The Red Sox Lament
"It's the manager, stupid"
It's difficult to act mature when you are both a middle-aged adult and a lifelong fan of the Boston Red Sox. Why are you yelling "get Pedro out of there" at your TV set? You know BoSox manager Grady Little cannot possibly hear you over the screaming fans in Yankee stadium. Never mind. "C'mon, Grady. Your bullpen's been OK. They're hammering Pedro!!! Give him the hook while you've still got a lead!!!" Grady's not moving.
Perhaps switching from a cushioned chair to the rocker (hand-crafted in New Hampshire — part of Red Sox Nation) will help reverse your worst fears coming true.
A lot of baseball fans and almost all sportswriters are obsessed with statistics. I'm not. Maybe my aversion to following batting averages and slugging percentages is a result of being arithmetically-challenged, but I've seen enough baseball to trust my gut. I admire good pitching, smooth fielding and anybody's ability to hit a 90 mph fastball.
Thinking it over now, I might not have paid enough attention to baseball's managers. Until this week. In Chicago, the Cubs' Dusty Baker left one of his aces, Kerry Wood, on the mound too long, allowing the Florida Marlins back into their decisive game seven. (No, it wasn't Cubs fan Steve Bartman who was responsible for the collapse of the Cubs — but that's another story.)
In New York last night, it was Grady Little's decision not to take his ace, the brilliant and feisty Martinez, out of the game which allowed the dreaded, feared and, yes, even hated Yankees to rally and ultimately go on and beat the Red Sox. Yet again. For more times than I can count. Or care to remember.
With the Red Sox, it's always something, or someone. This year's team, I thought, (OK, hoped) would be different. There were stars like Pedro Martinez and Nomar Garciaparra and Manny Ramirez. Solid, gritty, day in, day out play from Johnny Damon, Jason Varitek, Bill Mueller, Kevin Millar, and Todd Walker. Clutch hitting from Trot Nixon and David Ortiz. Lots of home runs. Even stolen bases. And a pitching staff fans didn't have to fret over on a daily basis. Derek Lowe, Tim Wakefield, John Burkett, Mike Timlin, Scott Williamson all had a fine season. They even had a great, gung-ho slogan: "Cowboy Up." How unlike the BoSox of past decades.
Grady says he stuck with Pedro because he's the best pitcher on the team. Well, sure. Even fans in the suburbs know that. But we also know every pitcher — even those destined for the Hall of Fame — get themselves into jams, they get tired and opposing hitters figure out how to get their licks from fast balls, splitters and hanging curves. "Grady, get up! Get off the bench! Now! Please." He's still sitting there. OK. Pace. Move back to the cushioned chair.
Somehow, you knew (at least since 1918 you knew) it would come to this. The BoSox lead is gone. The game is tied. Finally, the call to the bullpen. Grady has to do what we all knew he should have done sooner. Make a manager's decision. Relieve the pitcher.
The rest is now part of baseball history. To Red Sox fans everywhere, Aaron Boone's middle name forever will be the same as Bucky Dent's. (Don't ask, this is a family-oriented Web site.) Boone, the unlikeliest of Yankee heroes, hits a home run, wins the lottery and gets a free pass to the Yankee hall of fame. He'll probably pick up a few extra bucks this winter giving motivational speeches about never giving up, but I digress.
It's the morning after, I have a headache and I'm looking for a silver lining, just a little piece of good news. Anything. About all I can come up with is I think I can safely tell my doctor no further stress test is needed. My heart has survived the Red Sox playoff series with the Oakland A's and the New York Yankees, both overflowing with cardiac moments. Doc, just one small question: How can your heart still beat after it's been crushed?
By Charles Wolfson