We're Here Because We're Here Because We're Here Because We're Here.

Another disappointing year over. It was supposed to have been a spectacular year in Boston and while it did turn into a spectacle, it probably wasn't the sort they imagined. But onward and upward and all that. Here's to a better 2013.

Napoli.

It's an ugly city. Dirty. Graffiti all over the place. Trash in the streets. Plaster crumbling off buildings. It feels very much like New York but way uptown and into the Bronx. But it's not without it's charms. There's a sense of practicality to the place; a usefulness. And if you look closely, there are touches of whimsy. It's a good character place. And, relative to the rest of Italy, it can be a bargain.

But for Pete's sake, dear heart, your jersey is not a v-neck cardigan. It has buttons all the way up to the tippity-top. Use them.

Road Trip.

When a team is losing, they're hard to write about. How many ways can you say, "Yup. Lost again."? When they become an unlikeable group, well who wants to write about them, anyway? But they've been doing this Red Sox Road Trip for the past couple of days (Side note: Ivan De Jesus? Bummed.) and it's worth mentioning because there are glimpses of likeability in this group.

First, there was this picture that showed up on the Red Sox twitter feed on Tuesday. Pedro Ciriaco and Ryan Lavarnway in a Vermont restaurant, wherein he appears to be pouring maple syrup onto a plate of french fries. If the napkin tucked into his shirt is any indication, he's already determined that eating his maple french fries is not going to be a clean operation and yet he hasn't bothered to remove his nice wool coat. It made me smile.

Then yesterday a different group of players, Mark Melancon, Chris "S.C." Carpenter, and Ryan Kalish went up to Maine. The group visited the Briarwood Children's House in Lyman, ME and gave an interview to the Bangor Daily News. I know that this isn't what he meant and that it came out wrong but S.C. is quoted as saying,

"It’s always a great feeling coming out here and meeting people, and just seeing the other side of things. Kids that are less fortunate, can’t hear like everyone else, like you and I. It’s fun to come out here and see that."   

 You know what else is a laugh riot, kiddo? Listening to the hearing-impaired try to talk. 

Meet and Greet.

Iván de Jesús (You didn't forget that he was around, did you? He'd be totally bummed, if you did.) is playing winter ball in his native Puerto Rico. He gave an interview to the El Nuevo Día in which he seemed to hint that he felt he was part of the team's future plans. He says that he has been invited to participate in a caravan and meet-and-greet type events later this month. He thinks that the invitation bodes well for him (my rickety high school Spanish translation):

"It's an advantage for me. I was in the Dodger organization for seven years and they never gave me this opportunity. It's my understanding that they're counting on me and that's a joy for me, that the fans might know me. This is going to be very important for me."

Both he and Ciriaco are out of options.

Talkin' Softball.

On Sunday the 18th, there will be a celebrity softball game at the Estadio Quisqueya in Santo Domingo, Domican Republic to support the foundation Quiereme Como Soy (Love me as I am). The foundation works to help integrate children with intellectual disabilities into society. Among the attendees will be David Ortiz. It's unclear whether he's just supporting the event or participating but I would pay good money to see David race in a hundred meter dash.

Not Colin or Will.

"Every one who got to where he is had to begin where he was." --Robert Louis Stevenson

So. John Farrell, huh? I guess that he's not the worst choice.  With their current situation, and the likelihood that they aren't going to improve all that much next season, I might have preferred that they throw caution to the wind and really take a chance. But what's done is done. At least the announcement saved me a lot of typing -- we here at Rain Delay Theatre had cast Farrell into Chekhov's The Cherry Orchard and were in the process of trying to shoe-horn people into the other roles.

I don't mind Farrell's losing record. A team's record is largely a function of the talent on the field and that's not totally the manager's fault. Admittedly, I don't usually watch more that eighteen Blue Jay games a year but talk of immaturity, clubhouse anarchy, and laziness are a concern given the knuckleheads currently on the roster. Lackadaisical seems like a good descriptor of the team in Toronto, whether that was a failure of talent or a failure of management to correct the talent, it certainly seems like an issue that would need to be addressed.

But poor Clay! I really grew to like Clay this year but if we have to go back to deer-in-the-headlights, timid Clay who's ratio of pick off attempts to pitches is 60-1, I don't think that I can take it.

Hanging Out.

You know how last year Jacoby Ellsbury didn't have any friends and the only person that he could talk to in the entire clubhouse was Jed? And then Jed got traded and he was going to be totally miserable and how was he ever going to cope? Remember that?

Turns out that he's not completely socially inept. Yesterday, he attended the Oregon-ASU football game with Dustin Pedroia (and co.), Cody Ross, and (probably because he also didn't have anything worth doing) Jonathan Papelbon.

It's progress.

Doing Good.

For most folks locally cancer research dollars are already tied up. But Jon Lester is not a happy, smiley person and his grin in this ad for Stand Up 2 Cancer seems so very genuine, that it seemed necessary to share.

Bah. (That'd be Texan for Goodbye.)

Dave Magadan has reportedly flown the coop for the hitter's paradise known as Rangers Ballpark in Arlington. He'll look like a genius. But if he was looking to get away from the hackers that showed up in the Fens last year, he's probably should have continued his search else where.

Aim At Eternity.

I'm sure that I've mentioned it before but I was an odd duckling as a child. One of my weird little quirks was that while other kids doodled flowers and hearts and happy faces, I drew floor plans: floor plans for houses both real and imaginary, for dance studios, for schools, for theaters. It probably wouldn't have been such strange behavior, if I was the child of an architect. But I wasn't. Both of my parents were accountants and I had never met an architect in my life.

One of my clearest memories from third grade, though, is my teacher, Mrs. McNeil, asking the class what they wanted to be when they grew up and replying, after I told her that I wanted to be an architect: you can't be an architect, if you can't draw a straight line. It's true that I can't free hand a straight line. I can't trace a straight line. I can't even really draw a straight line with a ruler because it always ends up angled. My drawing ability pretty much extends to stick people. It seems like a terrible thing to tell a kid though; it's not like drawing a straight line isn't a skill that one can acquire. And so died my architectural dreams.

Christopher Wren said, "Architecture aims at eternity."

With the lack of long term commitments on his books, Ben Cherington has the opportunity to design his own team from the cellar up, largely without the influence of the previous administration. He can choose his building materials. He could opt for rafters or trusses. He could choose to add filigree.  He could choose to build a team that would soar to heights that would awe even Wren or he could elect to build a squat, no-frills functional team.

I hope that Cherington's design is aimed at eternity and not just at putting butts in the seats for 2013. And in case he isn't aimed in the right direction, say no to Farrell. There are better options out there.

Happy Day.

So there's a happy ending to the 2012 baseball season after all. (World Series--I know. It's not important.) It's probably not healthy to enjoy the Yankees losing more than I enjoy the Red Sox winning but what are you going to do?

Also, please Brian Cashman, please trade Alex Rodriguez for peanuts. It wouldn't at all be a reactionary move and building a team to suit the talk radio goons. The man had a pitiful post-season (which was great fun to watch) but during the season he was still productive. And dumping him (considering your other options) doesn't make the team better. You should especially consider the Heath Bell deal: make your team worse in two instances. It'll be excellent general managing.

What's that Smell?

Here's my little fact about Cleveland: Cleveland and its environs was originally known as New Connecticut.

Other than that? Terry Francona has been hired to manage their baseball team. Good for him. There's not a whole lot there but get that man a pitcher or two or eleven and it's a weak division, maybe he could do something.

Rain Will Make the Flowers Grow.

Despite a broken finger, Dustin Pedroia made the choice to play baseball tonight. Your intrepid Boston media doesn't see it as an opportunity to talk about Pedroia's stupidity or selfishness or prideful-ness (because you could certainly spin it that way) but, rather, uses it as a referendum to pick on Jacoby Ellsbury. Because that's original.

You look around the Boston press corps and there's not a looker amongst them; they're paunchy and sallow, they make poor fashion decision, and I'm pretty sure that Ian Browne cuts his own hair. But of all of them, Peter Abraham carries his flab like someone who has been fat his entire life. (Maybe he hasn't always been fat, maybe he has some other social defect that caused his peers to reject him early and often in his life but I really suspect the fat based on the fact that he waddles the waddle of an individual who's knees no longer wish to carry that weight.) His writing comes from such a bitter place; the cynicism is so bleak, and his world is so hopeless, that you've got to believe that someone screwed up his psyche as a kid. Plus, he's a condescending jackass and the fat kid from my high school, who had the same sardonic defense mechanism as Pete Abe, was also a condescending jackass. So that's good enough for me. And you start to think: If he only had a friend, maybe his life wouldn't be so unbearable, maybe he could be happy, maybe I wouldn't have to pity him, But people don't like to be friends with such unpleasant people and so he'll grow more and more bitter until one day he ends up in a home, old and alone, glaring at the nurses and accusing them of stealing from him. Tragic really. So the moral of the story is: don't pick on the fat kids because you run the risk of producing more Pete Abes to populate the world. And who would want that?

Or Not.

Fine. Be that way. It's not like I really care anymore anyway.

Fickle Finger of Fate.

For the past year, dumplings, fate (or whatever you want to call it) has been chewing you over and like a cow and it's cud, whenever it looked like you might have escaped, it simply regurgitated you and broke you down some more. Hopefully, fate is finally done with you. It's spit you out, broken and hopeless, but with still a chance to affect the playoffs.

Win tonight or lose tonight, it doesn't really matter, as long as you do what Tampa does. Then, New York and Baltimore end up tied for the division and they have to play a one game play-off to find out who plays the one game play-in. It would be fantastic.

Have at it boys.

Uncle.

"The best thing one can do when it's raining, is to let it rain." -Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Well my darling little kapustas, why fight it? Just let yourselves be sucked down into the mire of the fen. It'll be easier. (Plus, you'll get Benny a better draft pick.) Anyway, they say that that's the only way to survive: Be still and eventually you'll float back up to the top.

Hold the Phone!

Wait a minute! You're allowed to score first? Since when has this been a rule? I thought that this game was played by trying to dig yourself out of a hole created by your starting pitcher. You learn something new every day.

Inertia.

I think that I've seen this movie, something to do with February and giant rats. The team seems to be stuck in a giant, nightmarish loop. A loop they are doomed to repeat until they can show that they are decent human beings.

Maybe that's what Pesky's funeral represented: a rather obvious opportunity to display their humanity, to redeem themselves. And very few of them took it. Maybe none of them saw the movie.

Also, I'm torn between the idea of just sending Dustin home (Seattle to Boston isn't exactly a short flight and it's not like the team needs him to do this) and fear that they would probably be no-hit every game until he rejoined the team.

Rabbit, Rabbit, Rabbit.

Well my darlings. There's really not all that much to say is there. I suppose that one ought to hope for a better record this September than last. And it would probably be best to avoid embarrassing yourselves on a nightly basis.

Rapid Reaction.

It seems that the rumors of a total breakdown in communication are true. The pitchers got the message that the team is now going for worst of the worst in order to improve their draft position but the hitters clearly did not.

Pretending This Season Isn't Happening.

Since we'll all be looking for something better to do on September 18, why not catch (get it?) Wakey's movie.

Congratulations.

Well, sweet peas, congratulations are in order. You now have a worse record than the Seattle Mariners. It won't be easy but there are only four more teams that you have to pass before you can be last in the American League. Woo hoo!

The Players Are Revolting.

So they really are a insufferable bunch of whiners. (I'm really struggling not to swear a blue streak.)

And when did Dustin Pedroia become a total jackass. Has he always been this way? I used to find him charming but lately he's been really hard to take.

You don't like not being treated like a pampered little Prince? Someone had the audacity to think that you were the adult that you look like and hadn't stopped maturing at high school freshman? They took your Boo-Boo away? Awww, poor baby. Who's fault is that?

Newsflash: Lots of people work for bosses that they hate. Normal people, however, don't go all Abu Ghraib on their superiors. Normal people put their heads down, do their work, and complain to whoever greets them when they walk in the front door at night. Grow up.

They deserve to be miserable for the rest of the season.

The Point of No Return.

Not a whit, we defy augury. There is special provi-

dence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 'tis not to come. If

it be not to come, it will be now. If it be not now, yet it will come.

The readiness is all. Since no man has aught of what he

leaves, what is't to leave betimes?

--Hamlet V, ii, 157-61

 You know things have gotten really bad when I, super-duper control freak that I am, give up on believing that through little charms and superstitions I can effect the outcome of the game. When the outcome is beyond me, they really are pathetic.

What a waste of talent and money this sorry lot has turned out to be.

Here's Our Will.

(Ignore the video. One might think that Glee would be right up my alley but I never warmed to the show. It was the clearest version of the song that I could find, though.)

Preview: Josh Beckett's Press Conference.

One of two things will happen after this game is over:

1.) Josh Beckett will refuse to talk to the media and Peter Abraham will be overjoyed because he gets to be his nasty self and make snide comments.

or

2.) Josh Beckett will give some version of his "Sometimes I'm really terrible at pitching" expletive-ridden speech.

David used to talk (before it was so close at hand) about one day knowing that the jig was up; about leaving the game with dignity and with his head held high. Maybe, kitten, it's time for you to start thinking along those lines.

Hi Ma!

You may be the son of a major league baseball player. You may lead an extraordinarily privileged life. But, in the end, who doesn't just want to be on TV?

And So it Goes...And Goes....And Goes.

 (Getty Images)

No. Actually, that seemed about right. I'm about to write that maybe they're throwing a party every time they get to .500 and that's why they keep going back there and then Fredo does not make his pitch and does not make his pitch and does not make his pitch and then very much does not make his pitch.


The real problem, of course, was that they might as well have been hitting with toothpicks. They've forgotten how to walk, how to grind out at bats, how to make a pitcher work. They have too many first pitch ground into double play (which team do you play for Adrian?), too much wild flailing away and too little going into an at bat with any sort of idea in your head whatsoever, and if they do manage to take a pitch, too much moaning when a border line pitch is called a strike.

You could say that with David back they are a different lineup. And it would be true: David, bless his heart, still plays Boston Red Sox baseball. David, for the most part, still makes a pitcher throw his pitch and refuses to swing at crap. But who knows when he'll be back and you can't hope that he comes back quickly because you need your legs to hit.

Brawn Wins.

Being able to write mathematical proofs may be toe-curlingly sexy but, as any mathlete/quiz bowl participant/ junior chess club champion, can tell you: when it comes down to brains versus brawn, brawn wins. (Of course, Yale or no, having a philosophy degree probably means that Ryan Lavarnway's mathematics education is lacking.) Having come up in bunches of situations where he could help his team, the brains just didn't help him out.

But former best beloved (It's undecided whether one can just jump from former best beloved back to current best beloved) Craig Breslow, who does have a thorough math education, pitched well. So score one for brains anyway.

Meanwhile, the team is back under .500. But I've decided to not care about that anymore.

Fire in His Belly.

If it's the sort of thing that matters, Dustin Pedroia is none too pleased with losing to the Twins. Good for him, I guess.

Two Stars and A Wish.

Star #1: If you just look at his line, Jon Lester didn't pitch all that poorly. It wasn't fabulous by any means but when you're throwing a little party anytime Lester gets through an inning with minimal difficulty it's a step in the right direction.

Star #2: Adrian Gonzalez got a pair of hits. He's been coming around a little bit so that's always nice to see. At least it seems like he's hitting fewer first-pitch rollers to second, than he was before.

My wish: I wish that they could have scored some runs. Scoring more runs than your opponent is integral to winning a baseball game and I would really like for you to win more baseball games than you lose.

Disbelieving Picasso.

Alright Jon Lester.

This photo of Pablo Picasso was taken in 1933 by Man Ray. Perhaps one could see concern or care or maybe even sadness in Picasso's expression but for me, I see disbelief. I see a guy staring at you thinking, "What is wrong with you? Stop being a scaredy cat and just do whatever it is that you don't want to do." Whenever I need someone to tell me to stop being nervous or freaking out or whatever extreme emotion I'm suffering from, I envision this photograph of Picasso. And it gives me courage.

So I will lend him to you. Use Picasso as you will but do not harm him.

Be Nice.

 What'd I tell you?

Jason Varitek shows up for the Jason Varitek love fest and almost immediately starts running interference for everybody's favorite whipping boys, Jon Lester and Josh Beckett.

Says Jason:

“I’m just a believer that they need, they need Red Sox Nation to get behind them, quit looking at the faults. What hasn’t happened, hasn’t happened. They have a chance not only at the wild card but they’re still [9 1/2 games] out [behind the Yankees]. A lot of baseball left. They make a difference, and have made a difference, both positively and negatively. If they gear that toward the positive side, they can propel this team because this is a good team.

“I don’t think they’re that far off. Start before last, Josh had a great outing. You live in the moment, OK, he hasn’t had one of those in a quite a while, if I’ve been paying attention enough. But, to do that, and to live in that [bad] moment doesn’t allow them to get behind Josh for his next outing because you live in his next outing because you can’t do anything about the one before.”

So be nice because really they just want to be loved. And if you loved them they would suddenly remember how to not be terrible at pitching. And for goodness sake, don't laugh about Josh Beckett's foundation only having like six hundred followers on twitter. It's not funny. (I'm certain that he doesn't actually write it because it seems unlikely to me that he's ever uttered the word 'howdy' let alone typed it out.)

Most importantly we learn that Jason doesn't live in a vacuum. Thank goodness. It would probably be very dusty--terrible for allergies.

[This is the sort of joke that is very funny at three in the morning when you've been up for hours and hours and hours. I promise it's hysterical.]

Death and Transfiguration.

Two days ago this team was going places. They took two out of three in Tampa, then three out of four from Chicago, capped off by Cody Ross hitting a ball far into the night. They were getting their players back and those players were making contributions. Now? Not so much. Josh Beckett laid yet another egg yesterday. And, without David, the offense seems to have been stymied by pitchers who don't seem like they should have a place on a major league roster. So, they're back to being a lousy team; a team that's treading water until...well, unless they're waiting for Bailey, there's nobody else coming. This is it. It's not very inspiring.

In Tod und Verklärung (Death and Transfiguration, 1889) Richard Strauss composed a tone poem about a man lying on his deathbed. At first the man lies there sleeping, though soon enough (Mvt. II) death reappears and tries to claim him for its own. But the man fights back and survives. In the third movement, the man contemplates his life and all the striving he's done--first to figure out his purpose, his meaning, and then to go out and achieve it. In the final movement though, Death (as it is wont to do) triumphs over man. But according to Strauss, as is evidenced by the sweeping theme in C major, this is not a bad thing, because it is only through death that the man will, and does, achieve his transfiguration.

Now, this isn't a call for mass-suicide (though maybe they'd play better if so threatened); they won't be transfigured as ballplayers and win more games by being dead. Perhaps though, I might be better off if I let my fandom die. It won't make them a better team--I'm not sure that there's anything that could do that at the moment--but it might me me less insane.

Of course, I have tried to quit before and it's never worked so...

(You see what your poor play has caused, cabbages? I've had to go all high-brow and philosophical on you. At least, it lets me trot out this amusing little gem.)



[Complete aside that has very little to do with anything: I took a class in school called German Romantic Literature. I have no idea why I signed up for that class. Knowing my complete inability to deal with whining, it did not go well. The first thing we read was The Sorrows of Young Werther and I spent most of the book telling him to shut up or urging him to get over himself and then finally demanding to know why he wouldn't just die already because really, what was taking so long? Although I do appreciate the emphasis on the individual, romanticism was not the period for me.]

Bring Back 'Tek.

Not to play, of course. But at this point, might as well just stick him in the clubhouse where he can whisper sweet nothing into Jon Lester's ear between innings. He'd seriously have to work one day out of five or maybe two days out of five if Beckett wanted to participate in the little love fest.

When I Grow Up...

Since none of this crew seems to be doing well at the whole baseball thing this season, I thought that it might be appropriate to pick out different careers for them. Careers for which they might have been better suited.

[Note: This isn't as fun a game to play with the Non-American players, what with the general lack of opportunity, so I'll just ignore them.]

Starting with the most obvious:

Clay Buchholz: With the scrawny-ness, the bug eyes, the horrible hair, and the ugly scrunched face, Clay Buchholz would probably have been better off pursuing a career as a carny. I can just picture him: lounging against a decrepit ride or game of chance, cigarette dangling from his lip, ogling the women who walk past him with a knowing look in his eye. Plus, he's got the whole thieving thing in his past, so he wouldn't feel bad about taking people's money.

Ryan Sweeney: Ryan Sweeney should be reading the evening news somewhere. He's already got the haircut.

Adrian Gonzalez: The first attribute that I thought of for Adrian was being analytical. Admittedly, the very first thing that popped into my head was scientist but since I'm being nice, Adrian seems well suited to being an accountant. Analytical and quiet, more comfortable with numbers than people, it makes sense.

Dustin Pedroia: Dustin can be utterly charming and he knows how to tell people what they want to hear without sounding insincere. But he's more savvy than smart, so not a lawyer. I doubt, though, that he'd be happy in the small world of sales, so I'd set him up at a PR firm, smoothing over other people's messes.

Kelly Shoppach: Kelly Shoppach ought to have been a high school gym teacher. This one is a bit of a cheat because 1) it's an obvious choice for many of them and 2) he reminds me a lot of my high school gym teacher, Mr. Gomez, not so much in the coloring but definitely in the teddy bear physique.

Mike Aviles: This feels like I'm stereotyping him but when I think Mike Aviles isn't a short stop he's a _____, I put in cop. With the big smile and the eveybody's buddy attitude, more of a community policing, crime prevention effort but Officer Mike, the Puerto Rican cop from the Bronx feels right. And I apologize.

Jacoby Ellsbury: Ellsbury seems to me, first and foremost, to be a people pleaser and secondly to be a do-gooder. So he should have been, and I really do think that he might have enjoyed the line of work, a social worker.

Ryan Kalish: This one is a bit of a stretch because although you hear stories, and he sounds like a very nice kid, I don't know much about Kalish. It all has to do with the shape of his head and the fact that he's from New Jersey. Ryan Kalish's destiny, were it not for baseball, would have been to go to St. John's University, join a fraternity, major in some version of finance, and then get a job at an investment house as a stock analyst because one of his frat brother's father runs the place. That is what his physiognomy tells me.

Nick Punto: Nick Punto's true calling should have been to the world of newspaper journalism. Through stubbornness or doggedness or simple refusal to change, he could have chased down stories and worked his way up the ladder until he got to the role of not quite good enough to be a columnist but can ably fill in if required.

Carl Crawford: The attribute that I would ascribe to Carl Crawford would be drive. The first profession I thought of for a driven person was lawyer but he's so soft-spoken, and he's got kind of a high voice, and he's mumbly so that would never work. But Carl the entrepreneur? Inventing something we never knew we needed and then getting everyone to buy one? I could see that.

Andrew Miller: With the long flowing hair and the beard, I think Andrew Miller really does want to be a poet (either that or Jesus, but since we're still being nice we'll go with poet). He's a smart guy and changeable, willing to listen to correction and work hard, he could probably have made a go at being a poet.

Scott Atchison: It's a friendly face, an understanding face. The sort of face that communicates, I've been through tough times too and come out the other end alright. The sort of face that ought to belong to a psychologist or a counselor of some sort.

Mark Melancon: If the baseball thing doesn't end up working out for Mark Melancon, then he would seem well suited for a job as an insurance salesman. He's got a sort of apologetic manner to him and an awkward smile, and a seeming inability to dress himself in clothes that fit properly. It all works.

Daniel Bard: Daniel Bard seems like an intelligent guy. I think that his determination to figure out what was wrong with him this season by digging into video from the past shows that being a research librarian may have been a good career path.

Cody Ross: The obvious choice for Ross would have been rodeo clown but we're not going for obvious. I don't know much about Ross but he seems to be at heart, an entertainer. He also seems to inspire strong feelings in people and make a definite impression wherever he goes. He seems to be very measured in the things he says and brand conscious or image aware, whatever you want to call it. I think that there's a politician in there.

Daniel Nava: Daniel Nava seems like a kind, compassionate person. A seemingly sort of bland person but someone you can trust. A person who could anticipate all sorts of needs you didn't know you had and take care of them before you were even aware of them. The sort of person who would make an excellent funeral director.

Matt Albers: If it weren't for baseball, Matt Albers might have a future as a social reformer/activist type. I don't know if he has the brain for it but maybe a lawyer. What he does seem to have is a strong sense of right and wrong, just and unjust; a chip on his shoulder. Fairness seems to be very important to him. And advocating for the poor, or the homeless, or the downtrodden might be right up his alley. [Aside: I just went and looked up Albers to see if there was any indication that he might have the brain to pull off lawyering and was shocked to learn that he is only twenty-nine. I had no idea he was so young. I would have easily put him in his mid-thirties.]

Jon Lester: The ideal job for Jon Lester would be long-haul truck driver. He could be as grumpy and as unsociable as he liked. He wouldn't have to talk to anyone or deal with other people if he didn't want to. And if got himself a Southern route, he could work on his stupid accent.

As for the rest, I'm at a loss; some because I just don't know enough about them because they haven't been around for very long and others because they are just intensely boring people and I can't think of a suggestion--these two will have to figure out how to make baseball work. Perhaps, Jarrod Saltalamacchia could become a barber; not because he's shown a particular aptitude for barbering but because then he would learn that the ringlets combined with the receding hairline and baldness is just an extremely awful look and he would cut his hair.

Trouble.

What this team needs (besides, you know, a couple of decent starting pitchers) is an exorcism. It's not just the specter of last September hanging over them--this team has been under a dark cloud for a couple of years now. I don't know who pissed off the baseball Gods or what they could have possibly done that was so terrible but it might not be a terrible idea.

Mental Gymnastics.

Alright, my liebeskind, since pessimism doesn't work. Let's try unbridled enthusiasm (with lyrics):

Everybody's lover, everybody's brother, I wanna be your lifetime friend 
Crazy as a rocket, nothin' in my pocket, I keep it at the rainbow's end 
I never think of money, I think of milk 'n honey, grinnin' like a Cheshire cat 
I focus on the pleasure, somethin' I can treasure, can you picture that? Can you picture that?
 
Hey Floyd, take a verse
 
Let me take your picture, add it to the mixture, there it is I got you now 
Really nothin' to it, anyone can do it, it's easy and we all know how 
Now begins the changin', mental rearrangin', nothing's really where it's at
Now the Eiffel Tower's holdin up a flower I gave it to a Texas cat 

Fact is there's nothin' out there you can't do 
Yeah, even Santa Claus believes in you
Beat down the walls, begin, believe, behold, begat 
Be a better drummer, be an up and comer 
 Can you picture that? Can you picture that?

All of us are winnin, pickin and a-grinnin, Lordy but I love to jam
Jelly-belly gigglin', dancin' and a-wigglin', honey that's the way I am
Lost my heart in Texas, Northern lights affect us I keep it underneath my hat 
Aurora Borealis, shining down on Dallas, can you picture that? Can you picture that?
 
Can you picture? You gotta see it in your mind 
Can you picture? You know it's quick and easy to find 
Can you picture? You don't have to buy a frame 
Can you picture? Can you picture that? Can you picture that?
 
Use it if you need it
 Don't forget to feed it 
Can you picture that?

Whining Sucks.

"If you go crazy and give contracts to whoever comes along despite not knowing how they're going to do, then you don't give me my due consideration, even though I do my thing every year, (expletive) that. I'm going to be open to anything. My mentality is not going to be, 'I like it here.' It's going to be, 'Bring it to the table, and we'll see what happens"

"It was humiliating. There's no reason a guy like me should go through that. All I was looking for was two years, at the same salary ($12.5 million). They ended up giving me $3 million more than that (actually $2.025 million), and look at my numbers this year. Tell me if they wouldn't have been better off. And yet they don't hesitate to sign other guys. It was embarrassing."--David Ortiz

David Ortiz seems like the type of person who, if he were to find a magic lamp, would demand infinite wishes and then would be put out when the genie told him that that wasn't possible. The kind of guy who is never satisfied with what he's got. Undoubtedly, the drive to never settle is what has gotten him to where he is today. He's worked for almost everything he's ever gotten. (How's that for passive-aggressive?)  

It's not the sentiment that I disagree with. Being the only good player on a team that at its best has been decidedly mediocre is probably very frustrating; being the only good player because the team signed a bunch of crappy free agents to ludicrous contracts and signed stupid extensions for washed up players and, therefore, can't afford the good players is probably very annoying.  And if you've slung the collection of who'sits and hasbeens onto your back and attempted to carry them for half a season, maybe it feels like you're not being paid what you're worth. But David, dearest, that feeling of not being paid what you're worth is universal; nobody who is good at their job is paid what they're worth.

My problem is that it's all just very depressing. When David, franchise icon that he is, pulls a stunt like this it becomes clear that I care more about this team, his team, than he does. This is just a gig to David and not even 'just' a gig but a 'humiliating and embarrassing' gig. He doesn't like it here? Fine. Nobody forced him to stay.

But now is not the time to start (or in David's case) continue whining about his contract or how awful the media is or how horrible a place to play Boston is. Now is not the time to whine about other player's contracts or tear them down for being terrible players. Now, after having their asses handed to them by the Athletics and with the Yankees coming in, is the time they should band together and at least pretend to be a team.

You've got to wonder if anyone thinks that they'll even win one this weekend. Having already given up on this season and leaped into every-man-for-himself thinking about November, David certainly doesn't. I don't really blame him for that; this season does seem to be a lost cause. But David was sore when nobody thought to name him captain after Varitek retired, is it any wonder though when he doesn't seem to have the least bit of interest in putting the team before himself?

The Best Laid Plans.

I think that at the time few people were disturbed by the idea of trading Red and prospects to Oakland for Ryan Sweeney and the pieces of shoulder that once deigned to call themselves Andrew Bailey. And it wasn't a bad deal.

Most people assumed that Adrian Gonzalez was not going to continue to be the dud that he was in the second half of last year. That combined with another year of Ellsbury playing impressively and Crawford contributing (because it really didn't seem like he could contribute less) negates the need for Red's offense. And Sweeney, in theory, provided something that Red did not: Sweeney would take a walk.

Now none of that worked out. Adrian Gonzalez continues to be a giant pit of uselessness. Ellsbury got sat on and Crawford never even got going. And then Red went and blossomed.

I think that it's safe to say, though, that the prize in the whole thing; the piece that Cherington really seemed to want, was Bailey. Judging by his performance so far it seems like a fair statement to say that Cherington's baseball turn on is relief pitching. Can't get enough of it. Bailey was a risk but too tantalizing to pass up.

Unsurprisingly, Bailey hasn't worked out either. Fragile people don't generally wake up and suddenly figure out how to not be fragile. Should he, however, recover from the injury to his elbow or thumb or whichever body part happens to be bothering him today, Andrew Bailey is very very good at pitching.

And really, other than annoyance that the deal has been extremely one-sided so far, they haven't needed Red. They've been a very good offensive team this year. But you live and learn and then go get more relief pitchers (or failing that scrappy utility guys.)

Goose Eggs.

I have this story in my head that Adrian Johnson developed a deep love of baseball when he a little kid, like maybe three years old. At the same time, he developed the strange habit of calling strikes strikeys. But nobody bothered to correct him because everybody thought that "Look, Daddy! He got a strikey!" was too cute for words. So eventually he grew up and went off to umpire school.  While he was there, everyone was aghast (at least I hope that they were) but they were all to embarrassed to say, "What the hell are you doing? You sound like a constipated goose." And so he unleashed unto the world.

That is why I had no sound for today's game. No TV. No radio. I can't hear him without seeing that goose. It's also why I had to provide my own running commentary (because sitting in silence is weird and talking to the people on the TV is not) which vacillated between being oddly proud of Franklin Morales for holding his own while going to toe-to-toe with Felix Hernandez and mumbling about how they're the Mariners and really, how much harm could they do? Then they lost; which, it turns out, is probably my fault (or really Adrian Johnson's.)

Blech.

Not too long ago, this wasn't a bad team. Adrian Gonzalez couldn't hit a lick but overall they were playing well. Then they sent Bard down and things didn't look so hot. The bats and the pitching both decided to go south at the same time and  that's no way to win a baseball game. Yes, they ran into some good pitching and some bad umpiring. But it's not like they were conditions that a good team couldn't overcome. It's all very glum.

Free to a Good Home.

Another day, another crappy baseball game.

So maybe I said that if they were going to be bad then they should be spectacularly bad. Turns out that I didn't really mean it because this is hideous to watch. Really really uncool.

You start thinking that it might be time to sell. But here's the thing: It's difficult to sell anything when there's nothing that anyone would want to buy. Maybe some GM could be fooled into taking Saltalamacchia or, strangely enough, Podsednik or I suppose something from the bullpen but there aren't any very useful players on this team.

Adrian hasn't exactly been productive. Dustin is broken. If Aviles could get back on a hot streak, maybe you could spin him into something useful but right now nobody would want him. Youkilis is both broken and unproductive. Can't trade David. Beckett is not good and Lester seems to be on the downside of his career. Maybe somebody takes a chance on Clay but he probably wouldn't be worth much. I think Doubront might be the only one you wouldn't consider trading.

Hurry Up.

Dearest chickadees,

To be filed under: You Learn Something New Everyday.
It turns out that time flies not just when you're having fun (at least I assume that you're not having fun and if I'm wrong please feel free to correct me) but also when you are miserable. Who knew? And I'm sorry to say that it's getting awfully late for this .500 mediocre crap, my lovelies.

I realize that this is what happens when you run a maybe-okay team against a very good team. The good team will win and the not so good team will look ridiculous. Pascal declared it to be so. It's just annoying because you weren't supposed to be a maybe-okay team. You were supposed to be better than that.

So here's the thing gentlemen: If you're going to flame out, then you should do it spectacularly. Try to be the worst team that ever played major league baseball. Who knows, it  might be fun? If you're going to be serious about playing baseball, then you really need to hurry up. Tempus fugit.

Even Steven.

Do you know my lovelies that even Orioles fans are laughing at you? They know that their team is not what you would call talented but at least they have the best of Boston. Kind of sad really.

And Another Thing.

NESN sucks.

Trying to watch a baseball game around Don, Jerry, and Booberella is extraordinarily difficult. But heaven forefend if said baseball game should get in the way of the discussion of Don Orsillo's desire to go to a Dave Matthews Band concert (of course he likes that crappy music) or his most favorite-est month of the year. I wish, just once, someone would tell him to shut up and cover the game.

Maybe my patience is short because the team's been so awful but when you find yourself wishing that the game was a national broadcast so that you could turn the sound on, you know that they've gone off the deep end.

Nuts.

Well that sucked.

You know what would have been super nice boys? If Adrian Gonzalez wasn't in some sort of awful funk and had been able to get on base (you know, like he's supposed to do) and was standing there in front of Ortiz (admittedly this only works out when Bogar isn't coaching third because he probably would have sent him on Ortiz' single and Gonzalez would have been out at the plate before he even got to third) and then Saltalamacchia drives them both in and we all go home happy. But nope. Adrian has forgotten how to hit or even take a walk (impossible to do when you make an out on the first or second pitch of an at bat.) He needs a day off.

Bird Hunting.

Maybe Daniel Bard needs a vacation. Might I suggest Pawtucket? It's no Capri but it does have it's charms.  It's a wonderful place, for example, to remember how to throw a fastball for a strike or to figure out how to repeat your delivery or to discover exactly where your release point ought to be. Just a thought.

Magic Mirror.

"The human brain is a complex organ with the wonderful power of enabling man to find reasons for continuing to believe whatever it is that he wants to believe." --Voltaire.

Daniel Bard believes that he's a major league starter.  The question is why? What does he see in his performance that warrants that belief. Without the velocity to back it up, his fastball is pedestrian and he can't throw a strike with the damn thing. He hands out like walks like candy on Halloween. His change up is sometimes okay but mostly he's not giving his team the opportunity to win.

The only reason that this game is even remotely close is because they're playing the Orioles.

Hi! My Name is Clay Buchholz...

(AP Photo)

and I suck when I calls don't go my way.

Game Plan.

Papellbon said he is looking forward most to facing Ortiz, or as he called him, "Big Sloppy"
— Gordon Edes (@GordonEdes) May 18, 2012

Jonathan Papelbon is giving off a seriously nasty Luke Scott vibe.

How does he suppose he'll be received in Boston? "Pap will get a really good receptuon. Cinco, I don't know what kind of reception.''
— Gordon Edes (@GordonEdes) May 18, 2012

Not if somebody doesn't put a muzzle on him, he won't.

I don't want to see him all weekend. So here's the game plan: Get rid of the starter. Yeah, their starting pitchers are good but you're the Boston Red Sox. If you can remember how to put together good at bats, you can get rid of him by the sixth inning. The bullpen, with the exception of Bot, is awful. Get a decent enough lead and we won't ever have to see or hear from him for another year. 

Money Can't Buy You Love.

'EEI is shocked, shocked! that Jonathan Papelbon is a moron. I don't recall but maybe they were the ones loudly beating the the-dumb-hick-thing-must-be-an-act-because-nobody-can-be-that-stupid drum. But to the rest of us, this is not news.

From the moment that someone gave Bot a platform, he made it perfectly clear that the only thing that he cares about is money. Recall that he was willing to go play for the Pirates if they were the ones willing to pay him. Theo Epstein, who is usually very guarded with his speech, publicly called him out for being dumb. Then there's that ridiculous investment and, undoubtedly footing the bill for his wife's baby-as-accessory line of clothing. [Aside: I wonder at what age such a child develops the courage to tell of its mother with a "What is wrong with you? I'm a person, not a purse!" Although, I suspect that it'll never be an issue for her as neither of her children will ever develop the verbal acuity to drop such a bon mot on her.]

All that said, I'm glad that he's someone else's moron. And Eck's smack down of him last night was a thing of beauty.

A Belted Knight.

(Getty Images)

I may have been a little bit harsh about the acquisition of Marlon Byrd. He's not the player he was two years ago. He may not get to the balls that he should be able to catch. Most of the time, he might not have productive at bats and he might not hit the ball well when he happens to make contact. But tonight, he wasn't totally useless. And he absolutely flew around the bases after he hit his home run, which made me grin. In order to reward him and to show their appreciation for him not being terrible, I really think that they team should provide him with a new belt.

After all, a man who wears such big ol' diamonds in his ears can't be overly pleased with such a cheapo, cracked belt.

'M Srry.

Yesterday, Jon Lester announced his partnership with the Pediatric Cancer Research Foundation and helped launch their NVRQT fundraiser. Well, he's just the sort of charming people-person that you'd want to have asking people for money.

There's video of the little press conference on the Red Sox website. Not really worth the effort to watch but the realization that grows on the other guy's face toward the end of the video that this awkward, scowl-y individual who won't stop  talking to the table and doesn't seem to be able to express an idea about anything other than himself and he can't even do that clearly, is his new spokesman, is priceless.

But mostly I just wanted to post this wonderful little bit of strangeness.

So Chic.

Golf-Gate: a good, old-fashioned media freakout!

On the off day Thursday, Josh Beckett and Clay Buchholz went golfing. Yesterday the media decided that this was a big deal and engaged in a freakout of immense proportions.

Heavens above! *Clutches pearls* Golfing! On an off-day! What is the world coming to?

Valentine and co., rightly, suggested that it was no big deal. The media, all in a dither, didn't seem to enjoy the suggestion that they were having trouble with telling the difference between mountains and molehills.

Steve Buckley:

#RedSox logic: There's no problem w/ Josh Beckett playing golf because they TELL you there's no problem. Got that? Now guy buy a brick.
— Steve Buckley (@BuckinBoston) May 11, 2012

Are they still selling those bricks? I thought that that was a thing last year. Also, if they don't have a problem with it and they employ him, then why exactly should I have a problem with it? Because you told me to? #IndependentThinking

Lou Merloni:

PUKE!!!!!!!!“@GordonEdes: Q to Beckett: Do people have right to question why you were golfing when you skipped a start: "Not on my off day"”
— Lou Merloni (@LouMerloni) May 11, 2012

Look at all those exclamation points. He must be serious. But wait there's more!

Beckett's press conference couldn't be more dissapointing.yes, u can do whatever you want on your off day, but when u miss a turn?
— Lou Merloni (@LouMerloni) May 11, 2012

Wake up and figure it out. Volunteer to pitch on Sunday then. Man, I want to pull my friggan hair out. Someone doesn't get it
— Lou Merloni (@LouMerloni) May 11, 2012

I can't even sleep right now. I'm so pissed at what I heard.Getting lit was bad but the words that came out of his mouth? Embarrassing
— Lou Merloni (@LouMerloni) May 11, 2012

Lou Merloni seems to be an angry man. I suspect that he's not actually angry at Beckett but rather at his own inability to make any sense. You can do whatever you want on your off-day. Grand! We're in agreement. But when you miss a turn...the sentence needs another clause. But when you miss a turn, you must take tap dance lessons; you must eat spaghetti for supper; you must sit in your apartment all day and hang your head in shame. Also, this infamous golf game was on Thursday, he wasn't skipped until Saturday, so technically he hadn't missed his turn yet.

Dude was asleep! That was why he pitched so badly tonight. I don't know how I missed it. The 'someone' is probably meant to refer to Beckett but I don't know what's with the sudden coyness. Maybe, he's talking about himself or *gasp* Lou Merloni is totally talking about me because I certainly don't get it.

He really does have a clause problem. Doesn't he?

I'm not generally one to agree with Josh Beckett on anything. He's a jackass but he is right. It's his off-day. If the club has no objection to him playing golf, he can do as he damn-well pleases. Though the transformation of Josh Beckett from sacred cow to media whipping boy, is an interesting one. They must really have resented his non-apology during spring training.

I don't know why the dates on the tweets are wrong. They were all written on May 10.

Acceptance.

Another game, another loss. What did you expect?

During the off-season the talk was that the starting pitching was going to be better because they'd get Clay back and they couldn't run Lackey out there every five days.  But then Jon Lester and Josh Beckett turned into pumpkins and Clay is a nutcase (whose new mechanics may relieve stress on his back but do not prove conducive to throwing anything other than batting practice) who throws royal tantrums because the mean umpires are mean to him.  

But what do you do? You can't continue to carry five awful starting pitchers but who do you replace them with? Clay shouldn't go again (I'll predict 8 runs in three innings from him tomorrow. Won't be his fault though. The umpires will be making him throw meatballs.) I suppose that you could go with Matsuzaka, he couldn't be any worse.

Theo certainly left a mess before high-tailing it to Chicago.

On Johnny Damon.

I think that it may be time to give cut Johnny Damon a break.

The man left half a dozen years ago. Being lied to hurt our pride; we felt duped, liked we'd been played for a fool. But the man has shown that he's as disingenuous (All I've ever wanted to do was be a Yankee...I mean a Tiger....I mean play in Tampa, as long as they're good...I mean a Yankee...Cleveland. That's where I've always wanted to play.) as they come.

But with the crappy way this team is playing, it seems very petty to boo Damon. Especially, if they are going to cheer for Derek Lowe.

A Late-Spring Night's Nightmare.

If we shadows have offended, think but this and all is mended:

That you have but slumber'd here, while these visions did appear.

And this weak and idle theme, no more yielding than a dream.

Last night, Bobby Valentine appeared in my dream. I don't totally remember what was going on (it did involve gophers) but he was trying to calm people down. But the truth is: this team is embarrassingly awful. They say that pitching and defense win championships but this team can't do either. And try as he might, there's really no point in calming anyone down. They stink.

Jon Lester seems to have wilted without John Farrell. There was a time when he seemed like he could have become something special. Now, at his best he's mediocre; the kind of guy you put at the back of your rotation with the expectation that he'll get you into the sixth inning without giving up too many runs.

Without Crawford (who I figured had to be better than last season) or Ellsbury (who I figured wasn't going to be nearly what he was last year but would be useful), Valentine is forced to use Cody Ross and Marlon Byrd as regulars. And the pair of them aren't exactly proving that they belong out there.

They've been over-matched by the Baltimore Orioles and the Kansas City Royals. That's how pathetic they are.

For Pete's Sake.

A little bit early but clearly the boys need a change in mojo or attitude or something. They are the Orioles, for goodness sake.

You Gotta Have Heart.

Alright boyos. I brought breakfast, lovely little Puerto Rican pastries. I made them myself. So let's have a nice little chat and catch up.


So many things to discuss: we could talk about how the starting pitching has just been so terribly awful, or how you just dropped a series to the mighty A's, or how Bobby Valentine doesn't seem to have a clue as to how to manage pitching or that Franklin Morales should only be allowed to pitch to left-handed batters, or that the timely hits seem to have been put in the checked luggage and have been swallowed up by the great abyss that is lost airline baggage, or that you seem to have collectively forgotten how to take a walk unless absolutely forced to do so, or that there are too many players on this team who swing at the first pitch and end up making an out, or most importantly that you are managing to suck all the fun out of watching baseball.

I love baseball. I love watching baseball. And by an accident of birth, you are my team. You were my dad's team and his father's team. I was born here and I grew up here. I'm stuck with you. But I hate watching you play baseball. It's a chore to tune in. It really is.

Last year, I may have moaned and groaned about your rough start but I always believed that there was something to that team. This year, it seems like you're struggling toward mediocrity. Maybe you'll win eighty-one games but that may very well be a unrealizable feat. I know that it's early and that things have a way of shaking out over the course of the season. The ship will be righted. Small samples will average out over a larger sample. Baseball is a fantastically fun game but if you continue to play joylessly, you'll be the Yankees, without the results, and it will be so hard to care.

Nice chat boys. Enjoy your pastry. I'll be watching tomorrow. I'll hate it. I'll wish that I was doing something else but I'll be watching.

Along Came Pretty Little May.

(Getty Images)

So a bit of a nail-bitter there boys. But you finish April at .500 and, considering where you started and a meltdown or two along the way, that's not too awful. Hopefully, May will see more good outcomes than bad.

As Lucky as Lucky Can Be.

Gentlemen! A sweep! How very exciting. It wasn't a good win or a pretty win or, even, a game that they should have won but it'll have to do. Can't be too picky.

Clay is either completely clueless or, possibly, the most stubborn person alive. He gets a two strikes on the hitter and it's like his thought process goes: What'll I do? What'll I do? Oooh! I know--it'll totally fool them this time--cut fast ball! The other six, seven, eight, ten, twelve times this game that I've thrown the cutter in this situation it hasn't worked but this time, this time is the time that it'll work.

And then Bobby Valentine leaves him in too long before going to that great LOOGY, Scott Atchison (Yeah. I don't know.) followed by Justin Thomas (Yeah. I don't know.) before finally turning to Matty to bring an end to the inning. I've got nothing against Atchison but why you would bring him in to face Mauer, I have no idea. And then our most fantastic closer loads the bases with a walk, a single, and a hit batsman.

Thank goodness that they were playing the Twins. A competent major league lineup would have hung this pitching staff out to dry.

When the Rain Comes.

You can't win if you don't play but you can't lose either. So yay! Rain.

The Company You Keep.

So, monkeys, that was...something.

Teams that you currently have a better record than: Kansas City, San Diego, and the Cubbies. That's it. Those teams may have players who are saintly creatures that pull their cars to the side of the road to carry snapping turtles across the street but they're not the sort of baseball team that you want to emulate. I promise.

And, while he may be a jackass, it's not Valentine's fault. It seems like every other day he's either getting putrid starting pitching or a bullpen that needs the umpire to give the batter a two strike handicap in order to get an out and then only if they're super lucky.

I was ready to give Clay a pass for yesterday. A noted headcase, how could you expect him to pitch well when faced with his own mortality like that? (There but for six or seven years, less if you continue to pitch like this, goes Clay. I thought the ceremony was lovely, by the way; the different era jerseys a particularly nice touch.) But Fredo? Someone's got to calm that boy down. He gets all hyped up and then tries to be a closer instead of just pitching.

With the exception of Ryan Sweeney's chin, the outfield is not pretty. When they come up to bat I find myself urging them to only make one out and it'll count as a victory. And any time a ball falls in right field, I mumble that JD would have gotten it. But reinforcements are coming! Marlon Byrd! Yipee! *Hangs head in shame.*

Much to my surprise, there are times when Mike Aviles has looked like an actual shortstop. But Kevin Youkilis can barely move and Pedroia seems a step slower. I'm head-over-heels for Shoppach so clearly the man can do no wrong but for Saltalamacchia the whole catching the ball hasn't really worked out and hitting the ball hasn't really worked out. Plus, he could really use a haircut.

But maybe this is the sort of loss that exorcises September's demons because clearly, they haven't gotten over it. Or maybe we should all squeeze our eyes shut and pray for rain.

Bobby V's Seminar in Organizational Communication.

Saying What You Mean, Meaning What You Say.
This summer, Bobby Valentine will be presenting an ongoing seminar on strengthening organizational communications. Topics covered will include: Employee-Employer relations, Supervisor-Subordinate relations, Public relations, and Media relations.

About Bobby Valentine: Known for his outspoken style and brash demeanor, Bobby Valentine has been in baseball for his entire working life. He has partaken of every role on the field, from player, to coach, to manager. His years as a manager in Japan have led to a wealth of knowledge in communicating across language and cultural barriers. His work as a national baseball analyst has given him particular insight into the media and media relations.

Other Information: Free and open to the public. No registration required.

Preview:

Bobby V's Steps to Improved Organizational Communications:
Step 1: Open mouth.
Step 2: Insert foot.

RSVP.

Terry Francona will not be coming to Fenway Park's 100th birthday party.

I like Francona. I get that his feelings were hurt and I understand why he wouldn't want to show up at Fenway ever again. I'm not a particular fan of Larry Lucchino but I also understand why he'd be pissed at Francona for refusing to come. Meanwhile, the whole thing has turned into a soap opera with a level of drama that your average middle-school girl would be proud of.

Justified or not, Francona was shown the door after the team's piss-poor performance last September. Knowing how poorly Larry takes criticism, Francona took a parting shot on his way out of town. If we operate under the assumption that nothing goes on at 4 Yawkey Way that Larry doesn't know about, Larry got his best thirteen-year-old girl on and responded ten-fold by engineering the smear campaign of Francona. And then things went silent.

Spring training rolls around, Francona pops up in Fort Myers, and thirteen-year-old girl style, randomly announces that nobody is returning his calls and nobody has invited him to the party but he wouldn't want to go anyway. So there. The first is just weird because who besides, apparently, Terry Francona has ever expected their old boss (who has just fired them) to call and chat.

Now Francona's got the masses behind him and feeling himself on a roll, tells the world that John Henry finally did return his call. But that it was too little, too late. Henry should have called months ago and Francona didn't really want to talk to him. Why he whined about it then in the first place, I don't know. And silence again.

Today Francona runs to Shaughnessy, of all people, and announces that he was invited to the party but that he will decline the invitation. Fine. I get that. I really do. The response by the Red Sox to his comment that the Front Office didn't have his back was way over the top, hurtful, ugly, unnecessary, and hideous. He is perfectly within the right to stay home and not bother with these people ever again. But he also can't resist sniping that Larry had the gall to call and yell at him about being unfair.

Well, Terry. You are being unfair. You've said that you don't believe the the Front Office was behind the smear campaign but you're the one who keeps taking potshots at the team and then rejecting the olive branch when it is extended.

Never forget that Larry is smarter than you and more conniving than you. Larry is a queen bee and has the role of mean girl down pat. You can't beat him at his own game and you'll only end up looking bad if you try.

A Great Ballclub, We Haven't Got.

Well, boyos. It hasn't been pretty. But there's something to be said for being, for the most part, competitive. And really, where's the fun in winning all the time? Last August, it was kind of boring when you were consistently taking three out of four and steamrolling your way through the league.

But do you remember boys, what it was like to not start off by digging yourselves and enormous hole to climb out of? Let's go back to the halcyon days of 2007. There aren't all that many of you still around from that idyllic time but it was a good start. It wasn't necessarily a year that had the prestige of, say, a 2004 but that team took control of the division on April 18 and didn't let go once. They say ballplayers need to have short memories, so maybe you can't actually remember but can you imagine what that would be like?

It's not too late to right ship. Right now a suitable goal would seem to be to win a second game and then go from there. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

One.

They were going to win eventually. Sooner or later, though sooner was clearly better than later, they were going to win a game. And in all likelihood, they'll win plenty more. But getting one was important.

Double Sigh.

(Getty Images)

Josh Beckett could use a drink.

Sigh.

Six Months Out of Every Year.

Play ball!

One Game More.

The end of spring training completely sneaked up on me. I'm going to go ahead and blame the winter that never was but I was genuinely surprised that Opening Day was this Thursday.

Maybe it's just the idea of real baseball (and baseball is fun) but in a reversal, I'm suddenly looking forward to the season. Maybe Jacoby Ellsbury returns to earth, maybe Youkilis can't stay on the field, maybe Daniel Bard doesn't work out as a starter, and maybe Bobby Valentine turns out to be a disaster and is fired by mid-May, or maybe none of those things happen. It should be fun, though.

Not totally appropriate until tomorrow but for Adrian, from Les Miserables:

Tomorrow we'll discover
What our God in Heaven has in store!
One more dawn
One more day
One day more!

If a Baseball Game was Played in Florida and No One Broadcasts It, Was It Really Played?

It's almost three in the morning. I have places to go and things to do a couple of hours from now but I'm sitting here staring at the computer because my toe hurts. I seem to have veered into the land of over-training and have sprained the damn thing. I've tried ignoring the pain, meditation, stretching the foot, massaging the toe, but to no avail. I'm likely going to have to resort to ibuprofen but I'm reluctant to hop/hobble my way over to the medicine cabinet so close to a time when I have to be doing other things.

It's sort of similar to the way I feel about baseball right now. (So, that wasn't just a whine; I have a point in here somewhere.) I would really prefer to not have to pay any attention to it. I would like to be doing better, more useful things with my time. But the dull ache just won't go away no matter what I try and so it's going to drag me along into another season.

And just like the fact that I will get my seven miles in tonight, despite all my moaning: I'll enjoy the baseball season, despite hating it.

But mostly I'm bored with spring training.

Also, I've come to the conclusion that Ryan Sweeney is a tease, a baseball coquette if you will. You see the kid for the first time (because who really watches the A's?) and he's huge. He absolutely looks the part of a baseball player. Cerebrally, you understand that he's not much of a hitter but you look at him in the box and you kind of forget. Then he swings.

For Starters.

In not unexpected news, Jon Lester has been named the starter for the first game of the season in Detroit on April 5. Bobby Valentine also decided to throw Josh Beckett to the wolves, assigning him the job of opening at Fenway on Friday April 13.

One wonders if the home team has ever been booed during introductions on Opening Day. One hopes, of course, that they get off to a decent start this season but if they didn't, it would be fascinating.

Rain Delay Theater Presents: Julius Caesar.

Here at Rain Delay Theater we're in previews for the upcoming season and so we present a snippet of Julius Caesar for your enjoyment.

Production Note: Mike Aviles was miscast in the role of Cassius. The casting director doesn't know what she was thinking and apologizes. In the final production the role will go, on intimidating appearance alone, to Vicente Padilla.


Act I, Scene ii.
JetBlue Park, Ft. Myers, Florida.

Enter Daniel Bard, followed by the team; dressed for a work out.

Bard: Ryan!

Pedroia: Guys, shut up! Daniel wants to say something.

Bard: Ryan!

Sweeney: What's up?

Bard: Make sure you stand in front of Jacoby when the race starts.

Ellsbury: What? Why?

Bard: It's like a slumpbuster. When a racer gets hit during the race, it gets him out of a funk.

Ellsbury: Okay. When Daniel says to do something, you do it.

Bard: Fantastic. Don't forget.

Valentine: Bard!

Bard: Huh? Who said that?

Pedroia: Guys! Shut up!

Bard: Who yelled?

Valentine: Beware the Ides of March.

Bard: Who was that?

Aceves: Valentine says to beware the Ides of March.

Bard: What? Let me see him.

Aviles: Bobby, Bard wants to see you.

Bard: What did you say?

Valentine: Beware the Ides of March.

Bard: Bah. Forget it. Let's go.

Exit all but Aceves and Aviles.

Aviles: Are you going to watch the practice?

Aceves: Not me.

Aviles: I wish that you would.

Aceves: Nah. It's really not my idea of fun. But don't let me stop you from going, Mike. Enjoy it.

Aviles: What has been up with you lately, my man? You've been really distant and super quiet. I have been nothing but a friend to you.

Aceves: Sorry, man. It's nothing to do with you. I think I've been thinking too much lately. I really think of you as a good friend and this shouldn't have fallen onto you. Don't worry. I'll get myself straightened out.

Aviles: Well then, I'm glad that you're not mad at me. In that case, have you seen yourself lately?

Aceves: Naw, man. I haven't looked in a mirror.

Aviles: What I see when I look at you is a man of great talent. I wish that when you looked at yourself, you could see it too.

Aceves: Are you trying to get me in trouble? What good could come from looking at myself?

Aviles: I'm not trying to cause trouble for you. I'd just like you to see the good in yourself and the ability that you have.

Noise off stage

Aceves: Why are they yelling? I fear that it must mean that they've named Bard to be the fourth starter.

Aviles: Afraid? So then you don't think that he'll be good?

Aceves: To be honest, I really don't think so. But then I'm not paid to make those choices.

Aviles: I know you Freddy. I know you're ready. I know that Bard is no better than you. And so now they've made our fourth starter.

Noise off stage

Aceves: More shouting! And now they've probably named him the starter for our opening day.

Aviles: And what's so special about Daniel Bard? Why should they just think he'll be any good? You Alfredo, you would be just as good.

Aceves: I'm glad that you think so highly of me. And I'm starting to understand what you think that we should do about Daniel Bard. But for the moment, let's leave it alone. I promise you that I'll think about it. But know this: I would rather be a reliever than deal with the consequences of doing the thing you are suggesting.

Aviles: I'm glad that my words can be of some use.

Enter Bard and Others

Aceves: Practice is over, they are returning.

Aviles: Grab Pedey as they pass, he always talks.

Aceves: I will. But look! Nobody looks happy.

Aviles: Dustin will tell us what happened today.

Bard: Jacoby!

Ellsbury: Daniel?

Bard: Can you get Mike out of here? I don't like the look of him and his calf muscles creep me out man.

Ellsbury: Will do. But you shouldn't worry about him. He is completely harmless. Just likes to talk.

Bard: I'm not afraid but he's just so creepy. If I was going to be afraid of anyone, then it would have to be him. Definitely, way too creepy for me. But tell me, Jacoby, what do you think?

Exit Bard with all but Pedroia

Pedroia: You want to talk to me or something, man?

Aceves: Tell us what happened that made Bard so mad.

Pedroia: But you were there...

Aceves: If I had been there, then I wouldn't need to ask you what happened.

Pedroia: Well, they offered Daniel a starting job but then he said that he couldn't take it. So the rest of the guys starting yelling at him that, of course, he could do the job.

Aceves: What was the second noise about?

Pedroia: The same.

Aceves: And the third time they yelled?

Pedroia: It was the same.

Aceves: They offered him the starting job three times?

Pedroia: They did. And three times Daniel refused it.

Aceves: Tell us what exactly happened out there.

Pedroia: The first time they offered the job to him, he refused to even listen to them. Then they offered again and maybe he listened a little more. Then they offered a third time and the team got really loud. The team was encouraging him to take it and getting real close to him and then after he wouldn't do it the third time, well, then Daniel fell right down to the floor.

Aviles: Wait! Bard fainted?

Pedroia: Fell straight down to the floor, foamed at the mouth, and Daniel was speechless.

Aceves: I could see that. He's got epilepsy.

Aviles: Not true, Freddy. Bard doesn't have epilepsy. It is us with epilepsy.

Pedroia: I don't know what you're talking about but I definitely saw Daniel fall down.

Aceves: And then what happened when Daniel awoke?

Pedroia: Well, he said that if he'd done anything wrong then it was because of the sickness. And so then the team forgave him for it.

Aceves: And then he came back through here looking mad?

Pedroia: Yup.

Aviles: And Daisuke, did he say anything?

Pedroia: He did. He said something in Japanese.

Aviles: What did he say?

Pedroia: Don't know. If I said that I knew Japanese, then I'd be lying. But Junichi thought that it was funny. It was, however, Japanese to me.

Aviles: And will you have dinner with me tonight?

Pedroia: No. I have plans.

Aviles: How about tomorrow?

Pedroia: I will, if your supper is worth having.

Aviles: I'll see you then.

Pedroia: You will. Bye. Both of you.

Exit Pedroia

Aceves: Idiot. You know he went to college?

Aviles: It's all for show. People find him funny.

Aceves: You're right, of course. I've got to get going. Call me tomorrow and we'll talk some more.

Exit Aceves

Aviles: So, Freddy.You're a noble kind of man. But really you should hang out with other guys like yourself, honor doesn't last long when you're with guys like me. Bard isn't my biggest fan but he loves Freddy. If I were Freddy and Freddy were me, then I wouldn't have let him influence me. Tonight, I'll send him some texts like they were from different guys on the team telling him how much of a better choice he would be than Daniel. And then Bard had better watch out.

Exit Aviles

The Origin of Fandom.

Why do we become a fan of a particular team? Why do we align ourselves with a single uniform, a single tradition, forsaking all others? It's an interesting question.

For a lot of people it's a question of geography. For others it's heredity. And for some it's being ignored by one player on a team you love and an act of kindness from a player on a team you're supposed to hate that switches your loyalty.

So goes the story of Allie Tarantino of Stamford, Connecticut. And the inspiration for his book, "I Love the Red Sox, I Hate the Yankees." Haven't read it but: Jim Ed for the win.

Hey! A Movie!

Don't you cry, little Trevor. Your dad has got himself a budding new career as a documentary film subject.

A film dedicated to the knuckleball, called...well, Knuckball!, will be premiered at the Tribeca Film festival next month. The documentary features our very own (of course he's still our own) Timmy Wakefield.

I don't know how long you could talk about a knuckleball and still have anything interesting to say but Shakes did allow the crew to follow him around last summer and film his pursuit of win 200, which might just be worth seeing.