Like Father Like Son.

Earlier today, there was an article about Bobby Jenks on MLB.com detailing his break up from the White Sox. According to the piece, it was less than mutual. As part of the article he's quoted as saying,

"I'll always respect [Guillen] as a person and give him credit that's due. But I want to play for a manager who trusts his relievers, regardless of what's going on."

In response, Oney Guillen, Ozzie's son, flipped out and took to Twitter to rip into...er...rant...er.... defend his dad. [Past tense of tweet] Oney:

hahah memo to bobby jenks get a clue u drink to much and u have had marital problems hugeee ones and the sox stood behind u

they did not air out ur dirty laundry, u came to srping not drinking and then u sucked and started srinking again be a man

be a man and tell the manager or the coaching staff how u feel or the organization when u were with the sox not when u leave

u cried in the managers office bc u have problems now u go and talk bad about the sox after they protected u for 7 years ungrateful

if it wasnt for u and mainly u freddy garcia would have like 17 wins and the sox would have beat the twins

and u self diagnosed urself bc u didnt want to pitch un real i hope the sox let this guiy f*cking have it

oh and yes i remember clearly u blowing a hugee game in 09 and u laughing ur bearded ass off while everyone busting there tail

i thought u were a man not some punk who runs away and talks bullsh*t. u coward. say it to there face when u were with them

dont make me air out more then i have 2 say ur sorry dont disrespect the White sox ever

now u know what piece of sh*t person u rooted for chicago. the ones that leave and talk bad about ur team

and u say the manager didnt trust u? he kept putting ur fat ass there and u kept blowing it, he never took u away from that role unreal

go read it its a scott merkin piece its a dandy, i hope people say what they really feel instead of me

although it wouldnt surprise me if the sox take the high road and be classy instead of destroying this yellow beard dipping idiot

and to think u were actually a cool guy and ur word meant something, to bad u dont hit in the AL so they can drill that ass

one little story remember when u couldnt handle ur drinking and u hit a poor arizona clubby in the face i do. and later u covered it with

The anger is strong in that one.

Jenks did seem to take a passive-aggressive swipe at Ozzie but the reaction seems a wee bit over the top. If Jenks does have a drinking problem, that's not good news; if he punched out a clubhouse attendant, that's a serious issue; if he has marital issues that will affect his performance, it's not a good thing for his new Sox but, much like his father, the younger Mr. Guillen needs to learn to bite his tongue.

As far as having a manager who will stick with his staff, Francona will do that. He'll stick with you much longer than any sane person would.

The Daughters 'Tek.

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Jason Varitek, along with his girls, were on the Today Show this morning contributing to NBC's toy drive in the name of MLB. I like 'Tek but with the exception of when he's talking about baseball, he's not the most articulate individual. The littlest girl is absolutely adorable, though.

Popular! You're Gonna Be Popular!

In a recent Gallup poll conducted in the Dominican Republic, David Ortiz (link in Spanish) was named the most admirable Dominican player in the majors. He narrowly edged out both Alex Rodriguez and Albert Pujols. And even though he hasn't played in a year, Petey came in fourth. Manny rounded out the top five.

While the results of the poll are questionable (there is nothing, in any way, admirable about Alex Rodriguez), David has a good heart. It's nice thing to be recognized for.

'Cause You Don't Know What Cesar Chavez Looks Like.

If you happen to be down in Albuquerque this summer, John Valentin has been brought in as the Isotopes--the Dodgers' AAA affiliate--new hitting coach. It's a role he filled last season with their AA affiliate in Chattanooga. Good luck to him.

Holy Smoke.

Peter Abraham has the Sox signing Carl Crawford to a 7 year, $142 million deal. I am stunned. I suppose that if I think about it some more, I might come to like the deal but right now I'm going back to my alien-infestation theory. They've gotten hold of Theo and are making him do un-Theo like things.

Sayonara Okajima-San.

The Sox have chosen to not extend Hideki Okajima a contract for next season. Oki seemed like a good guy but, with all the talk of loneliness and annoyance at not being a free agent after last season, a little unhappy. Still, whether he liked us or not, he was spectacular in 2007 and I hope that he lands somewhere good.

Our Fearful Trip is Still Not Quite Done.

Word on the street is that Jason Varitek will be back in Boston next season. I can't hate the move; in a time of transition (with Farrell leaving) he provides a bit of stability and if you never ever, ever allow him to hit lefty, he's not that terrible. Welcome back.

Palm Trees and Sunshine.

The Spring Training schedule for next spring was released yesterday. The important dates: Truck Day is February 8 and Pitchers and Catchers is February 13. Also, the St. Patrick's Day game is against Los Mets. It will be here soon, or at least that's what I'm going to tell myself.

Man in Black.

(Getty Images)

I'm not a country music fan. Other than having heard their names in passing or in relation to celebrity gossip, I generally couldn't pick country singers out of lineup or identify them through their songs. I recognize it as a failing of my pop culture knowledge. What I am fairly certain of, however, is that Josh Beckett is not moonlighting as a country musician. So what he was doing apparently on stage at last night's CMT Artists of the Year Awards remains a mystery. But who could resist a psychotic looking kitten? The telecast of the event will be on Friday night for the actually curious.

Other Kitten photos (all from Getty):

Anything You Want.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Friends in High Places.

I'm beginning to think that there are Red Sox fans among the people who write the questions for Jeopardy! (Or, at least, people who dislike the Yankees, which is every sensible person in the world.) On today's show, for example, there was a category devoted entirely to Yankee failures. And while it may be petty, stories of Yankee failure make me glad. The questions (for your reveling pleasure):

$400: "Next year" finally came to this team's fans in 1955, when its "bums" finally beat the Yanks in the series for the first time in six tries.

$800: The Yankees lost Game 7 of the 1926 World Series when this portly gent was thrown out trying to steal second base.

$1200: A "big red machine" from this city ran right over the Yankees in a four-game sweep of the 1976 World Series.

$1600: In 2004 this team came back from a 3-games-to-0 deficit and beat the Yanks for the A.L. pennant; revenge gets no sweeter.

$ 2000: This ace L.A. lefty dominated the Yanks in the 1963 World Series, striking out 23 and beating them twice in a 4-game sweep.

*Contented sigh*

Living with Lackey.

(AP Photo)

John Lackey may have not endeared himself to the Fenway Faithful with his performance this past season but since he's likely stuck with us, the Lackey clan is putting down roots. Specifically, $2 million worth of roots at 334 Beacon St. It feels necessary to point out that I am not really the stalking type and he needn't worry about me.

Won't Somebody Please Think of the Children?

The New Stars for Young Stars Jimmy Fund event has been scheduled for January 15, 2011. Scheduled to attend are: Jarrod Saltalamacchia, Ryan Kalish, Darnell McDonald, Daniel Nava, Will Middlebrooks, Jeremy Hazelbacker, and former best beloved Bill Mueller.

Silver Sox.

Congratulations go out to Adrian Beltre for winning the Silver Slugger Award. It was well deserved after the year he had. I really did enjoy watching him play.

Fire Joe Morgan.

Fantastic news that has made my day: Joe Morgan's contract has not been renewed by ESPN and Jon Miller has been asked to move to the radio.

Flying Away.

Pawtucket manager Torey Lovullo has been hired as the Toronto Blue Jays' new first base coach. Also, Brian Daubach has been hired to manage the Nationals' low-A affiliate, the Hagerstown Suns. Good for both of them.

On Debt and My Oddball Childhood.

A few of my oddball tendencies can be explained away by the fact that my Dad was an accountant who wanted to teach his children fiscal responsibility. He literally had us investing our allowances when we were eight: there was the shorter-term investment where you could get your money out of the Bank of Dad anytime you wanted but for every week you left it in there you got an extra dime and there was the longer investment where he kept your allowance for a month but at the end of the month you got a fifty cent return on your dollar. When I started earning babysitting money he taught me how to write a budget and how to fill in a general journal. And by the time I was in high school I could read and discuss (always important to my Dad) a company's financial statements. If I had the time, I think that I could be a fairly competent financial adviser.

So, I understand that liabilities aren't necessarily a bad thing; sometimes you have to borrow money to make money--every once in awhile the interest on notes from the Bank of Mom was significantly lower than the interest paid out by the Bank of Dad and so it only made sense to borrow money from BoM to invest with BoD. (I did mention that they were both accountants, didn't I?) But when John Henry tells the Daily Mirror's football section: "The New York Yankees are $3.5 billion in debt..." it makes my head spin just a little bit.

I don't know how he would be privy to that information or if he's just making up numbers to impress his new English peeps but 3,500,000,000 is a very big number. I understand how they can carry that much debt but it's still an astounding amount.

Good Eats.

(Getty Images)

On January 21, Ryan Kalish will be headlining the Portland Sea Dogs Hot Stove Dinner in South Portland. The dinner raises money for Strike Out Cancer in Kids.

Kalish seems like an incredibly decent young man and a fine ballplayer. If your options are Crawford, Werth, or muddle through for a while and then bring up Kalish, I'd go with Kalish.

More Papi.

(Getty Images)

David Ortiz will be around for at least another year as he has had his 2011 option picked up. I like it. Are they over paying? Absolutely. But none of the other DH-types out there are David Ortiz and none of them have his cachet. And despite his April, David had a good year last year.

I do hope that he doesn't complain about only getting one year, though. It's hard to like a whiner, especially one making $12.5 million. And besides, if he thought the past two years were rough, can you imagine the crap he'd have to deal with if he got himself a couple of years and then struggled again? The media would have a field day with tearing him down.

Good Man.

(AP Photo)

Congrats to Wakey on receiving the Roberto Clemente Award. He's a good egg.

Programming Alert.

The last time I watched NESN was on October 4th. (NESN totally shouldn't feel bad though, I'm just not very good at watching television; I often forget to tune into shows that I enjoy watching, so there should be very little hope that I might turn on their off-season dreck. The tour of Mike Lowell's house? Didn't see it. Didn't even know that it was on.) Normally, I wouldn't bother with the channel until February but tomorrow night at 7:30 they're airing a Jason Varitek retrospective. (Preview here) If I had a DVR, I might remember to set it.

Rejoice and Be Glad.

AP Photo

This is the day Dustin Pedroia has his cast removed. Do you suppose he camped out in front of the doctor's office last night in order to be there when they opened for business?

Also, please forgive me my blasphemy.

One of Those Rectangle States.

It seems that This Year in Baseball, like the rest of us (note: sarcasm) MLB didn't bother to pay any attention to the Colorado Rockies. I imagine that a lot of hard work went into design of the voting form for this year's This Year in Baseball Awards; each nominee gets a neat little interactive baseball card with their picture on it but clearly unable to pick Carlos Gonzalez out of a lineup (it's either that or they figured that no one would notice) they just left his nomination for hitter of the year blank. He's like the shadow guy on Facebook. (They did put his picture up for the other two nominations he got.)

As for Boston nominees, they've got Beltre, Lester and Buchholz, Papelbon and Bard, Francona (the only who might deserve some consideration), and Nava and Darnell McDonald's Boston debuts.

Gate Crashing.

Is there anything like post season baseball? Tremendous stuff. Just because my boys didn't get an invitation to the party doesn't mean I'm going to sit home and pout.

For the past week or so, the Twins fan I know (Why yes, I do know a Twins fan. He's from South Dakota.) has been insisting that I've been underestimating Minnesota. According to him, they're really good this year; Liriano is better than Sabathia and Pavano is just as good or alternately, they have the best rotation in baseball. Being a fan can make you say some odd things.

To be honest though, I haven't paid much attention to the Twins since May. At all. A week ago I couldn't have told you who they had playing first in Morneau's absence. I could name their outfield starters but who was playing right or center or left? The rotation beyond Liriano and Pavano? Yeah, I didn't know. So I was willing to except that maybe my Twins fan was right, maybe they were a good team.

For six innings I followed along, happily being proven wrong (Yay! First baseman Michael Cuddyer!) but then it all fell apart. Being a temporary Twins fan [Aside: It was much easier to become a Twins fan than it was to become a Rangers fan. I still contend that they're bad at baseball.] and believing those ridiculous things that I'd been told about the team, well it was disappointing.

Also, congratulations to Roy Halladay. I always liked him. It is too bad that he has to play for those ridiculous people in Philadelphia, though. Cheering along with them really took me out of it.

On Mike Lowell.

Rueters Pictures

This article is a couple of days old but whatever, I've been busy. There are so many things to like from the outset: Mike Lowell? Check. Gordon Edes? Check. Naturally, I can't leave well enough alone and must complain: Holy purple prose, Gordo. The pitch from Dr. Papa Lowell was "strong and true"? I like Mike Lowell as much as the next person but my goodness.

Mike Lowell might not understand exactly how he became so popular but I do. It's that lovely smile. It's such an easy smile, with intelligence and good-humor behind it. And really you can't help but grin stupidly back at him.

And so he'll go back to Miami with his adorable wife (also lively and intelligent, no dead-eyed bimbo for Mike Lowell) and his, undoubtedly, perfect children to live a perfect Ozzie and Harriet type life. Lucky bastard. Best of luck to him.

The Truth Will Out.

It turns out that the reason the Beltres are looking to sell their California home has nothing to do with disenchantment for the area. It seems that Mrs. Beltre is about to welcome a new peanut into the world and clearly, what they needed was more space.

Adios Adrian. It was a lot of fun.

After the Game.

Confession: Before this season, I never really paid all that much attention to Adrian Beltre; he was out on the West Coast so, really, who cares? Nobody. That's who. I will also admit that now I am pretty close to head-over-heels for him. It's not just the glove or the arm or the self-check at first base, which is amusing; nope, the thing that I've come to love most about Adrian Beltre is that he's like a spring. He builds up so much tension in his body when he's getting ready to hit that when he opts not to swing, he's got to release it somehow and so he does this little hopping thing. It makes me laugh.

I would love it if they brought Beltre back; I doubt that they will but I suppose that you never know. The Angels need a third baseman and Beltre's been rumored to be a West Coast guy. The West Coast thing might be overblown, though, because the Beltres have put their Los Angeles area pad on the market. They're some serious digs. If he did land in Anaheim, he could always pull it off the market, $19.8 million won't be easy to move.

On to the Tenth.

Things we learned from Ken Burns' Tenth Inning:

1. For all that his father meant to him, Petey is a mama's boy.

2. I never really put much thought into it but Joe Torre is kind of likable; Don Zimmer, on the other hand, remains a troll.

3. I'd forgotten how much fun it was to watch Ken Griffey Jr. play.

4. Barry Bonds can be a sympathetic character.

5. I can totally recognize Mike Lowell in profile. During one of the Barry Bonds segments, there was a photograph of, I assume, of a National League All-Star team but I didn't notice Barry (Please don't kill me, Mr. Bonds.) until they zoomed in on him because I only had eyes for Mike Lowell. Also, besides Rod Barajas, who knew that Barajas played for the Diamondbacks in 2001?

6. Even knowing what's coming, 2003 remains gut-wrenchingly awful to watch.

7. 2004 remains utterly fantastic.

Sigh.

"Every little girl knows about love. It is only her capacity to suffer because of it that increases." --Francoise Sagan.

I feel like I've been holding my breath (waiting, waiting, waiting for the other shoe to drop), and now, small consolation though it may be, at least I can breathe. From the beginning, getting to the playoffs wasn't projected to be an easy task (being a bridge year and all) and the fact that they managed to go through all that they went through and were still in it until the last week of September is impressive.

Bummed? Yeah. Heart broken? Sure, a little bit. Angry? Not at all. What else could they possibly have done? This ragtag bunch played with a lot of determination and I really don't want to say heart (because, as you know, all you really need is heart and since they didn't win they can't possibly have heart). They made things interesting and it was fun while it lasted; mind you, not a traditional sense of fun, it was more of a pace around like a tiger at an old timey zoo, glowery sort of fun but fun nonetheless.

So, thank you boys. It was a nice party.

Visions of Sugar Plums.

"THESE are the times that try men's souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands by it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly: it is dearness only that gives every thing its value." --Thomas Paine

Perhaps it was the fact that three out of the last six games have ended around 1:30 in morning but I've spent the past day and a half envisioning a ninety-eight win season (if you're going to day dream, then you might as well dream big) and somehow it seemed feasible. In my scenario, ninety-eight wins at least got you the wild card--even if New York also won all of it's remaining games (with the exception of their games against the Sox because somebody has to lose) they would have finished with ninety-eight wins as well but Boston would win the season series by one. Leave it to John Lackey (and undoubtedly Don Orsillo's concerned voice) though to suck the fun right out of the room. But then there was a glimmer of hope and it grew into a flame and then to a bonfire only to be cruelly snuffed out.

After a tough, emotionally draining day, I went into the game hoping only to be entertained and ultimately I was; disappointed but entertained. So I guess it's back to the drawing board to figure a new way into the play-offs (the current front runner is that a highly contagious, non-lethal flu might run rampant through New York's clubhouse forcing them to have to forfeit the rest of their games since they're all in the bathroom yakking) because like it or not, I'm in it for the long haul--if I can't not watch pointless games in Seattle, it doesn't seem likely that I'll be able to turn off the games that start before ten.

Also, I've taken to rooting for the Giants (mostly because I've also decided that I dislike Heath Bell) but I'm extremely glad that I was wrong about Adrian Beltre and the offense that the Sox were going to get this season; watching San Fransisco try to string together a couple of hits may be the most painful experience imaginable. As I sit here, they're down by two to Milwaukee and it's probably an insurmountable deficit. Just thought I'd share.

And if there are any Revolutionary War veterans who are offended by the misappropriation of Thomas Paine: apologies.

I Can Quit Anytime I Want.

Part of me wishes that they'd just put this ridiculous season out of it's misery: declare it a lost cause and forfeit the rest of the season; take the hit financially by returning the sold tickets and just move on. Send Scutaro to get his shoulder repaired because every time someone grounds out to short, it looks as if he would prefer to run the ball over to first base rather than throw it. Adrian Beltre is hobbling around. JD Drew is, undoubtedly, beat up in some manner. Send them all home and be done with it. Think of it Theo: Think of where you'd get to pick in the draft if your record was 76-86. You know that you want to do it.

And the other part of me thinks that someone (preferably the Yankees, always the Yankees) is in for a Mets-ian collapse. And she is killing me.

The Return.

There's a jazz tune from New Orleans, that I'm quite fond of, called No, It Ain't My Fault. The lyric (at least the way I've heard it in the past) is pretty simple:

Nooooooooo, it ain't my fault.
Nooooooooo, it ain't my fault.
Nooooooooo, it ain't my fault.
My fault, my fault, it ain't my fault.

Depending on the severity of the situation, it may not be the most mature approach to resolving an issue, but who doesn't want to just pass the buck occasionally?

The answer is, apparently, Manny Ramirez. On his return visit to Boston this summer, Manny is rejecting the Let the good times roll (I'm not going to attempt the French spelling) attitude and instead issuing a mea culpa for the way he behaved in 2008.

The interesting thing might be (I'm not sure about this, I really do my best to avoid them) that for the first time since Manny came to Boston, the media might not have a vendetta against him. A fat lot of good it does him now. At least we'll likely be spared incredibly offensive, uncomfortable, jackass-ish, jokes from Tom Caron. When the Dodgers were in town, Caron repeatedly (two or three times in the same broadcast) joked along the lines of: You're Manny is so dumb, he doesn't even recognize that he's in Fenway. Ha ha ha! Wait. That's not funny. [Aside: Don't get me started on NESN and the crappy product they regularly put out--Seriously? You can't time a commercial break?--but Tom Caron genuinely pissed me off with those comments. I don't remember the last time I watched a pre/post game show.]

In the end, though, I don't think that it matters too much one way or the other; not because there's no actual apology there or because I doubt his sincerity. I just don't think that the crowd has much energy left to devote a lot of it to reacting to Manny. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe my irrelevant assessment from June was off-track but even as a die-hard Manny defender, his return gets a meh from me.

Defection.

Or something like that.

Released by the Mets earlier this month, Alex Cora has signed a minor-league deal with the Texas Rangers. I like this move for them. As I said before, I wasn't overly impressed with Texas' ability to play baseball but Alex has got a sure hand in the field and you can hide his bat in that lineup.

Welcome Back.

This may not have been fully obvious but I adore Dustin Pedroia. I love that boy to pieces and I've missed him terribly. So, yeah, good job by Buchholz and Kalish but tonight was all about Pedey. It wasn't his best night at the plate and he might have lost a step going after ground balls (or it could have just been rust that prevented him from getting to the ball in the second) and his running seemed a bit slow (he would probably be faster if someone would just teach him to not run with so much tension in his back) but I don't really care. By just being, Dustin Pedroia makes me grin foolishly.

Plus, I get to bust out the Muppets.

It All Begins Tonight.

Dustin Pedroia says that it's time to sober up and get back on the wagon. I call shotgun.

Also, happy birthday to Pedey!

Good People.

Yesterday, Gammons wrote a piece in which he discussed Chris Johnson (Ron Johnson's son) and how well he's been playing for the Astros. Chris Johnson also talked about how his father's been treated by the Sox after his daughter's accident.

"But the Red Sox have been unbelievable. Her birthday was Wednesday, and not only did the team send her all kinds of presents, but a lot of the players called her to wish her a happy birthday. It's a blessing for our family that dad works where he does."

Maybe Gammo egged him on to say something nice about the Red Sox but I liked reading it anyway.

TGIL.

AP Photo

Oh, for goodness sake. You pitched well.

Disregarding his poor start to the season, it's hard to imagine where this team would be without Jon Lester. They've had bouts of crappy starting pitching, crappy hitting, and crappy defense but, for the most part, Jon Lester could be counted on to pitch well and give his team a chance to win. You can't ask for much more than that (other than asking him to be a touch less prickly). Good on you, Jon Lester.

Friday the Thirteenth.

Without going and looking it up, I can't recall the last time this team won a game in extra-innings on the road. (Now that I have looked it up, it wasn't that long ago. Useless statistics: They've played in thirteen extra-innings games this season and eight of those thirteen have come on the road. Of all of those games, they've won in extra innings only four times--with two of those wins coming on the road. They won in thirteen innings in Seattle on July 22 and in ten innings in Colorado on June 24.)

But this one belongs to Josh Beckett who, once again, laid an egg and a particularly rotten one at that. I don't know if he's decided to rest on his laurels or something but the man is having a rough year. And of course Bardo who, while responsible for less of the suckfest, shouldn't have let the tying run score.

I suppose, though, that Texas is play-off bound (if only because it seems improbable that the Angels could catch up. I'd hazard, though, that they'll be summarily booted in the first round because they're just not very good at baseball.) and we ought to acknowledge that. And we're left with: Que Sera, Sera. The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow and Save us Jonny K.

Also, please beat the crap out of CJ Wilson on Sunday because the man is a jackass of epic proportions. Thank you.

There Goes the 113-Win Season.

*Blink*

Um...Piglets? That's not how that was supposed to go, right? Because while two out of three ain't bad, three out of three would have been much better.

Splitsville.

Getty Images

Last night was disheartening but I guess, in the end, a split's not so bad. Jon Lester may not be the most gregarious fellow (at times bordering on condescending and rude) but the boy can pitch. And Holy Cats, Kids!: The Yankees load the bases with nobody out and they can't push across a run? Fantastic.

Heartbreaker.

Going into the weekend, I had the sense that this was it; the season was going to be left on the field in New York. Theo's real team couldn't compete with the Orioles or the Royals or Cleveland, what hope did the Kevin Youkilis-less lineup cobbled together from spit and bits of spare twine have against New York?

And then they went and won the first game. My inner Pollyanna (she's not particularly good at controlling herself) was thrilled and envisioned a four-game sweep and the team being right back in the thick of things. And now? Now she's just bummed.

At least work will be a distraction from the disaster that tomorrow will undoubtedly turn out to be.

It's Good to See You Smile.

I'm fairly certain that Mike Lowell's smile, properly used, could solve all of the problems in the world. Teach him some Mandarin, send him to Beijing, and have him politely ask the premier to stop expansion into Africa and to respect his people's human rights and smile at him, and China would be putty in his hands. Drop glossy 8x10s of Mikey Lowell's smiling face from helicopters (we wouldn't want him to get hurt before he could smile) in Afghanistan and the terrorists who saw the photos would realize the error of their ways and return to a peaceful life. Leave him in Pakistan and have him smile at the clouds and the rains would stop and the flood waters would recede.

We haven't seen much of the second best looking man in the American League this season, let alone his miraculous smile, but when he knocked that ball out this evening it was back. It was a sort-of, "I told you I could still play." and it was good for Mikey Lowell.

You Gotta Have Faith.

Knowing full well that I can't turn it off, I'm sitting here watching this game wondering why I'm torturing myself. This team seems to have dug itself too deep of a hole to fight it's way out of and even though Theo thinks they can still compete, I think he's peddling pyrite. And then Jim Leyland walks Kevin Youkilis to load the bases to get to Ortiz and instantly I believed. (How much did I believe? It was then that I took the television off of mute.) They can (and probably will) break my heart tomorrow but today was delicious.

Please, sir. I Want Some More.

Surely I can't be the only person who felt compelled to yell "Kaaaaaahn!" at the television every time Don said "Kohn." (Maybe the kid pronounces his name differently but a good German accent would put it closer to 'Cone'.) Really? Just me? But you know what? On a night when they don't lose, I'll be alright with my geekiness. Although in my defense, I don't think I've ever actually seen "The Wrath of Kahn".

Also, the Angel's new Fransisco Rodriguez either needs a new hat or a bigger forehead.

Things were a little dicey (Get it?) for Clay in the beginning but he was able to survive -- which is astounding considering that the Clay of a couple years back likely would have become absolutely distressed and crumpled to the mound in a ball of anxiety had he loaded the bases with nobody out. A pair of David Ortiz home runs, the return of Victor Martinez, and a JD Drew two-run double made for a good night. Especially when you've decided to not write about losses and consequently haven't had much to write about all month.

A Revelation.

Dear John Lackey,

I'll admit to not having been your biggest fan this season. You were just so unlikeable with the Angels; the stomping around, the whining, the chin, the underbite, the pointy teeth, the mole, the mouth-breathing, and if I had known I probably would have added the voice and the tendency to use the phrase "for sure" as punctuation to the list of things wrong with you. Plus, you weren't exactly a bad pitcher.

Then you came over here and I set about trying to convince myself that you didn't spend your free time kicking puppies. It was difficult, though; the dislike was deeply ingrained. And then, I'm sorry, you hadn't exactly been fantastic to start the season. But last time out against Texas you pitched pretty well and tonight you pitched wonderfully. In fact, in the middle of the ninth inning I started a post in which I pondered the question: I like John Lackey?

Then things went haywire; I swore a blue streak at the television, threatened to kill some people, and did a little stomping around of my own. My point: I'd like to apologize for the group of doofuses (doofusi?) around you. And if you felt the need to administer several swift kicks to the groin to certain numbskulls, I don't think that anyone would blame you.

And honestly? I think that, if nothing else, today's game may have actually resulted in my coming around to like John Lackey.

Golden Slumbers.

*Bangs pan with wooden spoon*

Nothing?

*Enthusiastically crashes cymbals*

Still nothing?

*Pulls fire alarm* *Runs like hell*

Did I wake you? Sorry about that. Anyway, while I've got you: Did you boys have a nice break? Yeah? That's good. I'm super glad. Did you spend some time with the wife and kids? Sleep in--well, that's probably not such a big deal for you--go to bed early, then? Watch prime time television? Veg out on the couch? Yeah? That's fun. Everybody deserves a break once in awhile.

Here's the thing, though, sweetpeas: Vacation's over. As much as going back to work sucks, and believe me I understand, you need to wake up and start playing better baseball. It doesn't get any easier from here on out. Thanks in advance.

Love and kisses,
Liz

Silver Linings.

I know that THIS ONE COUNTS and all that jazz and should they make it to the World Series they'll now have to start in a National League Park (horrors!) but, to be perfectly honest, I was practically giddy at the outcome of that game. There are much more important things: Namely, Joe Girardi and Phil Hughes stinking it up. It has a nice ring to it: First American League Manager to lose the All-Star Game in thirteen years, Joe Girardi.

I prefer road games anyway. It's much better to have the opportunity to strike first.

No Respect.

What exactly did Victor Martinez do to piss off someone at Getty Images? Because it must have been bad. Flipping through the thumbnails of the pictures coming out of the All Star game in Anaheim and the above picture is labeled as being Victor Martinez. Even in its miniaturized state, you can tell that it's actually Slimy McSlimeball. It's one thing to label Dustins as Justins (as they did a couple of years ago) but to completely mistake a nice guy like Victor Martinez for a creepy, horrid character like Alex Rodriguez, really should be unacceptable. Someone owes Victor, and me--for forcing me to look at that jackass, an apology. Stat.

Baby Face.

I suppose that picking on babies under a year old for their looks might be a little harsh and probably doesn't fit into my resolution to try to be nicer but what the hell, right? Really it's just about sharing the cuteness that is D'Angelo Ortiz.




Young master Beltre, does not wish to be here but does wish to take a nap. Thank you.



Aw. Except for his nose, Dylan Pedroia looks like his dad; the same giant forehead and pointy little chin, the same frown, the same sleepy eyes, the same baldness. Poor thing.



But then there is the utter adorability that is D'Angelo Ortiz. I can't pinpoint exactly why but that boy is the clearly cutest boy ever.

Zombie.

David Ortiz was left for dead a year and a half ago but tonight he proved just how undead he really is by winning the home run derby. Or it might have been just a little bit of stolen Dustin Pedroia swagger because as he said, it was a "laser show." Congratulations to David.

Those sunglasses are regrettable, though. (Please don't eat my brain.)

Om Mani Padme Hum.

Reuters Pictures

I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey.

When It Rains.

There comes a point when you just have to laugh. Earlier today word came down that Manny Delcarmen was headed for the disabled list with a strained forearm. And now it appears that Jason Varitek has broken his foot and will soon be joining him. I've got to admit that while I wasn't looking forward to the painful experience of watching Varitek bat most nights, it would probably have been better than watching the newly re-acquired Kevin Cash or Gustavo Molina; although it's probably unfair to Molina, having never actually seen him.

I guess you tread water until the all-star break and hope people start coming back toward the end of the month. But then you've got Jon Lester, John Lackey, and Clay Buchholz and their respective wives not understanding human gestation, with each due to give birth in the month of August. If Jonathan Papelbon can figure out how to get his wife pregnant so she doesn't end up giving birth in the middle of a potential pennant race, you'd think that the slightly smarter ones could too.

For Insomniacs.

If you happen to be up very late on Friday night (or technically, I suppose, very early on Saturday morning), Dennis Eckersley is scheduled to be a guest on The Late, Late Show with Craig Ferguson.

Snakebit.

Yesterday, Dustin Pedroia managed to break the navicular bone in his left foot by fouling a ball off of it. The navicular bone (red arrow) is a disc-like bone of the midfoot; it can easily be felt on your own foot--the bony protuberance, slightly off-center of the top of the arch (toward the heel) is the tuberostiy of the navicular.

As was evidenced by the way Pedroia hobbled down the line, the navicular is essential for a normal gait. Along with the three inner metatarsals (longer bones), the three cuniforms (the small, roundish bones--I redrew two of them), and the calcaneus (the heel bone) it forms the arch of the foot. People are heavy and the purpose of the arch is to redistribute some of that weight. The bone also helps to absorb impact on heel strike and propel the body forward while walking.

The two weeks Pedroia thinks that he's going to be out seems highly optimistic; you're more likely looking at the typical six to eight weeks it takes for a bone to re-knit. But if there's any person who could look at his foot and say "Alright, bones. You are going to heal today." and have them listen to him, Dustin Pedroia might be that person.

And then today, Clay Buchholz hyper-extended his knee while running the bases. A hyper-extension occurs when a joint is forced beyond full extension and, in effect, bends the wrong way. Knees are delicate things and you'd be concerned with ligament damage but since he walked off the field under his own power, he's likely okay.

King of the Road.

Reuters Pictures

After a couple of games that would generously be called bummers, Dustin Pedroia came to the rescue of a bullpen that, one can only assume, was suffering from altitude sickness. It was a long strange game but while Pedroia may have had to drag the rest of them there kicking and screaming, it was good win to get. So, good on ya, Pedey.

Underdogs.

My mother put me in dance class when I was two because she wanted my older sister (who was four at the time) to have an experience similar to school before she went off to kindergarten and so she enrolled us both. I stuck around the studio until I graduated from high school; I have really gross toes to prove it. I wanted to be a dancer so badly but, realizing that I wasn't good enough, I was practical and gave it up. Part of me regrets that decision; I mean, life is grand otherwise but I do sometimes wonder what might have been, if I'd been braver. It's an odd day when I don't turn a set of pirouettes in my kitchen (the only place where I don't run the chance of knocking things over) or use the counter as a barre.

So I have a super soft-spot for the guys who stick with their dreams (Craig Breslow, Daniel Nava, all my AAAA guys) despite really long odds. The Projo has an article today about Ryan Westmoreland and his road back, which brought on this bout of nostalgia. Prior to last March, Westmoreland probably wouldn't have fit into the category of guys who might not make it but full recovery from his surgery is no sure thing. And while having a big fat goal at the end of his rehab is undoubtedly good for him, there remains a chance that he'll never be good enough again. It's not the same as my AAAA guys but it's pretty close. Absolute best of luck to him.

Warning: I was weepy by the end of the article.

Taking One For the Team.

For some reason I'm rather blase about the All-Star Game this year. But there are people who care about it and it most certainly means something to the Angels and Disney. As part of the promotion of the game, Disney had littered the area with Mickey Mouse statues decorated to represent each major league baseball team; the first person to take their picture with each of the statues won tickets to the All-Star Game. It was a neat little scavenger hunt.

Things took a turn for the worst Friday night outside the Discovery Science Center in Santa Ana, where the Boston Mickey positioned. Someone attempted to take him out by beating him, probably with a bat. The article mentions that LAAAAA also plays in the American League but I'd be more likely to blame a Dodgers fan or a lost Yankee fan than an Angels fan; it doesn't seem like Angels fans care enough to beat up a Mickey statue.

Speedy recovery to Mickey, anyway.

Rocky Mountain High.

This will be an interesting one. The Rockies play very well at home and have not lost a homestand since May 25-31, 2009.

Jhoulys Chacin goes tonight for Colorado. He throws a low-nineties fastball, a slider, a curveball, and a change-up. He can have trouble with his control and probably walks too many batters. He's a decent pitcher, though. He will give up hits (not home runs, though) but he has plenty of strike outs.

Ubaldo Jimenez pitches on Wednesday night. Jimenez's fastball is in the upper nineties, with lots of movement. He also throws a slider, a curveball, and change-up. He's another groundball pitcher, who doesn't give up home runs. He's got excellent control and the highest number of runs that he's given up in a game this season was three to Toronto.

Jason Hammel is the scheduled starter for Colorado on Thursday. Hammel was drafted by Tampa Bay and they were primarily using him out of the bullpen. (He does have two starts against Boston, September 26, 2006 and July 27, 2007.) He throws a low-nineties fastball, a slider, a curveball, and a change up. He's got good control and doesn't walk too many. He's got pretty good strike out numbers and gets a fair number of ground balls.

Colorado is a pitching and defense team. Their starters are pretty good, their bullpen (which is about to add back Huston Street--which might be a good thing for them) is more than decent, and they have the speed to cover a lot of ground in that big outfield. Their hitting, on the other hand, is a little lacking. The loss of Tulowitzki to a broken wrist hurts them a lot. Former Royal, Miguel Olivo is having a good year, Seth Smith and Brad Hawpe can hit a little bit but that's about it.

Are You There God? It's Me, Manny.

To cap off a very bizarre weekend, Manny Ramirez may very well have walked out of Fenway Park for the final time last night. But not before he talked to the Spanish language play-by-play announcer, Uri Berenguer. On Saturday Manny told him, among other things, that he'd found God and was sorry for the way he behaved in Boston. I'm not going to pick on a man for finding religion; if it brings a degree of calm into his life, it's certainly a good thing. And while it's good for him, it's not really worth posting. My title, however, was too good to not put it up.

Parental Advisory.

I don't think that I'm overly judgmental; I'm more of a happy hedonist. To each his own, whatever floats your boat is usually where I come from. But there are two things that I find inexcusable: dressing poorly [Aside: I am getting better about not picking on people because of their clothing choices. I haven't called out Victor Martinez on his apparent Abercrombie and Fitch fixation or that he seems to buy his outfits at the mall or the hat he's been wearing lately that looks like a tagiyah. It's summer, peaches, you don't need a knit hat. Unless of course, he's become Muslim; in which case, apologies. There are, however, still some egregious ensembles that need to be pointed out.] and bad music.

I know good music and while this may be a catchy tune and is, apparently, wildly popular out in Colorado, it is not good music. At all. And so I have a favor to ask of you boys, you can't let a team that would promulgate such cheerleadery crap beat you, could you?

Fair warning: Whether you're a skinny white dude or not, if you press play, you may find yourself unable to avoid urging the "C-O-L-O-R-A-D-O Ra-kaaaaaaaaays" to "hit it out da park" for a long time. The stupid little tune has been stuck in my head for days. Also, they don't have a park, they have a field. Get with it skinny white dude.

Typical Friday Night.

Getty Images

And that takes care of that.

He seemed smaller. Not physically because he went off the steroids or anything like that but definitely smaller. Probably because when he was here, Manny was larger than life and now he's just human. I can't decide if that's sad or not.

Holding anyone, let alone Manny, up to those super human standards will only lead to disappointment and, in that sense, being human was a good thing. But the booing/cheering mostly seemed to lack conviction. The roar when he struck out to end the game, that was real. The rest seemed to be more like the crowd was just doing its duty; they were told that this was a big series, that Manny was coming to town and that there would be drama, so they did their best to make it so.

Somehow, and maybe it's Jason Bay's fault, Manny became irrelevant. And that is tragic.

Three Cheers.

This is my fourth attempt at trying to get this right. The first one dissolved into a rant against the way Manny was treated by the media. And while it was wrong (no one should have to cooperate with reporters to avoid having them make stuff up about you), I wouldn't want people to think that I was mere baby steps away from moving to a cabin in Wyoming and writing vicious anti-media screeds about a dying industry and the self-important, power-hungry people it employs, from the public library because I'd gone off the grid. I swear that I'm not that person.

Then I tried listing the reasons that Manny should be cheered but that didn't seem sufficient. The most persuasive reason was, of course, that David Ortiz said to not boo him.

"Cleveland missed Manny and we miss Manny. The Dodgers will miss him when he's gone. The kids with the Dodgers, he's helped them. If you want to get better approaching the game, watch Manny because he slows things down. I hope they cheer him. Don't boo him. It'll make him mad and he'll go deep."

Jason Varitek may be the leader of the team; Mike Lowell could be in charge of the heterosexual female fans; Jacoby Ellsbury could be in charge of the teenagers; but David Ortiz is the heart and soul of this club. Often enough he's carried this team on his broad back that if Papi says, "Don't boo", then you don't boo.

Then I tried the route of explaining why booing Manny was wrong and how people who would boo him were clueless. But who am I to say what's wrong and what's right?

And so I'm left with the plea: Don't boo Manny. Yes, it ended poorly but he was our Manny (the man was beloved) and he was desperately important to the 2004 and 2007 teams. There has never been and likely never again will there be a right-handed hitter quite like Manny. And the media wants him to be booed (Would Fox/ESPN cover these games if they weren't looking for a little manufactured drama?) and it's always best to not give them what they want.

Cliched.

It's a cheesy sports movie: The kid is not big enough, not fast enough, not good enough to play baseball; he believes in himself but nobody else does. He keeps getting cut but keeps coming back. Why? Tenacity? Love of the game? A combination of the two? Finally, someone gives him a chance and in the climax of the film, he hits a grand slam on the first pitch he ever sees in the majors. It's the sort of ending that you roll your eyes at because, well, that sort of thing never happens. Me? I spent the rest of the game grinning like a moron because I'm a sucker for a good story.

Plus, he seems like a good guy (boring taste in women) but a nice guy, nonetheless. And as he said, "Dream come true, for sure."

Oh, Bardo.

Really, buddy? That's how you chose to end the game? Really?

I Hate Cleveland.

I don't think that I'm overly politically-correct but I dislike many things about the Cleveland baseball team. I don't like their nickname but I understand where it comes from and, while I refuse to use it, I don't begrudge them it. Chief Wahoo is hugely cringe-worthy and they should be embarrassed that they continue to use it; if it depicted any other minority, they would have been forced to give it up and apologize for it years ago. But the thing that pisses me off more than anything they do out there, is that damn hick with the drum and the morons that clap along with him. Why is more offensive? Probably because it's so exploitative and it makes the entire population of Cleveland look like unsophisticated rubes.

What Smells So Good?

Things have not gone well for Cleveland this season. They can't pitch. They can't field. And very few of them can hit. This is a team that's regularly running Mark Grudzielanek and Shelley Duncan out there. Matt LaPorta, who was scheduled to be the next big thing in left field, finds himself playing a little left, a little first, but mostly sitting on the bench. They traded Kelly Shoppach to Tampa last winter, which wasn't a terribly bad move, but Lou Marson hasn't exactly blossomed and their backup catcher is former Twinie Mike Redmond. Tempest in a teacup, Grady Sizemore is done for the season after knee surgery; Asdrubal Cabrera has a broken arm and probably won't be back until mid-July; and Andy Marte, though no great shakes himself, is out for a couple of more weeks after an ingrown hair on his abdomen became infected.

Russell Branyan and Austin Kearns were alright off season pickups; Kearns strikes out too much and doesn't have much power and while Branyan isn't showing the power he had for the Mariners last year, he's still second on the club with seven home runs. Shin-Soo Choo meanwhile, leads the team with eight home runs and may very well be Cleveland's contribution to this year's All-Star team--which might get him out of the South Korean military draft.

Three years ago, Fausto Carmona, who goes tonight for Cleveland, had a spectacular year. But then he injured his hip and followed it up with two miserable seasons. And while not the pitcher he was in 2007, he's been relatively effective this season. He throws a low-nineties sinking fastball, a slider, and a mid-eighties change up. In the past, control was an issue for him but after a rough start to the season, he's gotten the walks down. He does give up a lot of hits but not many fly balls.

Lefty David Huff takes the ball on Tuesday. Huff started twenty-three games for Cleveland last season and won eleven of them; this season, in ten starts, he's won two. He throws a low-nineties fast ball, a slider, a curve ball, and a change up. His gives up a lot of hits and a large number of home runs.

I have a ridiculous soft spot for Justin Masterson. I can't help it; he and his wife are quite possibly the two cutest people on the planet. That said, he has not pitched well for Cleveland. There was talk a week or so ago (before he got his win against Chicago) of sending him to the bullpen, in a vote of non-confidence though, manager Manny Acta said he was keeping his rotation spot because "He is still the only guy in the rotation who can strike batters out." He does have good strike out numbers. He's wild, though; way too many walks, hit batsmen, and wild pitches. He had better stuff as a reliever and you can minimize the effect of the nasty lefty/righty split that he's always had (except for in Game 5 of the ALCS when he got Haverhill to ground into a double play) better out of the bullpen. Lefties are hitting him at a .370 clip this season but he doesn't give up many home runs at all.

Mitch Talbot is scheduled to pitch the last game of the series. Talbot was the reciprocal part of the Kelly Shoppach deal. He pitched in relief against Boston for three innings on September 15, 2008; he allowed four runs (plus two that belonged to Kazmir) on five hits with two home runs (one by Ellsbury and one by Youkilis). He throws a low-nineties fast ball, a slider, a cutter, and a high-seventies change up. He doesn't strike out many batters but neither does he walk many. He's especially tough on lefties but righties hit him relatively well.

And their bullpen? It's best to not speak of it.

Ear Worm.

There are some fantastically creative people out there.

Regrets.

Tim Bogar regrets the bad decisions that he made in yesterday's game. He's very sorry and promises to learn from his mistakes. But the two runners he got thrown out at the plate weren't the worst decisions he made yesterday, not at all. The worst decision he made was obviously that jacket. Unless, of course, it was some sort of punishment: Two plays at the plate that don't go your way? You have to wear this.

Bogey.

It was just not a good day for people called Tim. Wakey didn't have the magic today and Bogar twice called for not so close plays at the plate. Of course, the rest of the pitching wasn't so fabulous either.

Ah, well. Tomorrow is another day and it brings a slumping Baltimore. A Baltimore who, rumor has it, may have fired William Shatner, er, Dave Trembley by the time the game starts.

Baseball is a Business.

So, you can't throw, you can't really hit, and your balky knees make running difficult but you still want to make your fortune via baseball? PawSox owner Ben Mondor offers up his experience in running his team.

If I Had $1000000.

WEEI has a prognostication contest going on through 6/29. If you can correctly guess the runs, hits, and errors for each team in the game between Tampa Bay and Boston on 6/30 and your entry was one of the four selected for the contest, then you will win $1,000,000. The chances of actually winning are minuscule at best (although it's probably safe to assume that neither team will collect more than thirty hits or commit fifteen errors, the possibility does exist) but since it requires very little effort beyond figuring out that if everyone stays on schedule the match up for 6/30 looks to be Spitty McGee v. Daisuke, it's worth a shot in the dark. A million bucks is a million bucks.

Lousy Team.

Since saying that was pathetic or that it sucked is both obvious and pointless, I shall offer some completely plausible explanations for what the hell has happened to the Boston Red Sox.

1. Voodoo. As the only Haitian baseball player, clearly this is the work of Felix Pie. Sitting on the bench with an injured lat, he got to thinking; what he thought was that playing for the Orioles in the AL East wasn't going to be easy and that he ought to even things out a little bit. And after the drubbing the Sox gave the Orioles last season, he set about messing with the Sox pitching so that the Orioles wouldn't suffer the same fate this season. He was generally satisfied with the results he had gotten, until the Sox clawed their way into third place. Since this was unacceptable, he's gone back to work and is making sure that both Toronto wins and Boston loses. Beware a bored Felix Pie.

2. Alien abduction. In the movies, when someone changes for the worse, it's usually alien abduction, demonic possession, or possibly some sort of virus. Since none of them appear to be possessed or ill, it must be abduction. Somewhere between Florida and Massachusetts, the team was beamed up into a spaceship for experimentation and replacements were sent down so that no one would notice that they were gone. But while the alien replacements have little trouble passing for human in the general population, baseball requires a high skill level and precision that they, as aliens, just don't have.

3. Lost mojo. I'm not naming any names but someone forgot to pack his mojo before they left Florida. It's sitting, forgotten and lonely, in a Floridian hotel room closet. The other possibility is that everyone was responsible and did pack his mojo but the bag was lost at the airport. In either case, things will be dire until he gets the lost mojo back.

4. Kevin Millar. I hate to say it because he is highly amusing but Kevin Millar (like Sean Casey before him) appears to be a jinx. They seemed to finally be playing as they were billed until Millar showed up and it all went to hell. It's either that or, in true Kevin Millar, fashion, he's gotten them all drunk before the last two games; loss of fine motor skills, slowed reaction time, it all makes sense. Seriously, Millar: keep your demon alcohol away from my boys.

In Defense of Ellsbury.

I'm probably going to regret this. My life is a much more pleasant place when I do my absolute best to avoid the Globe in general [Aside: You know that ad, the one that seems to run constantly, where one of their writers claims "We're truth-seekers"? Yeah, it bugs. Because, you know what: No. You're not. You're looking for a story, the more sensational the better, truth be damned. And don't get me started on the pop-up ads on Boston.com.] and I am most definitely not a fan of Tony Massarotti. But what the hell, right? If his goal was to rile, then he accomplished it.

Today he writes that Jacoby Ellsbury is not only a bit delicate but also condemns him as a terrible, greedy soul because of it. He also contends that Ellsbury is a fame-whore, who's only interested in playing baseball because it'll put his face out there and money in his pocket. Look, I'll give him that Ellsbury is a wimp; I think that that's pretty well accepted. And personally, I find him boring; personality-free, dull, and empty. And it is unfortunate that because he has high cheekbones, dark coloring, and could be featured on the cover of Non-Threatening Boys magazine, it's hard to take him seriously as a ballplayer. But that's a little bit harsh, no?

Massarotti's rant was brought on by the quote Ellsbury gave Edes, "I think they downplay it because they misdiagnosed it. They said you treat it all the same way. Remember that comment? How do you treat a bruise the same as a break?" In his piece Massarotti seems to imply that because of Ellsbury's looks (and presumably because Massarotti bears a striking resemblance to a mouse) no one made a fuss about the comment. Here's the truth: I started a post about the quote but abandoned it because beyond "He's wrong" there was nothing more to say. All fractures are treated the same as bruises, you sit around and wait for the bones to re-knit; there is no legal way of speeding up the process.

Massarotti also writes that Ellsbury made a stink about moving to left field; which, publicly anyway, is untrue. Maybe he had a private snit that Tony was privy to but outwardly he was fine with playing left. Rather, he is, by all accounts, a nice, polite young man; painfully self-aware and about as interesting as an amoeba, but still a decent human being.

And then Massarotti brings up Ellsbury's agent, Scott Boras, as if that explains the whole imaginary issue that he's made up. According to Massarotti, under Boras' orders, Jacoby is complaining of rib trouble and refusing to play because he doesn't want to go out and stink it up, thereby weakening his position when it comes time to collect his money. This stance is, of course, completely contradictory to the quote he's responding to but that's not going to stop a Globe journalist. It doesn't follow that if Ellsbury didn't want to play, he would accuse the medical staff of malpractice. If he wanted as much time off as possible, why imply that he could be playing by now if it wasn't for the lousy medical staff? It seems more likely that he'd go the Carlos Beltran route and do his best to disappear until he was 100%. It also ignores the fact that Ellsbury earned his reputation as a pansy long before he joined Scott Boras' stable of stars.

Perhaps realizing that his Boras argument is weak, Massarotti then backtracks and says that Boras is not, in fact, Mephistopheles to Ellsbury's Doctor Faustus but rather that Ellsbury is responsible for his own demise. According to Massarotti, Ellsbury isn't playing because Ellsbury doesn't care to play. He doesn't have the heart (because all you really need is heart) to play. He holds up the example of Mike Cameron, who is playing through a sports' hernia, and says that Jacoby Ellsbury is no Mike Cameron. I would completely agree with that assessment. But Mike Cameron is a tough, tough man and a helluva ballplayer. Massarotti ignores the fact that they all ache. They all wake up bruised and beaten, with crunchy knees, and unable to lift their arms above their head; lovely Mike Lowell needs a hip replacement at thirty-six, for God's sake. It is a physically punishing game. Dollars to donuts, Tony Mazz catches a cold in the winter and finds himself laid up for a week.

You see what reading the Globe makes me do? I find myself defending not only Jacoby Ellsbury but also Scott Boras.