Keith Testa's Boston Red Sox fan blog

Last night's ninth inning was almost an afterthought, what with the ejection of both Dustin Pedroia and an irate Orioles fan within about 10 minutes of each other. In fact, the eighth featured the home plate umpire barking into the Sox dugout, Pedroia chirping at both the first base and home umpire, Pedroia getting tossed and the Orioles fan jabbing back and forth with Coco Crisp before battles with two ushers and a pair of Red Sox fans on the way out of the stadium.

As Don Orsillo sarcastically quipped, "Have a nice night."

But after the chaos, something crucial and almost silent took place. Manny Delcarmen shut the door.

It's not exactly cause to hang "We love Manny" banners off the Zakim Bridge. Obviously, it wasn't a pressure-packed situation, and it wasn't a 1-2-3 inning. But it does matter. The night before Delcarmen had what pitching coach John Farrell called "dominant stuff" and yet he issued two walks that almost cost the Sox the game. This, unfortunately, has become the new definition in Beantown of "Manny being Manny."

Continue reading "The Manny we still have"

Trust me, it's only a matter of time before the above title becomes the "literary work" of a Boston Red Sox beat writer.

Allow me to set the scene: "The smell of steamed hot dogs and cheap beer wafts playfully through the air, and the distant ringing of a bullpen phone can be heard in the background. But my focus is singular: Only the man in front of me matters. Encased in a green cell twice as long as it is wide, surrounded by a gang of amateur musicians banging out tunes on water bottles and cleat picks, I hear only the pop of my catcher's mitt. I glare into the eyes of the focused closer as he prepares to fire another critical warm-up pitch my way ..."

It's not as outrageous as you may think. For among the most maddening of the residual effects of the Red Sox becoming a world-wide phenomenon is the glut of crappy works churned out by the horde that follows the team on a daily basis. Take a stroll through the sports library at your local Borders and you'll be bombarded by no fewer than 10 titles by previously unknown writers attached to the BoSox.

Continue reading "My Life Behind a Tiny Green Wall: Memoirs of a Bullpen Catcher"

  The divorce. It was inevitable, after weeks of torture and pain for both parties. It was sad, gazing back through the photo album of memories the two sides created together – two World Series championships, numerous All-Star games, and countless humorous vignettes. It was disheartening. But it was time. And finally, citing irreconcilable differences, Manny Ramirez and the Boston Red Sox officially separated July 31, 2008.

  It was your classic on-again, off-again relationship. There were moments were it looked all but over – the Joe Kerrigan era, trading deadline ’05, the last few weeks of the 2006 season. But just when one of them was about to pack their bags and leave a tearful note on the kitchen table, peace was miraculously found and tender hugs smoothed things over for a little while.

Continue reading "The Break Up"

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"

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"

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"

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"

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"

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"

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"