Saturday, August 16, 2003
Only 131 Shopping Days Until Christmas!
Do subheads like this below annoy you as much as they do me?
But the A's didn't lose any wild-card ground to Boston, which lost at Seattle (ESPN).
I'm not talking about the loss (though that is a displeasure for sure) but rather the untimely rush to report the wild card race at this point in the season. As a Red Sox fan, I'm still in this to take the division outright.
I'm not saying it's too soon to keep an eye on the wild card standings, but to get all sensational about it on the 16th of August is a bit much. Considering that the Christmas decorations will be decking the halls of our fine retail establishments any day now, I shouldn't be surprised at this rush to create a pennant race while we are still in the sticky, sweaty days of August.
So are you feeling down about dropping one to Seattle? Don't. As an antidote to any disfavor you might be experiencing, I offer this perspective from Mariners fan Jason Michael Barker:
Boston's offense is scary good. I've talked about this with other people, but I don't know that I've mentioned it here -- in the past year, the Red Sox basically went out and acquired all the players about whom statheads have been saying for a few years, "You know, a smart organization would snatch this guy up on the cheap."
Check out the list of names (OPS): Kevin Millar (.859), Bill Mueller (.958), David Ortiz (.910), Todd Walker (.719, but career .775), and Gabe Kapler (.860). And remember, they added these guys to Nomar Garciaparra and Manny Ramirez.
Throw in career years from Trot Nixon and Jason Varitek and you're looking at one heck of an offensive machine. The P-I notes (scroll down) that the Sox are on pace to break MLB's team marks for slugging percentage, doubles, extra-base hits and total bases (U.S.S. Mariner).
And Pedro, he who has never lost to the Mariners and "rarely loses back-to-back starts," takes the mound this afternoon at Safeco. All in all this is a fine start to a Saturday, don't you think?
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Friday, August 15, 2003
How Do You Find a Word That Means Manny?
I'm walking the dog this morning, and before I realize it I'm deep into "Do-Re-Mi" from the Sound of Music.
You know,
Doe, a deer, a female deer.
Ray, a drop of golden sun.
Me, a name I call myself.
And so on.
Now I'm not one predisposed to belting out tunes from popular musicals (not that there's anything wrong with doing so), but I guess on a subconscious level my mind knew this morning that after what happened yesterday in Oakland, the hills are alive with the sound of music, no?
Really (and I say this at the risk of annoying anyone who was caught in the blackout) yesterday afternoon was one of my favorite things: a come-from-behind win delivered by the slugger of sluggers Manny Ramirez. And as it happens I got home from work and turned on the TV just as Manny was coming to the plate in the top of the 9th with the Sox down 2-1. Now that's a flibbertigibbet if I ever saw one!
Who needs cream colored ponies and warm apple strudel when there is Manny?
There were cheers in the dugout and yells in the clubhouse - "I just remember screaming," said Sox starter Tim Wakefield - and the Red Sox had every right to stand up and shout (Massarotti, Herald).
I couldn't believe the emotion in the dugout after Manny's blast. Did you see Grady Little jumping around like a little kid? (O ho lay dee odly lee o, o ho lay dee odl ay!)
And I don't think we should be embarrassed about making a big to do about yesterday's win.
This was it. Of all the times in all the ballparks in the cosmos for the Red Sox to reel off a remarkable reminder of their resilience in the face of strife, they played it to perfection yesterday at a memorable crossroads in their quest for postseason glory (Hohler, Globe).
Climb ev'ry mountain. Ford every stream.
And as a follow-through to my mention of the U.S. under-17 national team: 14-year-old soccer prodigy (that's 14!), scored 3 goals in a 6-1 US rout of South Korea.
Let's hope this good vibe, this sound of music, if you will, continues up the Pacific coast to Seattle.
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Thursday, August 14, 2003
Schroedinger's Cat
So how do you, as a fan, approach these West Coast games?
Do you go the die-hard route and choose to watch or listen to the games live until the bitter end well past midnight? Or do you hit the sack then wake up in the middle of the night and check the final score? Or, finally, are you of the sort who waits until morning for your cup of poison or ambrosia as the case may be?
During this Red Sox road trip to the left coast, I'm definitely of the wait until morning sort. I prefer to think of it as the Schroedinger's Cat method. That is, like the hypothetical cat in the quantum physics paradox, until I check the score, the Red Sox have both won and lost the game played earlier.
And as I lie in bed waiting for the alarm to go off, I imagine both possibilities and even mentally draft a pseudo column for either case.
Fortunately, this morning, I was quite happy to replace a superposition with a definite state to find the cat is indeed alive.
Lowe (12-6), who won for the first time in four starts, recovered from a shaky beginning before finding his groove. He held the A's to two runs on five hits while striking out three in five innings.
"It will rank up there as one of our bigger wins of the season," Little said (Horrigan, Herald).
Amen to that. I know I personally needed this win to keep me going. There is hope and then there is reality after all.
Speaking of reality, or more to the point, seemingly impossible dreams becoming reality, remember when I waxed on about the US Postal Cycling Team at the Tour de France and how it wasn't so long ago that the idea of US rider and US sponsored team dominating the Tour was laughable?
Well, check this out:
"I've gone on record as saying that I think the USA will win a World Cup before England does," said Les Kershaw, director of Manchester United's youth academy. "The Americans are doing it the right way. They are coaching kids to understand what this game of soccer is all about, and they are doing it at a young age. One thing about America, if it does something it will research it fully and do its homework fully, and that's what has happened with its soccer" (La Canfora, Washington Post).
You don't have to follow soccer to realize what an amazing sea change this is. If the USA can go from a soccer laughingstock and neerdowell to a situation in which the US National Juniors are in such a robust state that they "will be among the most closely watched youngsters during the Under-17 World Championship beginning Thursday in Finland" then surely we are not crazy to imagine Theo Epstein et al turning the Red Sox into champs.
It can happen.
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Wednesday, August 13, 2003
These Are Our Nights of Gethsemane
The Sisyphean rock I spoke of rolling yesterday, just got heavier.
The [5-3 loss to Oakland] dropped Boston four games behind the Yankees in the American League East and one game behind the A's in the wild card race. Today marks the first day since June 24 the Sox haven't been either leading the divisional or wild card standings (Horrigan, Herald).
Alas, tonight our trusty (in the sense of wildly untrustworthy) #2 starter, Derek Lowe, takes the mound. And like our hero Sisyphus, we ask of Lowe: "Where would his torture be, indeed, if at every step the hope of succeeding upheld him?" (Camus)
The descent, as Lowe understands, is sometimes performed in sorrow but can also take place in joy.
"I expect to pitch better, but there's no formula [for making the playoffs]," he said. "If I lose [tonight], is the season over? Do we quit and go home?"
He noted that the last time the Sox made the playoffs, in 1999, only one pitcher other than Martinez won more than nine games: Bret Saberhagen , who won 10 (Hohler, Globe).
Ah, the last time the Red Sox made the playoffs, how long ago it seems. Life seemed so easy then … the market soaring, our 401K's fattening, jet airplanes simply flying from point A to B … Who knew four years later how quickly the rock would descend back to the depths?
Camus again (you may as well call this the week of my Camus enthrallment),
There is no sun without shadow, and it is essential to know the night. The absurd man says yes and his efforts will henceforth be unceasing.
Say, yes, Red Sox fans, say yes.
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Tuesday, August 12, 2003
Negating the Gods and Raising the Rock
This is the second column I've written today. I had to delete my original one from earlier this morning. It was just too morose. As a native New Englander, I can easily graduate with honors from the school of cynicism, but, truth be told, I don't much like myself when I'm in one of those moods.
It's funny because I purposely have not dipped into the well of rancor known as the Boston sports media in ten full days. You'd think that by avoiding the CHB et al I'd be especially bright and brisk, right? Not even. Perhaps I need a daily drink from the half empty cup of Boston sports media bitterness as a counterbalance to my own New England personality that tends toward the maudlin by default?
In any case, my self-imposed embargo of the Boston media is over (well, with the exception of the Globe which can't seem to get its content online in a timely fashion). Oddly enough, I found something cheery this morning in the press coverage:
Eckersley, a sure-fire Hall-of-Famer eligible next year after being the A's great closer of their 1988-92 powerhouse… feels [the Red Sox] will… make the playoffs.
[And] he sees [Oakland] overtaking Seattle to win the West. "I want to see them play the wild card Red Sox, the best comeback team I've seen, and I feel the Yankees will play the White Sox (as division champions)" (Baker, Herald).
Oh, I'd be deceitful if I didn't point out that there is, of course, some negative in the above quoted pay column ("Derek Lowe's instability is 'scary for the whole staff.'"), but I'm going to let that pass without comment.
I'm disappointed enough as it is with the A's shutting out Boston last night. August is the toughest month to get through (and my least favorite month after January), so I'm going to be as resolute as Sisyphus pushing this damned Red Sox rock up my hill.
… Sisyphus teaches the higher fidelity that negates the gods and raises rocks. He too concludes that all is well. (Camus).
Until the Red Sox are mathematically eliminated from playoff contention, it only makes sense to keep going and keep hoping.
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Monday, August 11, 2003
Fast Approaching: The Season of Mists and Mellow Fruitfulness
This post is currently at Fox Sports New England.
www.fsnnewengland.com/
The full content of column will be available here at Bambino's Curse on August 16, 2003, ie, 5 days after original publication date per the arrangement I have with FSNE.
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Sunday, August 10, 2003
I Dreamt I Was Wally Pipp
This post is currently at Fox Sports New England.
www.fsnnewengland.com/
The full content of column will be available here at Bambino's Curse on August 16, ie, 5 days after original publication date per the arrangement I have with FSNE.
You may comment on this post here at anytime. (Note: Comment counter currently not functioning.)
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I Dreamt I Was Wally Pipp
So ten days ago I went on vacation and the Red Sox trailed the Yankees by three games. Today I return and the Red Sox trail the Yankees by three games. There is a lesson for myself here of course. While away I did have access to TV and newspapers but I quite purposely avoided anything and everything related to wins and losses on the diamond.
Had I been paying attention, I'm sure I'd have gone through the typical Red Sox fan emotive oscillations between the peaks of "nothing can stop these Sox, it's destiny" to the valleys of "here we go again it's hopeless." But in the end all my passion and emotion would have been wasted energy. Looking at the AL East standings, it's as if those games had never been played.
It's not about the outcome, it's about the process.
If you've read this summer's bestseller Moneyball, which I just did finally during one of my rain soaked days at the beach (did I mention it rained every friggin' day?), you'll recognize the aphorism of objectivity above.
Note to self: Try to be more objective while the 162 game season unfolds. (Response from self: Yeah, right, that'll work.)
Speaking of Moneyball (and be warned that I'll be "speaking of Moneyball" quite often in the coming days and weeks such is its impact on me), one of my favorite passages from the book relates to Scott Hatteberg's penchant for chatting to opposing players while playing first base.
First base as [Hatteberg] played became a running social event … Jeff Bagwell gets on by a fielder's error, and Hatty lets him know what a Bagwell fan he is, prompting Bagwell to go into this Eeyore like dirge about what a poor natural hitter he actually is. "He keeps saying, 'I hate my swing I hate my swing' and I'm like, 'Dude, you are unbelievable'"(Lewis).
Well, after getting in yesterday and reading the five days of guest columns here at Bambino's Curse, the "Dude, you are unbelievable" sentiment is one I'd like to extend to each of the guests: Isaac Taylor, Michele Catalano, Dave Pinto, Alex Belth, and Tony Pierce. I mean I knew all the guests were good writers, it's why I was like a Paul DePodesta in assembling the lineup, but the quality of their individual work exceeded my expectations. I feel like I could easily be a Wally Pipp this morning.
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