Otanjou-bi Omedetou Gozaimasu!

1.) It means: Happy Birthday, person I don't know particularly well! It was intended for Hideki Okajima, whose 32 birthday is today. But I suppose you could also apply it to Jesus, if that's the way you swing.

2.) This was my brother's Christmas Eve present:

It's a set of Boston Red Sox Uno cards. In and of itself, it's kind of neat. For the most part, it's just normal Uno but the cards have pictures of Sox players on them (not being rule readers, we didn't know what to do with the Daisuke card but that's beside the point.) This is the point:

You can't see it clearly (because I have a crappy camera) but that is a picture of Alex Cora. Someone over at MLB merchandising, however, seems to believe that his name is Alex Cara. Along the ellipse, under his left hand, they've spelt his name CARA. I even thought that maybe the licensing had been agreed to via implied, oral consent and was, therefore, unofficial. But nope, there was a nifty little hologram on the back of the package and a claim that it was official. Seriously people, how do you get that wrong?

In Defense of Red Sox Fans

Terry got a write-up in the December 31 issue of ESPN magazine. There's nothing too substantive to it. He talked a little bit about his dad and growing up in baseball, managing Michael Jordan, cribbage, sticking to his guns, handling the media, spitting, and his health.

The writer of the article seems to think that nobody appreciates Terry enough or gives him enough credit for what he has done for the Red Sox. This is not true. Yes, there are armchair manager types who figure they know best but that's not a Red Sox/Terry Francona phenomenon. And yes, he does spit a lot (and I cringe every time I have to see it).

But that doesn't mean he isn't appreciated. I appreciate him. Hell, I sent him ten bucks to buy lunch for himself and to thank him for all he has done.

I don't imagine that managing a baseball team is an easy task. I can't imagine it would be any easier when the team is composed of so many "personalities." Yet, he seems to do it with grace and finesse; gaining the respect and admiration of his players. I think he is gaining the respect of the fans, as well. Why else would we have been so up in arms about the Francona Rule?

Has Anyone Seen my Underwear?

"Bidders Batty for Manny's BVDs" so read the headline on The Boston Herald's Inside Track. My first thought: Good God! What is he up to now?

Turns out that it is not, in fact, Manny selling his underwear but a memorabilia store employee (hopefully the owner, I wouldn't want to be given that assignment by my boss), Phil Castinetti. It seems that Phil dug through the trash at Fenway to retrieve his prizes. In addition to Manny's underwear and do-rag, he netted Tek's, Matt Clement's, Okajima's, Youkilis', and Papelbon's underwear, as well. Maybe ol' Phil is less squeamish than I am but I've got to assume that these are unwashed, caked in dry sweat, and probably reek pretty badly.

Manny's hand-me-down underwear earned Phil $160. Tek's brought in $255. Weirdly, a pair of Matt Clement's underwear (perhaps because it was in the most pristine condition: the least sweaty and smelly) is worth $430 to someone; someone who happens to go by the handle: Clement30.

This year in baseball, Red Sox pitching was on.

Red Sox pitching has really cleaned up in MLB's This Year in Baseball awards. Josh got Starting Pitcher of the Year, Papelbon got Closer of the Year, and now, Clay has picked up Performance of the Year for his no-hitter. Good on him.

Addendum: Okajima just picked up Setup Man of the Year. So congratulations to him.

Too Many Outfielders

Recently, I've been thinking a lot about Bobby Kielty. In the whole Coco v. Ellsbury who-gets-to-play-center-next-season saga, he's really gotten the raw end of the deal. Coco and Jacoby will be playing somewhere next season, they have no say in where that somewhere will be, but it is a certainty. Meanwhile, Kielty gets to sit at home, twiddling his thumbs, wondering if there will be a place for him on the team or if he should start looking elsewhere.

My concern for Bobby started when someone over at NYYfans (I really should stop going over there) was covetous of him. It made me quite indignant, not indignant enough to register at the site and register my indignation, but indignant nonetheless. The man has Boston area roots, apparently wants to come back (according to an article that appeared in the Herald. I can't link to it because it was more than a week ago and I'm cheap), and is seemingly content to be a fourth outfielder. Besides which, if they don't bring him back I wouldn't have an excuse to post that fabulous picture or a reason to hope that he grows his hair out again. (Seriously? His hair when he played for the A's? Pretty awesome.)

If they were going to sign him (which the Herald article did seem to indicate they were thinking about), then they should just do it already. The longer this whole thing drags on, the more likely it is that he'll find somewhere else to play. Perhaps they're worried about his knees and his calve muscles but he's got hea-a-a-art (and all you really need is hea-a-a-art). And any way you slice it, there will be a position for him next year.

If either Ellsbury or Crisp are moved, then he's all set. If neither one of them is traded then I would imagine that Crisp would (and probably should) demand a trade. I agree with Coco, or more possibly his agent, (again from the Herald. Damned Herald!) when he says that he isn't a fourth outfielder. He used to be able to hit and defensively, the man is a gem. There was talk that they surgery he had on his finger might have screwed up his ability to hit, but I really do believe that he will find his swing again. I suppose that the Front Office could refuse to trade him but it seems all kinds of stupid to bench him when you're paying all that money to have him play.

Lastly, the apostrophe in the Oakland A's name is completely and utterly wrong. I know it's wrong but that's the way it is written on their uniforms and on their website, so that's the way I wrote it. It doesn't signify a possessive nor does it denote a contraction. I suppose its purpose is to keep them from being the Oakland As but that is not one of the ways apostrophes function. Someone should sic the apostrophe police on their Front Office. I'll stop now.

A Year in Review with Hideki Okajima

For the past two days, the Globe has run a transcript of a radio interview that Okajima did back home in Japan. It was translated by Globe staffer Daigo Fujiwara and can be found here and here.

He spoke about being uncomfortable at the beginning of the season, being willing to adapt as the situation warrants, a hint about the bullpen, and the grueling season. And he's just so wonderfully Japanese; he's not out there for individual glory but for the good of the team.

It was good to hear from him because I don't recall hearing a single word out of his mouth (or, really, out of his translator's) during the whole season. It was good to learn a little bit about who he is, what he's about.

And big surprise here: I like him. He seems diplomatic, though that might just be the Japanese-thing. [Aside: I have a theory as to why Japanese people are so friggin polite. In spoken Japanese, there are a lot of words that are deemed unnecessary and can just be left out of the sentence. A subject? You don't need a subject. Why in the world would you possibly want to know who (or what) I'm talking about? So in order to avoid confusion, anything that might be slightly controversial is just not discussed.] He also seems smart and not just baseball smart. He figured out what he needed to do to succeed and then did it. Although, sharing his pitching secrets with the world might not have been the best idea.

I think it bodes well for his continued success. It seems to me that a lot of Japanese pitchers come over here and are lights out for a year, only to be figured out by the American batters the next and become really hittable. If he's willing to learn new pitches and relocate his spots, then he might be able to avoid that.

Lastly, I know that it's an old joke, but Nippon Ham Fighters gets me every time.

Jacoby Speaks or Damn it! Why does he have to be so adorable?

I've been on a bit of an emotional roller coaster lately for which I blame Mr. Ellsbury.

I was lying on my kitchen floor a couple of weeks ago when it occurred to me that I was beginning to develop a crush on him. It started with his scoreboard fixing shenanigans, then he seemed to be such a sweet kid during the whole fall run, and finally the stories about him going home to a hero's welcome. He was just too cute for words.

But the crush needed to be squelched; not just because it was silly or because he is too young for me but because it signaled a return to my fourteen-year-old self. I've long suspected that any semblance of maturity on my part was just a front for a psyche that was still a young teenage girl who lives in a fantasy world and develops crushes on movie stars. She couldn't be let out-for the good of everyone.

But then he switched his agent to Scott Boras and all was right in the world. It turned out that he wasn't such a nice guy after all, just human. That I could live with.

But then yesterday I read this:

"I am just trying to stay in shape and be ready for spring," Ellsbury said. "I am actually taking yoga classes, to keep stress off my joints. It's
great. You have these big strong guys and little old ladies all doing
it--it's not just sitting on your butt, stretching. I am telling you, yoga
is tough."

from this and it all came back to me.

It's not as strong, for sure, so maybe I'll be able to defeat it if I don't really hear anything about him for the next couple weeks. Or maybe just the act of publicly acknowledging it will kill it dead. If this isn't the case, then I would like to apologize profusely in advance should my inner fourteen-year old be unleashed unto the world.

In other news, over at NYYfans they were making fun of the hype that surrounds Jacoby with a bunch of Ellsbury-is-God type posts. Some were actually quite funny. A couple of my favorites:

1. Jacoby Ellsbury is so fast that he can run around the world and punch himself in the back of the head.


2. Jacoby Ellsbury doesn't wear a watch, he says what time it is.
3. (My personal favorite) Didn't you know? Jacoby Ellsbury is so fast that he can play center field and left field at the same time.

Note: I would have gone back to look for the authors of those but the Santana thread is a beast over there and I couldn't find a search feature.

Francona Rule? How about: Francona rules?

This has really ruffled my feathers.

I've got no problem with a dress code. I'm not allowed to wear provocative clothing to work. The rules are there for a reason; in my case, to maintain a professional atmosphere.

If major league baseball wants to maintain a professional appearance on the field, then that's fine. The thing is, I don't think that Terry looks unprofessional. It's not like he's showing up to games in a Man Utd jersey, a Packer's hat, sweatpants, and flip flops. It's official MLB gear, for God's sake (it probably even came with a niftly little hologram attached to it), not an old sweatshirt speckled with paint from some home improvement project.

What really bothered me, though, was the utterly unprofessional and condescending tone of the press release. Plenty of managers wear pullovers, so why call out Francona specifically? Also, a nightshirt? Seriously? Maybe Bob Watson is too cheap to turn on the heat and needs to sleep in fleece or maybe he's old-fashioned enough that he actually has a night shirt and cap that he wears to bed but come on.

Anyway, Terry himself said it was actually not a big deal so I guess I'll try to put it behind me.

In other Terry news, he was named manager of the year by Baseball America. So good on him for that.

The Admiral Returns

According to the Globe, the Sox have reached terms with Mike Timlin. They're supposedly going to pay him three million for the year. It seems like a lot for a guy who only played in fifty games last year but I don't really mind. He was quite good in those fifty games.

And, without any proof, I have to believe that he was the one who decided the bullpen was a pirate ship. And if all that silliness was on him, then I'm happy to have him back.

Also, on an unrelated note, I have figured out from whence my Papelove has sprung. This may come of as regional-ist (if that were a real thing) but it's the goofy-ass way he speaks. Even reading the quotes from his WEEI interview that were in the Globe made me smile. I don't know if it's truly possible to speak in run-on sentences but he seems to have mastered it. Also, he's completely guileless. He's gonna be a ca-drillionaire, baby.

Feliz Cumpleanos Cinco Ocho!

(Yes. I know there should be a tilde over the 'n' but I'm not smart enough to figure out how to make that happen.)




Today is Jonathan Papelbon's 27th birthday, so we have (maybe) three-year-old baby Papelbon to celebrate. Perhaps it's not a fair assumption to make, but I'm going to assume that the two of them share the same birthday. (I did, in fact, lift the photograph from outincenterfield.)

Honestly? I don't know how anyone could not adore the man. On top of his mad baseball skills, he's got a great personality. He did make those hideous car commercials and I could only stomach a little bit of the QVC (at least I think it was QVC, it might have been HSN) appearance, but I really looked forward to the Friendly's Scoop thing.


He just seems like a really great guy. Not a great guy in the same sense that Mike Lowell is a great guy but a great guy, nonetheless. Mike Lowell is a smart, suave guy; the type with whom you would have a sophisticated conversation about art and wine. Jonathan Papelbon would be great to have a beer with. Maybe wrestle some alligators.

When his shoulder finally gives out on him, I would imagine he could easily get a job in broadcasting. He'd be really fun to watch and he could live out George Costanza's dream.

George: ...you know how I always make good comments when we're watching the
game.

Jerry: Yeah. You do make good comments but they tend to give
those jobs to ex-ball players and, you know, people in broadcasting.

George: That's not really fair.

Jerry: I know.

(It's a good day when you can work a Seinfeld quote into what you're doing.)


Anyway, back to Mr. Papelbon. Many happy returns to you, sir.


Nice. Nice.

He likes it! Mikey likes it!

The deal from the Red Sox that is. He might like Life cereal too, I have no idea.

According to the Herald, the deal won't be finalized until tomorrow but the plan is to give him three years at between 36 and 39 million. ESPN is reporting that the deal is for 37.5 million. So probably 12.5 million a year. It sounds about right.

It's good to get this settled.

Good on the Front Office to sticking to their guns and not being bamboozeled by the Yankees. Good on Lowell for being such a nice guy, according to the ESPN piece, he could have gotten his four years from the Dodgers or the Phillies but he wanted to stay in Boston. Say it with me: Awww.

And now to drag out some of my favorite Lowell bits: bit one and bit two.

The Campaign for Terry

Fine. Terry didn't win American League Manager of the Year. Whatever. He doesn't need your stinkin' accolades, anyway. This year alone, he's got the best record in the American League East, an American League pennant and a World Series championship to prove to himself that he is very good at what he does. He doesn't need a stamp of approval from a bunch of baseball writers to know that.

What he does need is a raise, preferably a big one. Sure, the man already makes a boatload of money (more money than I could ever hope to make in a year) but compared to other big-market, big-league managers, it's a pittance. Back in October there were assurances that his contract would be extended. Hopefully, that extension would include a raise. On the off chance that the Front Office is actually insane and it doesn't (and because I am a good, giving, generous soul) I have decided to start a campaign.

It bears the rather unoriginal title "The Campaign for Terry"; it's single goal is to insure that Terry Francona receives the bonus that he is due.

The idea is simple. If every good and true Red Sox fan was to open his wallet and share a little bit of what he found there, then we could easily achieve our goal. There are just over fourteen million people living in New England. If even 1/10 of the population participated and threw a couple of bucks Terry's way, then we could almost double his salary for the year. And as far as I can tell, though I am by no means an accountant, the money would come to Terry as tax free gifts.

The following is the text of the note I included with my contribution:

Dear Terry:

As a long suffering member of Red Sox nation, I would like to thank you for all that you have done for our team. It is through your leadership that they were able to pull it off, not once but twice. I greatly appreciate all the hard work and dedication that you have shown. I would invite you to lunch but since you probably wouldn't accept, here's a couple of bucks. Lunch is on me.

Note: I signed the note but did not include my return address for fear that he might actually return it to me.

If you wish to join us in the cause, the address is:

Terry Francona

c/o Fenway Park

4 Yawkey Way

Boston, MA 02215

Some Thoughts on Mike Lowell

There's been a change in the weather. At least, that's the way it seems to me. Before contract negotiations even began (hell, before the World Series even ended), people were calling for the Front Office to re-sign Mike Lowell. Almost as soon as the duckboats returned to Fenway, though, the rumbling started and the tone of the conversation turned decidedly defeatist: "He's not coming back." "He wants four years and they're only willing to go three." "The leaking of the deal that they offered him reeks of a PR move." "How bad would A-Rod be for the clubhouse, really?" Everyone was still saying "Re-sign Lowell" but it was much quieter and most seemed willing to push him out the door.

I don't think that anyone dislikes Mike Lowell nor do I think that anyone begrudges him the opportunity to make more money by playing for another team. He seems like a good guy; genuine and decent. He's smart. He doesn't have a super-inflated ego. He's got a sense of humor and that giant grin that he was sporting in the days following the World Series was so warm, grateful, and friendly that it just invited you to smile back at him.

So why did we give up on him so easily? Because we're doom and gloom, puritanical New Englanders. Aphorisms of the New England spirit: No good deed goes unpunished; every silver lining has a dark cloud. All positive things are evened out by negative ones; don't rejoice too much in good fortune because the puritanical God (or in this case, the baseball god) is a capricious one and your luck could change with the cold November wind.

We liked losing. We were comfortable with it. Bill Buckner should be held up amongst the heroes of New England. [Aside: I think he already is, in a way. I don't know anyone who truly reviles the man and even when you hear someone mutter "Buckner" under their breath, there's affection behind it.] He affirmed for us what we already knew to be true.

The glint from the World Series trophy is like a ray of sunlight cutting through our cold, dark, gray, gloomy November and we don't know what to do with it. It's turned November on it's head. Nobody wants Mike Lowell to leave but his signing with another team would set things right.

So I'll sit here whispering "Re-sign Lowell" half hoping that they will, while the other half worries about what sort of calamity would befall us if it were to happen. Perhaps Beckett would accidentally shoot himself in the foot whilst hunting.



To be filed under: You Learn Something Knew Every Day: "Re-sign Lowell" and "Resign Lowell" do not mean the same thing.

Ave! Roy Dusty!

I couldn't resist. This movie was integral to the development of my knowledge of the fundamentals of baseball (well, this one and The Sand Lot). I watched them a lot; the videos were in pretty much constant rotation. Plus, there's a short joke to be had here. I'm sure of it.

So congratulations to Pedroia. After a shaky start, he turned in some pretty impressive numbers (.317, 8, 50). His batting average is, apparently, the all-time best for a rookie second baseman. And with a fielding percentage of .990 and just 11 errors, he also offered up some excellent defense. He seems like a scrappy guy.

Also, big ups to Ryan Braun of the Milwaukee Brewers, NL RoY. His numbers (.324, 34, 97) are impressive, as well. I'm glad it wasn't Tulowitzki because, apropos of nothing, I couldn't help but think "That man has horrific posture." every time he went up to bat.

He did dance. Sort of.

I suppose that it counts as a dance. Um, not quite what I was expecting.

It's hard to hear around the drawl but it sounds like he says "I tell ya, I told you guys I'm dancin' with him. When-" [aside: it might be "when we win" but first, that doesn't make a whole lot of sense and second, it doesn't go with my next line. So moving on.] Unless adrenaline is the ultimate in age-defying makeup, that is not Papelbon. And Josh, kitten, you must have known that we were expecting a rowdy Papelbon-esque dance and not something akin to the way my grandfather would have whirled my grandmother around the floor.

But, nontheless, it's very, very funny and he seems very proud of himself. His partner doesn't seem to be enjoying himself as much, perhaps it's the death grip with which he is being held or maybe dancing with Josh Beckett is just a terrifying experience. The video can be seen (and immensely enjoyed) here:

And because that tickled me so much, there's another one. In the second video at about 36 seconds he does a little shimmy-thing.

Yer blind, ump! Yer blind, ump! Ya must be outta yer mind, ump!

With nothing particularly interesting happening today, I have been forced to foist my thoughts on the world regarding instant replay.

Yesterday, by a margin of 25-5, the general managers approved the use of instant replay in determining boundary calls. Basically, if the home run was questionable (it might have been foul, it might have hit the wall, the might have been touched by a fan), then the play could be subject to review. Maybe it's because I'm a baseball romantic or maybe it's because I'm from New England and, therefore, resistant to change, either way the prospect of instant replay just doesn't curl my toes.

What's the point? Over the course of 4,860 games, how many plays will it actually affect? I suppose that's why I'm more wary of the idea than vehemently against it.

When you watch a game on television, you are subjected to seemingly endless repetitions of any play that's even remotely close and all that that succeeds in making clear is that it's still a subjective call. Obviously, having better camera angles would help in calling foul balls and potential home runs; but how do you set up those cameras? Do you have a camera hanging off the top of the foul pole? Do you have one aimed along the top of the fences, on the off chance that someone might hit a potential home run right where the camera could clearly capture the image? As for fan interference, you would probably have to use the regular feed from the game and that is rarely ever useful.

Plus, call me a little bit of a masochist but I like the tension a poorly called game can cause. It's good to have a scapegoat if things aren't going well. It's better to have a situation where you end up winning no matter how much the umpire doesn't like the team. Hissy fits by managers and players are part of the game. And, if instant replay turned out to be a slippery slope and all close calls were referred to the tape, the song "Six Months Out of Every Year" wouldn't make any sense.

The plan still has to be approved by the commissioner, the umpires, and the players association. And knowing the speed at which baseball generally moves, it could be years and years before it was even close to being implemented.

Schilling, Ortiz, and Youk has got a golden glove (sung to the tune of "I've Got a Golden Ticket")

So much to talk about:

Schilling:

So he's back. I didn't think he would be, so good on him. Disregarding his big mouth, he seems like a good-enough guy; the type of guy you would like to have in a clubhouse. Plus, he's still a good pitcher. The deal they hammered out seems like it would be beneficial all around. He's guaranteed probably about what he's worth and if he can find away to be impressive he can get what he wanted. And maybe if he gets himself into decent shape, his fast ball might pick up a little bit of it's lost speed.

Ortiz:

He went in for arthroscopic knee surgery today. Which, as I understand it, involves trimming excess cartilage from the knee. From my limited research (i.e. I did a Google search and read one of the first articles that came up), it seems that the surgery isn't always productive and often results in the patient needing to have a full knee replacement in a few years. Let's hope that this is not the case here. Hopefully, it will make it less painful to watch him run (I was, seriously, having sympathy pains in my wonky knee watching him in the last couple of games). With reconstructed knees, it's best to put as little weight as possible on them; so perhaps there's a way to tack Schilling's weight-loss clause onto Ortiz's contract.

Youkilis:

Hooray for Youk and his Gold Glove! One thousand and eighty chances to make an error and he got away clean from all of them. It is an impressive feat. As much as I admire Youkilis, though (and I do), I love Coco Crisp. And Crisp was robbed of his award. It is a joy to watch Crisp play and there is no way that Grady Sizemore was a better defensive player than he was. The fact that he didn't have much offensive output shouldn't have had any bearing on an award for defense. And just because he is fun to watch:

Wakefield and Mirabelli: Hand-in-hand?

First, I just thought it was important to point out how much Theo looks like George Clooney in the above picture.

More Importantly: I wasn't going to post anything about potential trade rumors. They're just rumors and by the awesome power of my mind I might make a seemingly bad deal come true, so it would be better to just shut up about it. That being said: Since Wakefield is in, does that mean that Mirabelli is in as well?

There must be someone better out there. Someone who could put up some offense would be the way to go. In the words of David Ortiz, "Theo, do it!"

How hard can catching a ball be, anyway? This, coming from the gal who if a ninety-mile-an-hour baseball was hurled at her head would probably let out an "Eep!" and get the hell out of the way. And if, by some miracle, I did manage to hold my ground and catch it, I would probably end up knocked over by the impact of the ball. We are, of course, ignoring the fact that, due to my lack of height, I probably wouldn't be anywhere near any major leaguer's strike zone (T-ball might be a possibility, if they had a need for catchers) and the only pitches that wouldn't go soaring over my head (and into the umpire) would be breaking balls in the dirt.

I decided long ago that I wasn't tough enough for baseball. True story: When my brother was in Little League, we (my brother, my mother, and myself) used to go out to the backyard and practice fielding. My mother would pitch, I would bat, and my brother would field. I was pretty good, I could pull the ball in different directions and such; it was my mom pitching though, so they weren't difficult pitches to hit. Anyway, one day she hit me with a pitch (I think she thought I was crowding the plate) and I was done. Haven't played since.

Just for reference and who couldn't use a little George to brighten their day?

Manny and Ortiz do late night

So Manny was on the Tonight Show last night. I'll admit that I was nervous for him, given that he doesn't really talk to the media but he did alright (though I suppose Leno wasn't going to attack him and try to make him look bad). They talked about the state of sport in Boston, cars, Manny got off a couple of chin jokes, and "Manny being Manny." And he got to fist bump a very bemused looking Steve Carell.

Then David Ortiz showed up on Conan, wearing a jacket that he could easily have bedazzled himself. He was his usual amusing self. They talked about where "Big Papi" comes from, Halloween, the importance of re-signing Mike Lowell. The most amusing thing, in a very entertaining interview, was that apparently David Ortiz tells the media at the end of a presser to "go home and get some ass."

Papelbon on Letterman

I don't know much about Jonathan Papelbon. I do know that he has often inspired concern in me along the lines of: What is that man on? But not last night. Last night on Letterman, he seemed like a fun, happy, witty guy. He seemed almost normal.

He did well (perhaps his internal editor could be a little quicker on the uptake) but he held his own. I wish I could remember more clearly (but The Late Show is, in fact, on late and I've been behind on my sleep this week). I was hoping to include the clip but no one seems to have seen fit to grab it off the show. Anyway, he talked about pitching, dancing, and how he feels about players from other teams.

There were two flashes of brilliance. The first was when he was talking about being on deck and being pretty sure that if he had to hit, he was going to go deep. A nice moment of self-deprecation there. The second was when he (hopefully) coined a new nickname for David Ortiz. Because, how awesome would it be if next season you heard: "The designated hitter tonight, David 'The Bedazzler' Ortiz"? Pretty awesome.

Other than that, it was sort of banal. Which is kind of disappointing for my adrenaline-junkie closer (but also a little bit comforting). I don't think he lived in Louisiana for very long but I had developed an image of him as a crazy Cajun. The kind who would play chicken in a fan-boat, or who would pole a pirogue out into the bayou for the express purpose of getting lost and then finding his way out Survivor-man-style. In my head, he wrestled alligators.

Turns out, he's just a nice normal guy. Oh well. Guess it makes life easier for his wife. I was a little worried about how she was going to deal with the insane person living in my head.

Parade disappointment

What the hell was that?

I really want to like Josh Beckett. I was ready to take back all the bad things I have ever said about him. I've called him dumb, arrogant, boring, pretty much personality free, and good for little more than throwing a ball really fast. But I was ready to put our past behind us and forgive him.

Then he didn't dance. I was really excited about the prospect of him dancing. Sure, he would probably look like a jackass out there but more than that, it would show that there was more to him than just an almost-life-like robot built in the suburbs of Houston.

Then not only did he not dance but he had the gall to look bored. Josh, kitten, thousands of people are crowding the streets of Boston to cheer you on and you look bored? It's not so hard to crack a smile, you should try it sometime.

On a similar but not totally related note: Papelbon and Timlin cutting a rug, with a very reluctant Okajima? Priceless.

At the beginning of the summer a Brit asked me to explain baseball to him. Explain baseball. Explain. Baseball. [Blank stare] How do you explain all of the subtleties of the game to someone who has never been forced to play it in high school gym class, to someone who has never even played T-ball? Hell, the man had never even seen a game except for in the movies.

The horror I felt at the enormity of the task then (and even now) must have been obvious. He quickly qualified his request by saying that he understood the the basics but what he wanted really wanted to know about was the logistics of the game. He wanted me to explain the leagues, the teams, and the history of the whole thing.

Certainly a more manageable task and on that led to a long discussion. At the end of which it came out that he was really trying to figure out the heart of the game. He wanted to know about the indefinable quality that made the game important to Americans. Again a difficult task, and really be definition an impossible one. We finally settled on the idea that was football was to him, baseball is to a lot of Americans. That was, of course, a cop-out but how else are you going to describe it?

This, though, this series of games is what baseball is about. Staying up 'til all hours of the night, knowing that I have to get up at 5 o'clock in the morning to go to work. Worrying that the act of writing this is the reason they aren't getting off to such a great start tonight. Reading anything and everything I can find. Dissecting the game with the guys at work, who I'm pretty sure are impressed that I can discuss it intelligently. Worrying that even though they were up by twelve runs in the first game, they would somehow find a way to blow it. Baseball is obsession. Baseball is superstition. Baseball is love.

Everyone keeps saying: These aren't your father's Red Sox. That may be true but I grew up watching my father be a fan of his Red Sox. I've seen the heartbreak they can cause. I am well aware of: There's always next year. I just hope that we don't have to wait until next year.

Baseball is eternal hope that shines through the impending doom. I hope we never lose that feeling because it makes the victory all that much sweeter. To be able to say "I believed" is a great thing.