So apparently leaving Houston wasn't the cure for what's ailing the Red Sox. All that's happened since they headed to Tampa is back-to-back silent offensive showings (at least through eight innings tonight). In fact, the biggest hit in the series is the one Manny delivered to a club official. Baseball is a funny game. You're going to have stumbles like this during the season, but as a fan they become downright maddening. It's hard to keep perspective that these are just four games out of 162 when JD Drew takes three straight pitches for strikes with a key runner on base in the eighth inning. Swing, JD, swing!

I have to say, I'm officially on the Rays bandwagon. In fact, I admitted to my wife last night that if they weren't in the Red Sox division I'd probably be rooting for them to win it all. They have a bunch of fun young guys, a few veteran corpses who have somehow found the fountain of youth (Eric Hinske, anybody?) and a manager who seems to have found a way to get everyone to buy into his system and who also has awesome glasses.

Continue reading "When do we finish Intraleague play?"

Two nights, two wins at Yankee Stadium ... that's more like it. We've also found two ways to prevent our bullpen from blowing a game - either take a seven-run lead into the ninth, or have your starter pitch the first nine innings (that's all of them, if you're scoring at home).

In the grand scheme of things, Lester's complete game may be more significant than his no-hitter was. If ever there was a bullpen that needed to keep the phone off the hook for a night, it was Boston's. And Lester continued to show glimpses of what he can be. He's still not quite consistent, but as his no-no and his gem at Yankee Stadium indicate, he's got the stuff to get anybody out. Personally, I don't think he's ever going to be an ace, but he can be the type of guy that wins you 15 games every year for quite awhile. And I'll take that any day of the week. The Mets can have Johan Santana, I'll take Lester and Ellsbury, thank you very much.

Continue reading "Keeping the bull in the pen"

So can we please talk about Jason Giambi's mustache for a second? First the guy admits to wearing a gold thong when he needs to break out of a slump (it's hard to imagine that's all he's "breaking out of" in that kind of attire). And now he goes ahead and grows a full-out, mid-80s, Magnum PI mustache. Add these two nuggets to the fact that he's one of the 3 sweatiest humans on the planet, and that he's a New York Yankee, and you have the grossest person in America. Ever. Period.

But the mustache kills me. He couldn't look more like a cheap porn star if he wore the thong on the OUTSIDE of his uniform. I mean, you can't take the guy seriously. I can only imagine what prompted him to give it a try. He must have been out for a beer with A-Rod and Jeter and said, 'You know what, I'm one thing away from becoming a complete and total cartoon character, after the steroid stuff and the thong thing and the fact that I haven't been a good player in three or four years. I know. I'll grow the cheesiest mustache in baseball history." Mission accomplished.

Continue reading "Now playing first base for the New York Yankees - Tom Selleck"

It's one of those days in recent Red Sox history. Any 20-something Red Sox fan can likely remember where he or she was standing when it happened. I was at Tanglewood in Western Massachusetts, and when I was first told the news I didn't believe it.

Nomar was traded.

It's a signficant moment in Red Sox history, seeing as how it was the springboard to ending 86 years of misery, etc. etc. But in looking back on things it's interesting for an entirely different reason.

It's the last time Theo got the shortstop thing right.

I'm certainly not debating the Nomar trade. In fact, it was a stroke of genius. Nomar wasn't a happy camper in Boston anymore, and that became painfully obvious to anyone in the Sox clubhouse that summer. His negativity was clearly affecting a team struggling to find an identity, and his replacement - Orlando Cabrera - proved the perfect fit for the free-wheeling, Cowboy Up, self-proclaimed Idiot Red Sox. The fact that his glove was golden didn't hurt, either.

Continue reading "No short answer"

A Fenway experience wouldn't be a Fenway experience if it weren't for certain things: There's the smell of the sausage vendors outside, the cloud of traffic from the Kenmore T stop to the park, all those friendly and amiable scalpers, and, of course, the abundance of easy-to-find, affordable parking. OK, so I made that last part up.

Among the things I look forward to most at Fenway, though, is the atmosphere. I'm always happy to trade a comfortable seat for baseball nostalgia, and there's nowhere I'd rather be than a miniature wooden chair on any given summer night.

For the first time this year, I found myself in just such a chair Friday night. But I experienced a new twist to my Fenway experience. During one break between innings, I stood to stretch and heard an unusual clink below my seat. I then went to sit down, only to find a piece of wood on the chair flapping freely. Below my seat was the culprit of the clink, a rounded silver nut. I picked it up and twisted it back into place, and voila - it was my first ever Fenway repair. I left a bill for services rendered on my seat, and I'm anxiously waiting for a check from Mr. Henry.

Continue reading "Nuts and bolts and a day-late granny"

We all saw Coco Crisp soar through the air and crash into the centerfield wall in Anaheim the other day. We were all in awe of the catch he made - the latest in a long line of remarkable highlights - and we all shouted out loud in our living room even though nobody but family members and perhaps a dog or two were present. (It's OK to admit it. You know you did it).

The whole scene prompted one obvious and now over-asked question: Will that be Coco's last gold glove memory in a Red Sox uniform?

As July melts away and the magical afternoon of the 31st approaches, every team is assessing their needs and shopping their wares, and given the shakiness of the Red Sox bullpen (I like to keep a bottle of Jack Daniels on hand for the seventh and eighth innings, just to take the edge off) Boston is no doubt dangling Crisp as trade bait.

Continue reading "Serving Coco at The Trading Deadline"

Remember last postseason when Josh Beckett was making three of the best teams in Major League Baseball look like the Bad News Bears? It was right about then everyone anointed him the anchor of the Boston pitching staff and forecasted a shelf or two full of Cy Young trophies.

Funny thing is, the last time Beckett looked dominant was last October. Friday perhaps provided a glimpse of things to come (let's hope) and if it were October again and the Red Sox had to pick one pitcher to give the ball to, I'd still pick Beckett.

But he's not necessarily the ace of the staff. Not right now. That honor, my friends, goes to Jon Lester, a 24-year old kid who hasn't had to buy his first razor yet.

ESPN gets the award for most tantalizing graphic (though they admittedly stole all the info from some Boston blog) about Lester's life thus far during Sunday's broadcast. It detailed how, at the ripe old age of 24, he'd already defeated cancer, thrown a no-hitter and pitched the clinching game of the World Series.

Continue reading "Ladies and Gentlemen, Jon Lester - The ace of your 2008 Boston Red Sox"

Imagine my surprise when it was revealed during one recent Red Sox telecast that the Sox are in the top 10 in the Major Leagues in stolen bases. Wait, what? I nearly demanded a recount. For a moment I thought they meant bases that had literally been stolen, as in removed from the premises. I figured the Sox were so abysmal on the road they were leaving other team's stadiums with whatever they could stuff in their gym bags, just to prove they had indeed shown up.

But the reason for the glut of stolen bases (it is true, as it turns out) is simple, and it's wearing one long red sleeve. Rookie centerfielder Jacoby Ellsbury spent the first few months of the season running circles around opposing pitches and catchers, disrupting the rhythm on the mound the minute he reached first base. I still remember a few instances where he'd swipe second and third - on consecutive pitches. Just nasty.

Continue reading "Stop Sign"