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.

Vincible.

So, um, should I take my apology back? Because that was just pathetic. Presented with a fine opportunity to make hay, you completely piss it away by losing to the Royals.

You, my sweet pigeons, are supposed to be a good team; you'd even started to look like it and, most annoyingly, I'd started to believe it again. You played well in Philly and then completely had your way with Tampa, only to lose to the Royals of all teams? The Royals? The Royals are a terrible team and good teams are supposed to beat bad teams. You should be ashamed.

The only way I will be satisfied is if you handily squish them for the next three games.

Hope Springs.

I think that I might owe someone an apology. To be honest, I wasn't sure that you'd be able to make it out of Philadelphia alive but not only did you survive, you thrived. Congratulations boyos. Now, please don't turn around and break my heart.

Yoku Dekimashita, Matsuzaka-San.

Who would have thought it possible for Daisuke Matsuzaka to nearly no-hit any team, let alone a very good offensive club like the Phillies? And yet, it doesn't seem completely fluke-ish. When the man gets it into his head that he needs to make a pitch, he can do it. He can be a very good pitcher when he needs to be.

My not particularly well thought out theory on his excellence tonight? I'd credit the umpire with getting him through. He appeared to be getting squeezed in the first inning; there seemed to be a lot of good pitches being called balls. When Polanco drew a walk in the first inning, it seemed like he saw nothing but strikes in that plate appearance. The umpire took away Daisuke's corners thereby forcing him to throw strikes. And strike-throwing Daisuke is the one who doesn't suck.

Regardless, good job Daisuke. It was impressive to watch.

I Dreamed A Dream.

This is totally bizarre but true. I dreamt last night that I was baseball's commissioner. What can I say? I dream big. I was excellent at the job, by the way; I got the umpires to actually call ball and strikes based on the strike zone, and I eliminated interleague play. Unfortunately, I was fired because I missed a flight to Milwaukee.

Pitchers hitting is really the stupidest thing. They suck at hitting (Of course, some of them *ahem John Lackey* also suck at pitching) so why have them do it? You only get three precious little outs, so why willingly give one up every go around? It doesn't add to the strategy; you can double-switch all you want in regular (read: good) baseball, you just don't have to because you don't have a guy who wouldn't make a decent team coming up to bat. All it does is put an extra hole in your lineup.

So I will grumble my way through the weekend and hope for a better outcome tomorrow.

Philadelphia Story.

First things first, the Phillies can hit. With the exception of Roy Halladay (and, oddly, Jose Contreras), their pitching, however, leaves something to be desired.

Lefty Cole Hamels pitches for the Phillies tonight. A few years ago, Hamels was the toast of the baseball town but he didn't have nearly the success last year and he got off to a bad start this year. He throws a low-nineties fastball, a curve ball, a change up, and he's also added a cutter this season. He gets lots of strikeouts but he gives up too many hits and walks have been an issue this season. He's only pitched once against Boston, on June 16, 2008. Pedroia hit a double, a single, and a home run off of him. JD also hit a home run.

Kyle Kendrick pitches on Saturday for Philadelphia. Kendrick throws a low-nineties fast ball, a cutter, and a change up. He doesn't get nearly as many strike outs as Hamels but, otherwise, they've been very similar pitchers this season. On June 18, 2008 Kendrick lasted only three innings, giving up six runs. He gave up a single to Ellsbury, a single to Pedroia, a double and a home run to JD, and a home run to Mike Lowell. On June 12 of last year, Kendrick pitched two innings of relief in a twelve inning game; he walked Varitek, and gave up singles to Mike Lowell, and Jacoby Ellsbury.

And then there's Roy Halladay. One can always hope that pitching for the Phillies to the National League has softened him up a little bit. Plus, he's thrown a lot of pitches. And David Ortiz has hit him well.

'Nuff Said.

Kevin Millar is joining NESN. No embellishment needed.

Keeping the Faith.

Is this where I admit that I couldn't watch the end of that game? After last night, I couldn't bear to do it again. Intellectually, I understand that this team might not be able to do anything this year. But the heart wants what it wants and what it really wants is for them to beat the Yankees. Yesterday's loss left me really raw and the baseball gods were standing there with a giant handful of salt, ready to throw it in the gaping wound, so I turned it off.

Do I feel guilty? A little bit. I'd like to think of myself as more than a fair weather fan. If you don't suffer the losses, you shouldn't celebrate the wins. Do I wish that I had seen it? Absolutely. (Which is the problem. If they hadn't one, I'd be patting myself on the back for being sparing myself the agony.)

The other part of the problem, though, is that the flicker of hope wasn't extinguished; which only sets up further anguish down the road. Part of me now believes that they might essentially go on a twenty-one game winning streak and get themselves close to 40-20; which is a fabulous record.

Abandoning Ship.

When I was a kid, my parents were of the lenient sort; you might even call them permissive -- I would not say that I was an unspoiled child. The one thing that they would not tolerate was whining, especially about being bored. It might have been a blizzard, three feet of snow, sixty miles per hour winds, and nobody's left the house for three days; my mother's response to "I'm boooored"? "Run around the house five times." So you went to my Dad. "I'm booored." [Fake concern] "Oh, dear. Pine? Oak?" "No. I'm bored." "Maple? Elm?" It was frustrating but you learned quickly. So, whining generally sets my teeth on edge; whining from extremely privileged people is utterly obnoxious.

And in a case of terrifically bad timing, Mike Lowell has decided that he's bored and that he's going to whine about it. He says that the team would probably be better off without him; which is probably true. I get the feeling, however, that Theo would gleefully send him off to the Yankees or the Rays or anybody really, if it was in anyway possible. The fact that he's still sitting there would indicate that nobody really wants him. But the worst thing is that the team is in a bad place right now, last night was heart-wrenching, and the whole thing smacks of, "Get me out of here. I no longer wish to hang with these losers."

Look, buddy. I love you, you know that right? And so I say this in the most loving way possible: Shut it. Cause you know what, Mike Lowell? If you're so miserable, retire; otherwise, sit in the dugout and count your money. That should keep you amused.

The Hollow Men.

Back to .500, huh?

Here it is, warts and all: John Lackey was terrible today. The defense was unspectacular. And the offense could barely register any sort of presence against a call-up from AAA. Yesterday, Jon Lester sucked and the bullpen was embarrassingly bad. Try as I might (and God love 'em, I do try), it's getting harder and harder to defend.

Is this who they really are, though? Eighty-one wins and a very long summer? There would seem to be so much potential there. Intellectually, they should be a very good team. But the results are awful. Who knows, maybe Ellsbury comes back and the lineup has a completely different look. Maybe Victor remembers how to hit. Maybe John Lackey and Josh Beckett figure out how to pitch. Maybe David Ortiz really does come back. Or maybe none of it happens.

In his poem The Hollow Men, T.S. Eliot writes that man is stuck in an indecisive rut. He knows what the problem is and he knows what needs to be done to solve it. But, out of fear, he can't bring himself to act. As a result, he's stuck in a horrible, desolate place that he would love to escape. He goes through life hating every moment of it but unable to change any of it. It's a little dark.

Presumably, this team knows that they should be better than this and that the way to be better is to win ballgames. But something is holding them back--maybe injuries, probably not fear. My fear is that they settle, that they come to believe that they're a mediocre ball club. Because if you settle, if you just accept things as being the way they are, this is the way the world ends.

Boo.

And with that crappy loss, we turn to the king of melanchonly: Paul Simon, who informs us, "...a bad day's when I lie in bed/ and think of things that might have been."

Seriously, boys. You should be ashamed. You've made me break into the mellow seventies collection. And now I'll have that stupid train song stuck in my head for days. Unforgivable.

I've been trying to work up some righteous indignation. I have. But besides repeatedly giving Oki the stink-eye (if only he could see me through the television screen, he'd know what I thought of him), it doesn't seem to be working. It was an absolutely crappy way to lose a ballgame (and it might just be my inner-Pollyanna talking) but they have been playing better ball lately and you expect that they'll lay an egg every once in awhile. Hopefully, it'll be a long time before they do it again.

Win the series and then go kick ass in New York. That's all I ask. If you were to win both games in New York, you would tie the season series. That's a pretty good goal, right boyos?

You Gotta Lose Your Mind.

Pitching Friday for the Tigers is Max Scherzer. Scherzer came over from the Diamondbacks in the Edwin Jackson deal. He's also got complete heterochromia (one blue eye and one brown eye) which is pretty neat. He throws a low to mid-nineties fastball, a slider, and a change up. He's generally around the strike zone and doesn't give up too many walks. He has good strike-out numbers but he does get hit.

Last time we saw Dontrelle Willis (6/4/09), he was in the process of completely falling apart. It wasn't fun to watch. He started the third inning with a hit batsman, a walk, a strike out, a walk to load the bases, a walk, and another walk before Leyland pulled him. Given his mental health issues, I found myself really wanting to just give him a hug and get him to calm down and breath. That said, he's off to a better start this year. His fastball is sitting in the high-eighties, he's also got a slider, and a change-up. The walks are still high but he's re-shown the ability to throw the fastball on the corner for a strike. And he's getting strike outs. He's also inducing a lot of ground balls. But Willis missed his last start after coming down with the flu and hasn't pitched since May 4.

Because they had a rain-out/double-header on Thursday, the Tigers are currently without a starter for Sunday's game. Armando Galarraga is scheduled to pitch for their AAA team on Sunday, so he might be the best bet to get the start.

Meanwhile, if the game plan is to knock the starter out and feast off of the bullpen, you might want to reconsider: their bullpen is ridiculously good. And if Joba Chamberlain bugs and you were only too glad for Francisco Rodriguez to head to the Mets so you didn't have to watch him (although the Charlie Brown look after he blew a save was beautiful), then, given the chance, Jose Valverde will drive you completely up the wall. The only solution I can see is to completely blow out the Tigers in every game and give him the weekend off--have at it boys.

Miguel Cabrera has a twelve-game hitting streak and is absolutely tearing the cover off of the ball. Austin Jackson (who they got for Curtis Granderson) is hitting well but has also been ridiculously lucky; he also plays a decent centerfield. Magglio Ordonez *tilde implied* is having nice bounce back years; Carlos Guillen was also playing well until he was sidelined with a strained hamstring and landed on the DL. They've also called up outfielder Casper Wells; the kid reportedly has a great arm.

And for some reason, they've (mostly) all shaved their hair into mohawks. I don't know--Damon claims to not be responsible--maybe they're all really twelve.

Shirt-Less Mike Lowell Alert.

Admittedly, it's got nothing on the naked Jason Varitek video. And, yes, he's got a towel demurely draped over his shoulders but Mike Lowell's got a lovely side.

Oenophile.

I'm not a big wine drinker. I'll drink it if I'm being forced to behave like an adult but it's never been my cup of tea. Someone once attempted to school me on the art of wine and how to tell the difference between a chardonnay, a pinot grio, a sauvignon blanc, and a reisling; I don't remember any of it. I can tell a red from a white and that's about it.

But raising money for charity is a good thing and maybe Jacoby Ellsbury's wine -- Zinfandellsbury -- is delish.

What the World Needs Now...

is more AJ Burnett. Lots and lots of AJ Burnett. Four more (including this one) seasons of AJ Burnett will be a truly fantastic thing. Also, yay! for sad Joe Morgan and being back at .500. Good stuff.

Rain Delay Theater Presents: Trifles.

(Apologies to Wakey.)

Scene: Home clubhouse, Fenway Park. Things are in a general state of disarray. Enter David Ortiz, Adrian Beltre, and Victor Martinez. They are followed by Mike Lowell and Jason Varitek.

Martinez (to Beltre): Adrian, before we start to figure this out, tell David what you saw here yesterday.

Ortiz (looking around at the mess): Man, is this what it looked like in here yesterday? It looks like a hurricane came through. Has stuff been moved?

Martinez: Um...Yeah. This is pretty much how it was. I told people not to touch anything.

Ortiz: Hmm. So, Adrian what exactly happened when you showed up yesterday morning?

Beltre: I came in here looking for Tito because I thought I could get him to buy some of that energy drink I got. I figured that with all his health problems it might help him out. It was quiet when I got here; nobody around, and it was all dark. So I came in and Wakefield was sitting on the couch there (points at the couch).

Ortiz: What was he doing?

Beltre: Nothing. He was just sitting there, staring at the TV, but the TV wasn't on or anything.

Ortiz: How did he look?

Beltre: Weird.

Ortiz: Weird how?

Beltre: He seemed calm but also out of it; like he'd been drugged or something.

Ortiz: Did he care that you'd come in?

Beltre: I wouldn't say so. He didn't really seem to know I was there at all. I said, "What's up Wakefield?" And he didn't say anything. So then I said, "It's cold out there today." And all he said was, "Is it?" Which is weird because Wakefield is usually a pretty friendly guy. But he just kept ignoring me and staring at the blank TV. So then I said, "I need to talk to Tito." And he sort of laughed. Then I was annoyed with him for being so rude so I said, "Do you know where he is or not?" "Yeah," he says kind of dully. "Well, can I see him?" "No," he says. I was getting frustrated with him, so I says "Is he here or not?" "Yeah, he's here," he said. "Well, why can't I see him," I said. "'Cause he's dead," he said. "What? Dead?" I didn't know what to say and he just kept sitting there almost bored-like. "Where is he?" I asked him. "In his office." So I started to go see if it was true but then I asked "What did he die of?" "He died of a baseball bat to the head." Well, then I was all creeped out so I texted Vic because I thought I'd need some help. So Vic got here and we went into his office and there he was---

Ortiz (interrupting): We'll talk about that in the office. Just finish the story.

Beltre: My first thought was to clean him up a little bit but Vic said that we shouldn't touch anything. So we came back out and Wakefield was still sitting there staring at the TV. "Have you called the police?" I asked him. "No," was all he said. "Wake, who did this?" Vic asked. "I don't know," he said. "You don't know? How could you not know?" I asked. And he just shrugged. I was going to question him some more but Vic said that we should call the cops. So he went to go tell Theo and have him call the cops.

Ortiz: And what did Wake do after Vic went to go get the cops?

Beltre: He just went and sat in front of his locker and stared down at his hands. And then I thought that I should talk to him, so I told him I'd come to see if Tito wanted to buy any of the health drink. And Wakefield laughed but stopped real quick and looked scared. So then Vic got back and the police came and you should up. And I guess that's all of it that you didn't know.

Ortiz: We should probably start looking around in the office. (To Victor) You're sure that there's nothing important here that would point to a motive?

Martinez: Naw. Nothing here but locker room stuff.

Ortiz (Looks around locker room and then reaches up onto the shelf of Wakefield's locker): Oh yuck. (He pulls his hand away, it's covered in black goop.)

Varitek (comes closer): It's his hair dye. He worried that when it got so cold the plastic bottle would crack.

Martinez: Typical. In jail for murder and he's concerned about his bottles of Just for Men.

Ortiz: When we're through he'll have more serious to worry about than hair dye.

Martinez: Well, old guys are used to worrying about trifles. (Varitek returns to stand by Mike Lowell's side)

Ortiz: And yet, for all their worries, what would we do without them? (Varitek and Lowell are unimpressed. Ortiz rifles through the bottom of Wakefield's locker.) He's got dirty towels down here. He's not really a neat freak, is he?

Lowell: They ask a lot of Wake.

Ortiz: Sure. Sure. But there are some people in this locker room who can keep it clean.

Lowell: With all the changes, Wake did the best he could.

Ortiz: So you were friends with him?

Lowell: Not so much lately. Wake was a good guy but he hasn't been really cheerful lately.

Ortiz: Hmm. We'll talk more about that later. Let's head into the office.

Martinez: Anything Varitek wants to take should be fine, right? He came along to grab a few little things to make Wake more comfortable.

Ortiz: Yeah, sure. I'll just take a look at what you grab. And keep an eye out for anything that might help us out.

(Ortiz, Beltre, and Martinez leave.)

Lowell (puts dirty towels from Wakefield's locker in a hamper): I'd hate to have people coming in and judging my from my locker without knowing me.

Varitek (helping to straighten up): Well, they're only doing their duty.

Lowell: Still. It's not like he knew that he was going to have to rush out of here. (Varitek pulls a pair of shirts from Wakefield's locker.) Jason...Do you think he did it?

Varitek: Oh, well...I don't know.

Lowell: I don't. Who would worry about their hair dye when they were in jail for murder?

Varitek: Vic says that it doesn't look good for him. Saying that he didn't know what had happened to Tito didn't help.

Lowell: Here's what I don't understand: Even though they've banned guns in the clubhouse, there are still plenty of them around. And Wake is a hunter, a crack shot. Why hit him with a bat when you could shoot him?

Varitek: Well, David said that what they needed was a motive; some sign of anger, some reason for Wake to snap.

Lowell: I don't see anything angry in here.

Varitek (digging deeper into Wakefield's locker): He was solving a crossword puzzle.

Lowell: How strange. He's only answered half of it but he wrote 193s around the outside.

Varitek: I wonder if he was going to finish the puzzle or just quit it.

(Ortiz, Beltre, and Martinez enter)

Martinez (laughing): They wonder if he was just going to finish the puzzle or just quit it.

(Ortiz, Beltre, and Martinez laugh.)

Ortiz: We're all done with the office. We're going to go out and check the bullpen area.

(Ortiz, Beltre, and Martinez leave.)

Lowell (examining the puzzle): Jason, look at this square. You see how nice and precise the letters are for most of the puzzle but in this one, they're wild. All over the place, like he didn't know what he was doing or like he was thinking of something else. And the answers are wrong. (Lowell furtively glances at the door to the field and then quickly starts erasing answers.)

Varitek: Mikey! What are you doing?

Lowell: Just fixing some parts that weren't done very good at all. (Continues to correct the puzzle.)

Varitek (glances at the door): Well, hurry up. We don't know when they'll be back.

Lowell: What do you think he was thinking about?

Varitek: Hmm? I don't know that he was distracted. Sometimes I'm an awful puzzle-solver when I'm tired. (They sit in contemplative silence.) Well, we'd better get these clothes packed up. Where do you think I can find his bag to put them in?

Lowell: It's not in his locker?

Varitek: I didn't see it.

Lowell (looks around): Maybe it's that one over by the couch?

Varitek (goes over to the bag): You're right. (Opens bag.) Mikey? Is this Wake's glove?

Lowell (looks at it): It sure does look like it but the lacing is all torn out.

Varitek: That doesn't make any sense. Wake took good care of that glove; it was his favorite.

Lowell (comprehension dawning): Tito hated this glove; thought it looked unprofessional. When I was a kid in little league, there was this kid on my team who tried to steal my favorite glove. If they hadn't held me back, I would have---.

(Ortiz, Beltre, and Martinez enter. Lowell slips the glove under the bag.)

Ortiz: So, have you figured out whether he was done with that crossword puzzle?

Varitek: We think...he was going to finish it.

Ortiz: Is that Wakefield's duffle bag?

Varitek: Yes.

Ortiz: Anything interesting?

Varitek: It's empty.

Ortiz (to Martinez): Alright. There was nothing outside. Let's go back and work it through piece-by-piece.

(Ortiz, Beltre, and Martinez leave.)

Varitek (in a hushed voice): Mike. We don't know that Tito pulled the lacing out of that glove.

Lowell: I knew Tito.

Varitek: A terrible thing happened in this clubhouse, Mikey. A man had his skull bashed in.

Lowell: If there had been years and years of giving yourself up for the team, doing anything and everything asked of you; if you had shown nothing but loyalty; and then they took the last thing you had from you, it would be awful.

Varitek: I know a thing about being given up on after you've given everything.

Lowell: How much longer do you think that they'll be looking for evidence?

Varitek: I know what it's like. (Coming back to himself.) The law has to be obeyed, Mikey.

Lowell: I wish that I had been more understanding of Wake. I wish that I'd been there for him when they jerking him around. Our lockers are right next to each other and, yet, we seem so far apart. We go through the same struggles but we don't pay enough attention to each other. If I was you, I'd tell him that his Just for Men is safe; the bottle didn't burst in the cold. He may never know whether it broke or not.

Varitek: Wouldn't David laugh at us, if he knew we were getting so worked up over an unlaced glove.

Lowell: Maybe.

(Ortiz, Beltre, and Martinez enter.)

Ortiz: It's all perfectly clear what happened. The only thing is a reason.

Martinez: You don't need a reason.

Ortiz: That's true. But you know how it is with celebrities, juries need a reason. If there was only something to show---

Beltre: Well, if you don't need my anymore---

Ortiz: Go ahead. I'm going to stay for awhile.

Martinez: Do you want to look over the stuff Varitek grabbed?

Ortiz: Nah. What's he got a couple of shirts?

Martinez: I just need to show you something David. We'll be right there, Adrian.

(Ortiz and Martinez go over to Martinez's locker. Beltre exits. Varitek tries to shove glove into the bag with Wakefield's shirts but it won't fit. Lowell grabs it and puts it in his own bag.)

Ortiz: Well, Vic, at least we found out that he was going to...what did you decide?

Varitek: He was going to finish it.

Speechless.

This little piece of news is music to my ears: While certainly not something to be thankful for, the death of Ernie Harwell has brought about one good thing. Tim McCarver and Joe Buck will shut up, if only during the third inning, to honor him. I might have to actually un-mute the television for that inning. 'Twill be glorious.

Feelin' Groovy.

Boys! I told myself yesterday to not get too excited about winning three in a row and getting up to .500 because the last time you did that you promptly threw it away. But I think I can let myself be a little enthused tonight. Nicely done, boyos. Nicely done.

Legendary.

The College World Series is held in Nebraska each June and, generally, wouldn't be worth mentioning. This year, however, they've put together a legends team and it's replete with players who have donned a Red Sox uniform. Team members (selected based on their performance during their respective tournaments) are: Spike Owen, Nomar Garciaparra, Fred Lynn, Terry Francona, Mark Kotsay, and JD Drew. (I think that's all of them.) But the whole point is to post the picture of JD as a child simply because it's hard to imagine; JD seems to have been born as a super serious middle-aged person. Although, baby Terry Francona is cute too.

Go Fish.

It must be a day for old socks. In August 2004, Kevin Millar found himself replaced by Doug Mientkiewicz when Mientkiewicz came over in the Nomar Garciaparra deal. Millar wasn't hugely pleased with being relegated to "el bencho" but it worked out alright in the end. Mientkiewicz has, however, upstaged Millar again by signing a minor-league deal with the Florida Marlins and the same day that Millar goes to play independent ball.

For the Love of Baseball.

Kevin Millar was cut by the Cubs at the end of Spring Training and signed on to be an analyst for MLB Network but that job doesn't mean that he'd done with playing. Millar has signed on to play independent ball for the St. Paul Saints this season. Best of luck to him.

Nomar.

Reuters Pictures.

So, Nomar Garciaparra day, huh? It's cool I guess. He's happy. The front office is happy. The press is pissed off that they can't get anyone to hate him anymore. It seems a little bit unnecessary but no harm, no foul.

Cancer Sucks.

There are probably plenty of things that Dave Roberts has done in his lifetime that he will be remembered for. Around here there's only one moment that really matters. A long time ago I promised that, should I ever be in charge of naming a little boy, I would call him David Robert _______. It's close enough, it's not overly obvious, and it's a nice name. Sadly, now the man who ran for Kevin Millar is battling Hodgkin's lymphoma.

It's a highly treatable cancer and they, reportedly, caught it early. So that's good news. The absolute best of luck to him and hope for a full and speedy recovery. And perhaps consider giving blood or, if they'll take you, signing up for the bone marrow donation registry, with Roberts in mind to help others with lymphomas.

Pa-hone-icks.

Gentlemen:

I don't think that I ask for too much; 162 wins a year, repeated World Series championships, perfect games, general feats of baseball greatness, and most importantly the dismantling of the Yankees. So I have a small favor to ask of you, if your grand scheme is to be like the phoenix and rise dramatically from the ashes of this disastrous season, could you please do it tonight? I've had a rough twenty-four hours topped off by spending the night in the ER with my mother (She's fine but given her familial history better safe than sorry) and I really need an evening to just veg out on the couch and be carefree. If you boys could do that for me, I'd be super-duper grateful.

Thanks in advance,
Liz

New Lows.

Being swept by the Baltimore Orioles is about as hard to do as, to quote the president of BP America, "...performing open heart surgery at 5000 feet, in the dark, with robot-controlled submarines." He was, of course, talking about repairing his company's broken oil well in the Gulf but I enjoy the absurdity of the quote.

On Losing.

Dearest Team:

Hiya. How are things? You may have noticed that things have gone a bit quiet around here lately. It's not that I fell off of the bandwagon, twisted an ankle, and was, therefore, unable to catch up to it again. I promise. There was an attempt to give up baseball all together in a show of solidarity for Wake but that didn't last very long. The thing is: writing about losing day in and day out is boring. Whining about what an awful team this year's would appear to be is unattractive. Who would want to read about that? So rather than spending a fair amount of time on new and interesting ways to lose baseball games, I didn't write anything at all.

But, dear hearts, I do have a piece of advice for you: If you're going to lose, then just lose. It seems to me that in the majority of baseball fans, there's this odd co-mingling of cynicism and optimism that, by it's very nature, leads to the worst kind of heartbreak. Tonight's one step forward, two steps back routine is a prime example. I couldn't help but think "This is it. They're going to win the game and it's going to be the catalyst for them to stop being a mediocre baseball team." alternated with "Aw. Crap. Never mind." And ultimately, sometimes it really sucks to be proven right.

Kisses,
Liz