its banks and will take that scenic stretch of road out of my bike rotation for the rest of the week.
So, to paraphrase another April 6 baby -- none other than your favorite sports fan and mine, Elizabeth Barrett Browning -- I find soggy grounds to say, "Rain, how do I begrudge thee, let me count the #*#@* ways."
One upside of rain delays and rainouts is the time and space it allows for fun and creative games to challenge one's mind, competitive spirit and ability to multi-task -- such as Dyslexic Scrabble, Beer Pong and Bong Hit Backgammon.
But, ah, who's kidding who? I quit those games long, long ago or, closer to the truth, never could be sure I was playing them right to begin with, wonk tahw I neam?
Instead, in my mellowing middle age -- turned Hank Aaron (the ol' Double 4's) yesterday -- I find myself matching up April 6 babies with their favorite Red Sox, real or imagined.
Like my wife. Loves Jason Varitek. Doesn't matter what he hit last year. Jason Varitek can do no wrong in her eyes. "He's team captain, handles the pitchers and without him, the team doesn't hang together the same way," she says, to prove that she very much knows what she's talking about.
She's got a Varitek jersey. I think it's going to be our kid's first blanket.
An old college friend of mine, Mary Camp, celebrates a birthday on April 6. She's a Sox fan, and if I had to pick her favorite, I'd say .... hmm, maybe Papelbon, maybe Jason Bay. Not sure. She'll have to let us know in person with an e-mail response. (Shameless plug to expand readership, yes, admittedly so.)
What about ol' Beth Browning? Easy. She was something of an recluse, you know, until Robert Browning came along. So you figure she'd be all over J.D. Drew. ("What is it that puts thee on the DL, let me count the ways?")
(I actually like J.D. Drew and feel bad writing that, but it sure does fit.)
Here are some other April 6 babies and their likely Sox favorites:
*Butch Cassidy: The Revolver, Josh Beckett.
*Merle Haggard: The dearly departed Mike Timlin.
*Gertrude Baines, the world's oldest woman, who turned 115 today: Tim Wakefield, and that's meant in the best way. ("Wouldn't it be Rickey Being Rickey?" my wife chimes in. "He was with us for a while, wasn't he?" She's got a point.)
*Zach Braff, actor: Jacoby Ellsbury. Meteoric rise, though "Garden State" was much better than, what's it called? Scrubs?
And, best for last:
*Bob Marley: Heh, heh, heh. You think Manny plays a lot of backgammon? I do. I really, really do.
But, ah, who's kidding who? I quit those games long, long ago or, closer to the truth, never could be sure I was playing them right to begin with, wonk tahw I neam?
Instead, in my mellowing middle age -- turned Hank Aaron (the ol' Double 4's) yesterday -- I find myself matching up April 6 babies with their favorite Red Sox, real or imagined.
Like my wife. Loves Jason Varitek. Doesn't matter what he hit last year. Jason Varitek can do no wrong in her eyes. "He's team captain, handles the pitchers and without him, the team doesn't hang together the same way," she says, to prove that she very much knows what she's talking about.
She's got a Varitek jersey. I think it's going to be our kid's first blanket.
An old college friend of mine, Mary Camp, celebrates a birthday on April 6. She's a Sox fan, and if I had to pick her favorite, I'd say .... hmm, maybe Papelbon, maybe Jason Bay. Not sure. She'll have to let us know in person with an e-mail response. (Shameless plug to expand readership, yes, admittedly so.)
What about ol' Beth Browning? Easy. She was something of an recluse, you know, until Robert Browning came along. So you figure she'd be all over J.D. Drew. ("What is it that puts thee on the DL, let me count the ways?")
(I actually like J.D. Drew and feel bad writing that, but it sure does fit.)
Here are some other April 6 babies and their likely Sox favorites:
*Butch Cassidy: The Revolver, Josh Beckett.
*Merle Haggard: The dearly departed Mike Timlin.
*Gertrude Baines, the world's oldest woman, who turned 115 today: Tim Wakefield, and that's meant in the best way. ("Wouldn't it be Rickey Being Rickey?" my wife chimes in. "He was with us for a while, wasn't he?" She's got a point.)
*Zach Braff, actor: Jacoby Ellsbury. Meteoric rise, though "Garden State" was much better than, what's it called? Scrubs?
And, best for last:
*Bob Marley: Heh, heh, heh. You think Manny plays a lot of backgammon? I do. I really, really do.
To a sunnier Tuesday, mon.
No rainout, no cry.
No rainout, no cry.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Back by Improbable Demand
Back by improbable demand, John Pettit and I return to the blogosphere as a new Major League Baseball season dawns.
Visitors to this gilded edge of the digital universe may recall that I and my cherished (if misguided) colleague rode the Blog Train for all of 2007.
After such a workmanlike performance, we contracted Scott Boras as our agent and promptly held out for all of 2008.
We now return in this recession-shrouded campaign of '09 as self-represented free agents. It's a sort of precursor to law school, should our careers as Captains of the Keyboard Cursor go the way of all flesh and industry.
Anticipating no bailout to be coming our way, John and I are looking forward to the new season. His team has followed its business model and thrown gobs of money at big-ticket free agents. My team has followed its business model of cultivating home-grown talent and taking low-risk, free-agent gambles.
His team has a brand new ballpark. My team has the same old Fenway, bane of the obese.
It will be another neck-and-neck run to October, the advances of the Tampa Rays not withstanding.
The Yankees will be strong because, for all the Monopoly money they threw around in the offseason, they spent it far more wisely than previously this decade. Their starting rotation is alarmingly good.
But so is Boston's. Josh Beckett, the right-handed equivalent of Chianti Classico, is due for another vintage odd-numbered year.
Visitors to this gilded edge of the digital universe may recall that I and my cherished (if misguided) colleague rode the Blog Train for all of 2007.
After such a workmanlike performance, we contracted Scott Boras as our agent and promptly held out for all of 2008.
We now return in this recession-shrouded campaign of '09 as self-represented free agents. It's a sort of precursor to law school, should our careers as Captains of the Keyboard Cursor go the way of all flesh and industry.
Anticipating no bailout to be coming our way, John and I are looking forward to the new season. His team has followed its business model and thrown gobs of money at big-ticket free agents. My team has followed its business model of cultivating home-grown talent and taking low-risk, free-agent gambles.
His team has a brand new ballpark. My team has the same old Fenway, bane of the obese.
It will be another neck-and-neck run to October, the advances of the Tampa Rays not withstanding.
The Yankees will be strong because, for all the Monopoly money they threw around in the offseason, they spent it far more wisely than previously this decade. Their starting rotation is alarmingly good.
But so is Boston's. Josh Beckett, the right-handed equivalent of Chianti Classico, is due for another vintage odd-numbered year.
Jon Lester has proven his mettle. He beat cancer. Nothing that steps foot in a batter's box is half as daunting.
Then there's Dice-K, who somehow manages to win games.
(In the spirit of full disclosure -- a little something I picked up in pre-law class -- I must confess here and now that I cannot and will not watch Dice pitch, for he has engendered in me anxiety disorders and bladder-control issues that manifest themselves only .... when ..... he ...... takes ........ the .......... ............ mound.)
That's a Big 3, the sort of trio that can dictate a postseason series.
Should Brad Penny pan out, it's a Fab Four.
John Smoltz lies in wait as a sort of fifth Beatle (a la Billy Preston, not Pete Best).
Then there's Dice-K, who somehow manages to win games.
(In the spirit of full disclosure -- a little something I picked up in pre-law class -- I must confess here and now that I cannot and will not watch Dice pitch, for he has engendered in me anxiety disorders and bladder-control issues that manifest themselves only .... when ..... he ...... takes ........ the .......... ............ mound.)
That's a Big 3, the sort of trio that can dictate a postseason series.
Should Brad Penny pan out, it's a Fab Four.
John Smoltz lies in wait as a sort of fifth Beatle (a la Billy Preston, not Pete Best).
Out of long-earned respect, I'll withhold comment on Tim Wakefield.
With the everyday players, there are three critical issues:
1. David Ortiz: More Achy Breaky Papi or a full return to Big Papi?
2. Mike Lowell's hip. We cannot have another replay of "Torn and Frayed" or, as was proven in last year's postseason, our offense will be Exiled on Lansdowne Street. (Obligatory Stones quota met; commission can be remitted to the Home Office).
3. The development of Jacoby Ellsbury and, perhaps more critically, Jed Lowrie.
Tomorrow Never Knows, but it will be telling. Ipso facto, I'll be watching.
With the everyday players, there are three critical issues:
1. David Ortiz: More Achy Breaky Papi or a full return to Big Papi?
2. Mike Lowell's hip. We cannot have another replay of "Torn and Frayed" or, as was proven in last year's postseason, our offense will be Exiled on Lansdowne Street. (Obligatory Stones quota met; commission can be remitted to the Home Office).
3. The development of Jacoby Ellsbury and, perhaps more critically, Jed Lowrie.
Tomorrow Never Knows, but it will be telling. Ipso facto, I'll be watching.
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