Getting to Know You. Or, Old Habits Die Hard.

Getting to like John Lackey may be more difficult than I anticipated. Just a few seconds into his presser I ended up snarling "I hate you. I hate you. I hate you." at the television screen. I hate his stupid little beady eyes and his pointy teeth and his mole and his under-bite and his mouth-breathing. He might as well be called John Hapsburg. And to top it all off, that voice. Oy.

The prima donna thing may be overplayed because he is reportedly a good teammate (but, of course, I can't find the article) just extremely passionate. And he's a ballplayer not a politician, so the lack of eloquence may be forgiven.

See? Little by little I'll probably come around.





But Mike Cameron and I? While in terms of the ability to cast off the cliches he's not Justin Masterson (whom I am convinced has a preacher inside him), Mike Cameron and I are cool. He seems genuinely happy to be here. He and Francona go back a long way. And he plays a mean centerfield.