Bambino's Curse

¡Cubanismo! Out of Tune

I'll be the first to confess how much I wanted the Red Sox to get Contreras and how bummed I was that the Yankees signed him.

Let that be another lesson in what a fool's folly it is to make predictions in baseball. Contreras's career numbers against Boston: 0-3 with an ERA of 18.00 (20 earned runs in 10 innings).

You've got to wonder if on occasion have the deep pockets Steinbrenner has is actually a detriment, like the Yankees' Boss is the little old lady sitting on her nest fortune who is swindled for the whole thing by a con artist or Nigerian email scam.

Mel Stottlemyre taught Jose Contreras new mechanics to better disguise his pitches. But since you can't teach confidence and fortitude, Contreras remains a $32 million middle reliever - at best.

This is not what the Yankees needed. Not with sixth starter Jorge DePaula done for the year after Tommy John surgery, and Nos. 7-8 starters Donovan Osborne and Alex Graman so unappealing Torre is going with Javier Vazquez tomorrow on short rest. Not with Mike Mussina 1-4 and Kevin Brown 39 (Sherman, New York Post).

It's only April, but bear in mind the nascent leaves now bursting from branches above you are the same ones that will shade you in July and technicolor your world in October.

Grand Slammed (But Not Damned!)

You're not going to go soft on me now, right? No jumping ship. No tears.

No one said the hero's journey would be easy; if it were, we wouldn't have need of heroes.

And as for second guessing Francona? Whatev. What happened, happened. We don't need to have a 9/11 commission over this telling us "well if this …" and "if that …"

Let's move on. Yankees tonight.

Yesterday, the Yankees fan I most wish were a Red Sox fan, Michele, from A Small Victory, offered a challenge:

The first five Sox fans that donate [to Spirit of America] in the name of the Victory Coalition will be rewarded with a photo of me wearing a Red Sox cap/hat something of that nature.

Being a Red Sox fan who not only believes in the cause (Helping the Marines equip alternative TV in Iraq) but who also can't resist the chance to make Michele feel like she has cooties by wearing the Red Sox "B," was the first of in the line of five. Now we will await said photograph.

Speaking of payoffs, I'm still waiting for my copy of this year's Baseball Prospectus from the fellas at Elephants in Oakland over our wager last year regarding the ALDS. Don't make me go to Jerry Brown land and get all Derek Lowe on your asses! Heh heh.

Deliverance in Disturbances

The Red Sox continue to surprise and entertain us to the fullest extent. First we had barely familiar bench players coming through in the clutch, now we've got Mr. Mirabelli whacking two balls into what is becoming Terror Dome for the hometown Blue Jays, who've yet to win this season in their own crib.

Of course, we can't count Tim Wakefield among the surprised:

Three hours before last night's game against the Blue Jays, Tim Wakefield's personal catcher playfully cajoled reporters to pepper manager Terry Francona with questions about why he was batting eighth in the order despite having three hits, including a homer, in six career at-bats against Toronto starter Ted Lilly (Hohler, Globe).

Are we all smiles this morning? Oops, not everyone. Our favorite lovable curmudgeon Kevin Hench takes the Red Sox to task:

I can understand losing track of the outs in a late August game between the Tigers and Indians at Comerica. But how the hell do the Red Sox repeatedly drift into vapor lock in critical games against the team we most need to beat? In the span of 11 months, just off the top of my head, the Sox have had four separate outfielders lose track of the number of outs. Two of them have done it twice. And it is always excused and laughed off as “just one of those things.” Well, it’s “just one of those things” that should never happen and might cost us the game that keeps us out of the playoffs (Boston Dirt Dogs).

He's right, of course, though I'll confess to being in the "just one of those things" camp. It's not that I'm blasé. It's that I'm more from the Zen school of thought with respect to human fallibility. For example, had not Kapler so embarrassed himself with forgetting how many outs there were in that inning against the Yankees Monday, and had he not had such a strong desire to vindicate himself in front of his teammates, would he have had the wherewithal to hit the clutch single that brought in the winning run?

Who can say? That's the beauty of baseball, really. It's not perfect. As the Zen master D.T. Suzuki instructs,

Technical knowledge is not enough. One must transcend techniques so that the art becomes an artless art, growing out of the unconscious.

In life, especially baseball, cannot be look at events dualistically, dividing into black and white, perfection and error; life is more complex, and because it is more complex, it is worth living. (See related post from last year.) Baseball is no different; indeed, baseball is a reflection of life. That's why we watch it.

Sometimes, too, it is the imperfection itself that enriches the experience. For example, I had my iPod on total shuffle yesterday afternoon. This is something I (and many others in the cult of iPod) like to do as you just never know what will play next. (That's Zen in itself, really.) So yesterday it plays the Beach Boys "I Get Around," a song I hadn't listened to in years. And hearing it again, unexpectedly, caught unaware, if you will (the Zen "third eye" concept at work), I realized that the opening bass note is slightly out of tune, yet, that one note, in its "imperfect" state is what sets up the whole song in my head and sends me into my happy pop music euphoria vibe.

So I ask myself: Did a musical genius like Brian Wilson purposely want that bass note out of tune or did it get played out of tune during a practice session by accident and upon hearing it he had a "Eureka" moment?

In the end, of course, it doesn't matter. The song is the song.

So an ancient once said, "Attain deliverance in disturbances".
--Zen Master Kyong Ho [ 1849-1912]

Wearing the Red Shirt

Evidently, the fine folks north of the border aren't finding that Pedro Martinez has "lost it," eh?

The Boston Red Sox pitcher defeated the Blue Jays last night for the second time in two meetings, this time a 4-2 victory before 26,010 at the SkyDome.

Pitching for the second time against Cy Young Award winner Roy Halladay, Martinez held the Blue Jays to five hits and two runs, one earned, over seven innings (104 pitches, 67 strikes).

Martinez did not allow the Toronto runs until the seventh inning, by which time the Red Sox had provided him with a four-run cushion (Millson, Toronto Globe and Mail).

As The Soxaholix suggest, it's all about how cold it is or isn't regarding Petey. Which for some reason (I guess from reading characters speak) made me channel an imaginary episode of Star Trek the Original Series (STOS) regarding Pedro's weather related plight. If you're a regular reader, you know I'm a huge STOS fan. If you're not a big fan of that stuff, the humor in this dialog below will be lost on you …

Scene: A desolate planet with a purple, pink sky and four orange moons in the background. The wind howls. Odd shaped tumbleweed like flora blows by. Camera pans to the Enterprise landing party shivering in the cold and huddled around the limp and prone body of Pedro Martinez in a Red Sox red jersey [in Star Trek the "red shirts" always get capped -- ed.]

Dr. McCoy: He's dead, Jim.

Captain Kirk: [Melodramatically] No, Bones! He can't be. You must do something! Anything.

Dr. McCoy: Well, there's a chance we could bring him back if we could get him into a warmer environment.

Kirk: Bones! Yes!

McCoy: [Annoyed] But I'm a doctor, Jim, not a weatherman!

Mr. Spock: Fascinating.

Kirk: [still incredibly melodramatic, beads of sweat forming on his brow] Spock, what?

Mr. Spock: We could use the Enterprise's matter anti matter particles to create a temporary plasma entity over the planet, and then use the latent calefaction of the dilithium crystals to augment the atmospheric conditions.

Kirk: A sky dome?

Mr. Spock: Of sorts, yes.

Kirk: Scotty, can you do it?

Mr. Scott: [Shaking his head] I dinna no, Cap'n, but is'a worth a shot.

Kirk: [Extreme close up, saying each word deliberately] Must. Save. Pedro. Martinez. [Cue STOS intro music]

So, anyway, as part of the new theme this year of positive visualization and screw waiting for the other shoe to drop, I've also upped the ante with regards to my fan regalia. In the past, I've been fairly low key on bedecking myself with Red Sox branding — But no more. Last week I ordered another couple Red Sox t-shirts bringing my total to 7, one for every day of the week if I so choose. Today I'm sporting my fave, red one with the two sox logo. Gotta represent.

Slightly off topic, is The Shield the best show on TV or what? And you know Chicklis, the lead, is a consummate Red Sox fan, right? Everything is just falling into place. Now I just need one of the characters from The O.C. to be seen wearing a Red Sox cap or t-shirt and I'll know the heaven's are aligned …

You Don't Need Worry 'Bout Shoes Dropping When You've Got Your Sox On!

Previously, in seasons past, I'd be the the kind of fan who'd postpone celebrating for fear of jinx, for fear of the karma wheel coming around and going around, for fear of ghosts…

But this year, as part of the positive visualization thing, I'm done with that. Done with waiting for the supposed other shoe to drop. Screw that dirty, stinking other shoe, I say. Celebrate.

Waiting for disaster to strike, I'm now finding, is ridiculous. If bad things happen in October, so what? Today I'm laughing. Today I'm wearing my Red Sox heart on my sleeve for all to see.

Is it gloating, as some have said? Fercrissakes, no. It's pure joy. This is a bit, albeit a tiny bit by comparison, of an emotional reward for the way we conducted ourselves on, Black Friday, October 17, 2003.

Speaking of that heart wrenching Game 7, what if that was a test? A test to see if we really did drop our eternal cynicism and nihilistic belief that something bad always has to happen?

What I'm getting it is that last year things felt differently. Positive was in, negative was out. The whole "Cowboy Up!" inspiration was for real. Every game you felt, no, you knew the Red Sox could come back no matter how late in the game and no matter how many runs behind. Hell, we still believed the Sox would rally when they were two games down to Oakland in the ALDS. And rally they did.

And rally they did yesterday. Didn't you feel yesterday a continuation, a seamless joining with the emotions you felt right up until the 11th inning of Game 7 of the ALCS? I sure as hell did. The feeling is back stronger than it ever was. Like I said, perhaps last year was a gut check. A test to see if our belief was false, if after the disaster would we revert to our old cynical ways or would we continue to believe with body and soul?

I think it was.

So smile. Savor the feeling. It's only April? So what? Carpe diem. History has shown that there's nothing to be gained by being afraid to be happy after any win any month of the season. And when A-Rod goes 1-17 in a series, all the more reason to sing the body electric. Be not ashamed.

LISTEN, my children, and you shall hear
Of Bronson Arroyo, have no fear

So every Sunday afternoon I call my dear, sweet mother (and by sweet I mean in the Livia Soprano sense of sweet). Yesterday I called while the game was still on but the Red Sox were down and didn't appear to be coming back. This is a piece of the conversation between me and my mom:

Mom: [Sarcastically] How about your Red Sox. They ain't doing very good are they? [Note: It's always your Red Sox when they are down.]

Edw: [Defensively] Ma, they took the first two games from the Yankees. I'd say they're doing pretty good. Just today …

Mom: [Emphatically] Today they ain't so good.

Edw: [Rationalizing] Derek Lowe was rusty, otherwise …

Mom: [Scoffs] Rusty [said with thick derision] … At least he's not a bad as that Jesus Damon. I hate that man.

Edw: [Disbelief] Ma, you hate Johnny Damon? He's like one of my favorite players.

Mom: [Caustically] Until they get rid of that loser, they'll never amount to anything.

Edw: Ma, why do you dislike Johnny Damon so much? He's been on a tear hitting…

Mom: [Matter of factly] He's on drugs.

Edw: Ma, we've been through this many times 25 years ago or more … Just because someone has long hair and a beard doesn't mean they do drugs.

Mom: It's not the hair. It's the way he runs the bases. What the hell is wrong with him? He must be on drugs.

Edw: Ma, people make mistakes …

Mom: [Becoming increasingly agitated] What is he paid to do? Play baseball, right? He's paid to play baseball. He's a professional that can't run the base paths proper? He's a loser. And he's on drugs.

Edw: [Changing subjects quickly] Had dad had a chance to play golf yet?

That's my mom. And I bring this up just to show how deeply the cynicism runs. My mom will be 64 this week, but she's as cantankerous and bitter towards the Red Sox on any given day as anyone. And she's just a casual fan. I don't think people who didn't grow up in this sort of environment have any understanding of why Red Sox fans are the way they are. I've said it before, it's in the blood and it's passed from generation to generation. And in my experience, the cynical, "what have you done for me lately?" attitude is the default state.

My generally positive attitude doesn't come naturally and it certainly wasn't nurtured. It's a daily struggle to remain upbeat and optimistic.

And speaking of, I'm in such a good mood today, feeling fantastic that not only is it going to be 90 degrees, I'm also lucky enough to work at a job where I can wear sandals as part of my attire. Oh, yeah, and there is an 11am ball game against the MFY! Yes, and I'm sitting here now and will be for the next several hours just willing, using everything I've got, to will by mental force that Bronson Arroyo pitches a great game. Please join me in that determination, if you will.

Elsewhere, Beth, a frequent commenter to this site, has her own blog now. It's a good read. Not only is it always cool to see someone join the baseball blogosphere, it's especially cool to have more women's voices join the fray. I'm waiting for the day when a woman breaks into the so-called baseball blogger "A-List." I want to see a woman represented at All-Baseball or Baseball Prospectus or Hardball Times or all three and more. Only a matter of time I suspect.

The Happy Sundays

Hard to be happier than I already him, but this graf below does it:

"It feels good, but we still have a long way to go," said Ramirez, [ in the powder blue leather coat and Allen Iverson cap and] Iverson wristband to honor his favorite NBA player. "We're going to see those guys again in September, and then we'll see where we're at (Hohler, Globe).

Makes me chuckle to hear that Manny, a superstar in his own right, acts like any other fan in sporting the regalia of the Iverson brand.

And Manny is sagacious, of courses, in his caveat to enjoy these wins, but not let it go to our heads this soon.

Two recent comments from readers need additional focus, the first is this wonderful bit of symmetry:

Annette writes:

Here's an odd little fact (found in the bottom of this MSNBC article):

Schilling signed his first pro contract with Boston scout Ray Boone in 1986. Boone is the grandfather of Aaron Boone.

And Joe in Philly observes,

People at the game-but not watching the game has become an unhealthy obsession of mine. At the Baltimore/Sox game on 4/6 I was going crazy as people streamed up and down the aisle, regardless of what was going on in the game. Sure there's going to be people moving about, but this was an endless stream. What ever happened to sitting in your seat, or waiting at the top of the section, while the game is in progress. Then, at the end of the inning or a reasonable break in the action, taking your seat? Is anyone watching the game besides me? Hello, ushers.

This has always been one of my biggest fan pet peeves, and after attending the game in Baltimore on 4/6 as well, it seems to have gotten much worse since the last year even. And seeing it happen at Fenway of all places as Joe points out is particularly nauseating.

What happened to simply watching the game with near 100% focus? And it's not like we're talking about kids or even Gen Xers who supposedly have been "ruined" by MTV, video games, Q Tarentino et al and are culturally ADD. No, I'm seeing this same ants in the pants behavior from people who are in the 40+ demographic as well.

At the game I attended on the 6th at Camden, to the right of me, two fellows, both of them in somehow involved with news reporting and journalism, yacked the entire game about their inner office politics and their career progress thus far and plans for the future. I felt like I was at a job fair. The game was a mere backdrop, visual Muzak. And get this, at one point, one of these guys gets on his cell (with the headphones thingy) and starts going point by point with someone on the other end over suggested copy edits in some document of which he had a copy in his hand. Man, if you can't leave work for a few hours, don't bother going to the game.

Meanwhile, the guys on my left, in Red Sox caps all, were lawyers, and spent the majority of their time engaged in similar all work all the time chit chat about coming cases, judges, legal interpretations and so on.

Ironically, of all the people in my section, the ones besides myself who were most into the game, were the two guys I ended up having the fracas with at the game's end.

Finally today, if you take any sort of pleasure in seeing a vaunted member of the Boston Sports media verbally eviscerated, read Jonathan Yardley's review of Leigh Montvill's recently published biography of Ted Williams. Go ahead, read it. I don't even want to grab any pull quotes just so you can follow along and enjoy fully Yardley's metaphorical kick in the nuts. Ouch.