TATB Live: World Series, Game 4

I'm rooting for more than the Red Sox tonight; I'm rooting for the story, and I imagine you know exactly what I mean.

As appropriate as it might be for ace Josh Beckett to pitch the clincher tomorrow night, if you have a sentimental bone in your body, you want Jon Lester to be the one to deliver the Red Sox their second World Championship in four seasons a few hours from now. We all know that a year ago, the young lefty had far greater concerns than throwing a baseball. Now here he is, a 23-year-old cancer survivor poised to pitch a game we will all remember. Something tells me he's up for the challenge.

Other pregame notes: Trisha Yearwood sings a lovely anthem. For the record, I'm pretty sure she's not a Beckett ex. She looks more like Gagne's type . . . In the Fox pregame, Kevin Kennedy sagely notes that the Sox have some good young homegrown players (I'm pretty sure he first heard of Jacoby Ellsbury around this time last night), Joe Girardi offers a non-denial denial on whether he's the Yankees' next manager, and Jeannie Zelasko wrestles the last chocolate coconut donut from Mark Grace's grasp. The more I see of this crew and the nitwits on ESPN, the more I appreciate TC and the Eck . . . The great Fred Willard, reading the Sox lineup: "David Ortiz, no designated hitter, he wants to play first base, YOU TELL HIM NO!"

All right, let's get this done, the less drama the better. As much as I dearly miss my angst and a lament my lost identity as a Sox fan, for as much as I secretly enjoyed the stomach-churning, soul-crushing misery inflicted upon me by Grady Little in '03, I suppose I could live with a sweep, a sequel to "Faith Rewarded," and chance to watch Papelbon make a fool out of himself during the victory parade. Yes, I suppose I could.

FIRST INNING
Ellsbury slaps Aaron Cook's second pitch into left field for the a double. In a related note, Coco Crisp catches himself daydreaming about how he'll look in a Braves uniform next season.

Cook is the Rockies' version of Jake Westbrook, an occasionally effective sinkerballer, but he hasn't pitched since August 10. The Sox shouldn't lack for baserunners. It's a matter of converting them into runs and taking the Rockies out of it early. (Wow, that was Tim McCarver-like wisdom there, was it not? Excuse me while I take a swig of Metamucil.)

Well, there's one. Ellsbury smartly advances to third on Dustin Pedroia's grounder to the left side, and David Ortiz makes it 1-0, Sox with a rocket through the right side of the drawn-in infield. Manny bounces into a double play to end the inning, but the Rockies definitely have to be left with a "here we go again" vibe.

Rockies go down 1-2-3 in their half. I'd be glad to write that sentence, oh, eight more times tonight.

My 3-year-old daughter just came out to give me one more hug goodnight, yell her patented "GoRedSoxGoRedSoxGoRedSox!," and remind me to "drink your beers." Right now I'm feeling an odd (and surely misplaced) sense of pride.

SECOND INNING
Cook breezes through Mike Lowell, J.D. Drew, and Jason Varitek in order. It's funny, this is one of the few nights during the postseason that I haven't been at the Globe, and while we have the game on in the office, obviously we're too buried trying to make first edition to pay attention to the nuances of the telecasts. So, having just noticed this, I have to ask: Does a commercial break pass without the fake camaraderie of a Budweiser ad or a completely uninteresting promo for "House"? I guess I shouldn't be surprised.

Todd Helton, Mr. Rockie, leads off with a rocketed double to left. Ellsbury cuts it off and seems to have the ball just after Helton hits the first base bag, but he still beats the throw comfortably to second base. Yes, I think the Rockies have paid attention to the scouting report on the kid's arm. Let's just say he's going to follow in the Damon/Crisp tradition of noodle arms in center field, though his is slightly stronger than both of theirs - his throws reach home plate in seven hops rather than eight.

I've said it all along: David Ortiz is not a bad first baseman. Sure, he has the range of Mo Vaughn after a KFC Snack Bowl bender, and playing D takes a fierce toll on his knees . . . but he has excellent hands, and has Jeff Suppan can tell you, his throwing arm is strong and accurate for the position. I mention this, as I'm sure you know, because he just made a smooth scoop to spare Julio Lugo a throwing error. Youkilis wouldn't have done it any better.

After Ryan Spillborghs (whom I like a lot as a fourth outfielder-type, but whom Rob Dibble killed on 'EEI the other day) flied to center, Lester fell into his maddening habit of nibbling, and walked Brad Hawpe, who has been atrocious in this series. He slips out of it without allowing Helton to score, however, getting hot-hitting Yorvit Torrealba to ground to Lugo for the third out. I should note that Lugo made his two best defensive plays of the season last night, has been steady all postseason with the glove, and is even swinging the bat well in the series. If he and Drew keep this up, Theo's second-guessers are going to have no one left to complain about. (And I include myself among them.)

THIRD INNING
Cook gets the Sox in order again, retiring Ellsbury on a slow grounder to Kaz Matsui to end the inning. So far, the Sox have just two hits. Don't know about you, but I'm starting to miss Josh Fogg.

You think Papi really plays badminton? And if so, does he call the thing a "birdie" or a "shuttlecock"? These are the kinds of questions Tina Cervasio should be asking.

Gah. And now we have our first episode of the Manny In Coors Field Adventures. Matsui rips a liner to left that, oh, 90 percent of major league left fielders would probably catch. Unfortunately, Manny is in the other 10 percent, and it soars just past his reach and rattles around for a double. All of the statistical measures that I'm aware of say Manny is a horrendous defensive player, and while I happen to think he's made himself at least an adequate Fenway outfielder, this play gave us a sense of how much his home park masks his lack of range. (Part of it, I think, is that Manny has only one speed: ambling.)

Lester whiffs Troy Tulowitzki for the second time tonight. I saw the Rockies a lot this season on the MLB.com package (in part because they're so damn fun to watch as far as NL teams go, but mostly because I had Matt Holliday in a semi-lucrative fantasy league), and I think between here and in my Fox column I've made my appreciation for Tulowitzki apparent. You watch him play for any length of time, you can't help but think he's a bigger, rangier, less metrosexual version of Derek Jeter. The kid is going to be the Colorado cornerstone for the next decade. Now, that said, this series for him thus far can be filed under Learning Experience. To put it another way: The shortstop in the Boston dugout has been much better, and that's not something we've said about Julio Lugo, well, ever.

(And while I was writing Tulowitzki's biography, Lester whiffed Holliday. So far, so good, kid.)

FOURTH INNING
As Pedroia leads off the inning, Ken Rosenthal (who I hope to meet someday at the FoxSports company picnic, just to see if he really is three feet shorter that Eric Wedge, as it appeared during an ALCS postgame interview) tells us that Pedroia refers to his at-bats as "the laser show" and that his cockiness is an "endless source of amusement" to his veteran teammates. It really is a tribute to Pedroia's ability and "I'll-show-you" attitude that he could be such a vital part of this lineup and clubhouse after looking so overmatched in April. If you don't like Dustin Pedroia, you don't like the Red Sox. (By the way: Pedroia could definitely call Rosenthal "little fella.")

Pedroia grounds out, Papi pops out, Manny lines out, and I'm really beginning to become suspicious of this Aaron Cook character. Just where has he been the last two months, anyway?

Francona, when asked during those usually insipid in-dugout interviews what Lester's pitch count is tonight: " 'Bout 180." The dry wit (teetering on sarcasm) is a tremendously underrated aspect of Tito's appeal.

Joe Buck usually oozes smarm, but I have to admit, he's made a couple of good points tonight, especially in noting that the 2004 Sox might have had more talent than this team, but that the '07 version is set up for the future much better than the veteran-laden Idiots were. I hadn't thought of it that way, but he's right.

Lester retires the first two hitters, walks Spillborghs, then gets Hawpe on a popup to end it. Very, very impressive. If he keeps this up, he might be pitching Tim Wakefield into retirement.

FIFTH INNING
Good things happening. Lowell leads off with a double into the left field canyon. Drew grounds out without advancing the runner, but Varitek follows with a ground single to right, and DeMarlo Hale sends Lowell despite Hawpe's cannon. It looked like it would be a bang-bang play at the plate, but Lowell makes a beautiful slide and touches the plate with his hand for a 2-0 Boston lead. If there's any justice, upon returning to the dugout Lowell was greeted by Theo holding a three-year, $39 million contract offer.

We always hear that Lester is one of the purest athletes on the team, one of those three-sport-captain types who shoots an 85 his first time on a golf course and can dunk a basketball while wearing street clothes. But he doesn't particularly athletic with a baseball bat in his hands, and he fails to get a bunt down in three tries with two on and one out. Ellsbury follows by striking out (the Rockies have apparently figured out he'll fish for the low-and-in stuff), and we might consider this the first real lost opportunity of the night.

SIXTH INNING
See, this is where I really miss my angst. The Sox have a 2-0 lead, hardly insurmountable, and Manny Delcarmen, who has spent the postseason wearing a wide-eyed, "Holy bleep, I can't believe I'm pitching for the Red Sox in the playoffs!" look on his face, is warming up in the bullpen. If this were, say, 2003, I'd be chomping my fingernails and wondering how they were going to lose this one. Instead, I'm nursing a Shipyard Pumpkinhead, casually typing in my inanities here, and fully expecting that somehow, the Sox will be celebrating in Denver tonight. If enjoying this likable, well-run, winning baseball team means we've lost our identities, well dammit, I hope we never find them.

By the way:



Dude, I know. I don't believe it, either.

Pedroia, Papi, and Manny hit three straight ground outs, Cook is cruising, and I sure hope Lester can give them another easy inning or two.

All right, now I'm a little nervous. (IT'S NOT ANGST, LOBEL!!!) After retiring Holliday and Helton on, what, four pitches, Lester walks Atkins on a 3-2 count, and that after it looked like he had struck him out on ball three. I'm not going to question Francona's decision to remove Lester for Delcarmen here, because heaven knows Tito is managing circles around everyone this postseason (just as he did in '04). It's just that Lester has been so good, and Delcarmen so shaky lately, and . . . Delcarmen blows Spillborghs away. Tito, I hope I get the chance to buy you a beer someday so you can tell me how you keep a clear head (figuratively as well as literally, I suppose) with nitwits like me second-guessing you at every turn. Hey, did I ever mention I wanted the Sox to hire Glenn Freakin' Hoffman after Grady was sent back to Hillbillyville? I didn't? Well, let's keep it that way.

SEVENTH INNING
Lowell, solo homer, 3-0 Sox. PAY. THE. MAN. And that does it for Cook, who induced 13 groundball outs and did everything the Rockies could have asked for given his inaction the last two months.

Says Buck: "What a night for Mike Lowell. This could be his last night in a Red Sox uniform." You think so, Nepotism Boy? Well, aren't you going to be surprised when Theo presents him with a four-year, $52 million contract offer between innings.

Jeremy Affeldt in for the Rockies. I have never understood why this kid isn't a consistently excellent big-league pitcher - he has some wildness issues, but he has an unbelievable arm, and he's a lefty. I'd rather have him than every single Javier Lopez ever to play in the big leagues. (Official TATB Sportswriting Binky Joe Posnanski had a melancholy anecdote about being dazzled by Affeldt one hopeful spring day during his Royals days in a recent blog post.)

Lonestar does a fine countrified rendition of God Bless America. By the way, didn't they play at the Red Sox kickoff dinner that NESN showed three times a day in April? I wonder if the Rockies are aware of their dual loyalties. (And no, none of them dated Josh Beckett, either. That I'm aware of.)

Affeldt does the job. Nine outs away.

Well, here we go. Hawpe takes Delcarmen deep to cut it to 3-1, and I hate to say it, but you could see it coming. When Delcarmen is wild high, it's because he's overthrowing . . . and he's wild high right now. As the Sox infield coverges on Delcarmen to settle him down (Papi was particularly animated), the Fox cameras show Mike Timlin and The Hero In The Dark are up in the bullpen for the Sox. I wonder how many outs Okajima and Papelbon are capable of getting tonight.

Delcarmen retires Torrealba on a flyout, then Cory Sullivan singles, and that'll do it for the pride of Hyde Park. Timlin is coming in, and while he had nothing last night, I have faith in him in this situation that I didn't have in Manny D. This might be one of those situations were experience and poise is preferable to pure ability.

Sit, Matsui. Huge whiff for Timlin. Now he must get Tulowitzki, because Holliday as the go-ahead run is an absolutely terrifying thought.

Bless his 41-year-old, slopballin'-huntin'-fishin'-possum'-killin' soul, but Timlin whiffs Tulowitzki on a 3-2 pitch, and that right there is why Tito was so loyal to Timlin when he looked cooked in April and nitwits like me were urging the Sox to move on. That may have been the pivotal moment tonight, and just as he did so often in the '03 and '04 playoffs, Timlin came through.

Remember all the times I said Tulowitzki reminds me of Jeter? Still does.

EIGHTH INNING
This clown . . .


. . . leads off as a pinch hitter with an absolute moonshot to left, and it's 4-1, Sox. Hey, we always heard Bobby Kielty mashed lefties. He sure picked a swell time to finally show it.

Rosenthal jumps in with perhaps the first worthwhile "breaking news" report by a sideline reporter in the history of television: Alex Rodriguez will turn down the Yankees' five-year, $150-million offer and opt out of his contract, the alleged reason being he is concerned with the direction of the Yankees.

Buck and Rosenthal are speculating that A-Rod may be with the Sox next season, especially if Lowell isn't back. I'm sure I am looking at this with sentiment rather than logic right now, but screw A-Rod; Mike Lowell belongs on this team, not him. Slappy's made to be a villain. And by the way, you're telling me Boras didn't plant this story for this precise moment? He can't put a price on the publicity. I might think he was trying to steal the Sox' thunder, but since it makes the Yankees' look bad, I'll look at it as a rich dessert after a delicious meal. It's not necessary, but it sure tastes good.

Okajima in for the Sox. Bless him for his warrior mentality, but he has to be exhausted. His arm must feel like he spent the past five seasons pitching for Joe Torre.

Holliday grounds out (0 for 4), but Helton pokes one to left (he's a perma-helmet away from being John Olerud at this point), bringing up Atkins with one out. Huge batter here.

Dammit, I shouldn't have said anything. Atkins, who was long overdue, tees off on a 3-1 pitch, cutting the margin to 4-3. That's all for Oki, who I have a hard time faulting considering it seems like he pitched a high-stress inning or two every single day all summer and fall. Anyway, here comes Papelbon. Does he have five outs in that right arm tonight?

Spillborghs is making Papelbon work. It's imperative to keep him off base with Hawpe coming up . . . and Spillborghs grounds to Lugo as I'm pecking that out.

Hawpe, after at least one hideous swing, hit it on the screws to left-center . . . and did I mention that Coco Crisp is in as a defensive replacement, with Ellsbury moving over? Three outs to go. A couple extra runs wouldn't hurt in the top of the ninth, however.

NINTH INNING
Two outs, top of the ninth, one run lead, and Joe Buck is conceding everything to the Sox, calling them "the standard by which all other teams are measured - including the New York Yankees." It's a lovely sentiment, it really is . . . but can we save the freakin' bouquets until there are three more outs, please? At least McCarver is silent. Must have dozed off again.

Tek grounds to Jamey Carroll (who looks like Mike Piazza's Mine-Me), and to the bottom of the ninth we go . . .

Torrealba. Pedroia. Two outs to go.

IS THERE A DOCTOR IN THE HOUSE? SOMEONE PLEASE RE-START MY HEART! (Seriously, if that's Manny out there, I say Carroll's ball Cansecos off his head and we have a tie game. Also, I'm pretty sure what I feel for Jacoby Ellsbury right now is how my sister felt about Simon LeBon when she was 12. Or maybe it was Nick Rhodes, can't remember. God, I'm so nervous I'm having "Tiger Beat" flashbacks.)

Seth Smith. Swinging. Strike three.

Game over. Series over. Red Sox win.

Also . . .

WHHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(No, seriously.)

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-
OOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!

(For the record, the only angst I feel right now is that I didn't buy a friggin' couch in April.)

* * *

So my little boy, 14 months, just woke up, something that may or may not have had to do with the gutteral howl that came from the living room. Curiously, the same thing happened when his big sister was eight months old and the Sox had just ended 86 years of disappointment, agony, and yes, angst. Like I did with Leah three years ago, I brought Alex out, pointed to the TV, and said, "The Red Sox just won the World Series. Someday, that will mean a lot to you." Oh, this victory doesn't lift a burden or end any fictional curse or shut up that #*$**$ Yankees fan that's been on your case for years, but go ahead and try to tell me the joy doesn't wash over you just the same.

I'm Globe-bound the next few days - I keep hearing something about a special section - but I'll be back in the next few days to crank out TATB's annual season wrapup. Given that I started this site in large part because I regretted not having an outlet to write about the magic of '04, I promise that when I get the story of 2007 posted, it will be done right. In the meantime, I'm going to pop open that last Shipyard or two or six, lean back on the couch I wish I had replaced eight months ago, and savor this. I imagine I'll throw a few more notes on here in the next hour or so, but if you're checking out to go celebrate, I just want to say thanks for joining me tonight, and always. This - this - is why I do this. -- CHAD

* * *





POSTGAME STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS WHILE CHUGGING BEERS, FLIPPING CHANNELS, AND SAVORING THE CELEBRATION: Mike Lowell, World Series MVP. All right, six years, $84 million, but that's the final offer. (Seriously, he'd better be under contract by the time he boards the duck boat.) . . . Just caught Gammons talking about Jon Lester's performance tonight. I thought he was going to cry, and I can't blame him. I agree with the commenter on this post: That's the best game Lester ever pitched. I had my doubts about this kid before he got sick, wondering if his failure to trust his stuff would hinder his ability to live up to his talent. After all he's gone through - and how he came through it - how can anyone ever doubt him about anything again? . . . The 2004 team will always mean the most to me - you know what they say about never forgetting your first. But this one is special in its own way, and anyway, that comparison is for another day. One of the truly unique aspects of this team is the impact of the young players. Pedroia is going to own the city - he's a Dirt Dog with actual talent. Ellsbury is a jolt of electricity. We know what Lester accomplished tonight, and Papelbon has been established for so long that it almost feels like he was here in '04. Theo's dream of a "player development machine" has become a reality . . . NESN just showed footage of the '04 celebration, and I swear on a holy stack of media guides, Royce Clayton was in the middle of that one too . . .I've said it before, and I'm guessing a lot more of you agree with me now: There's no one else I'd rather have managing the Boston Red Sox than Terry Francona. He's now 8-0 in the World Series and 22-9 in the postseason. He's Joe Torre with a little bit of an edge and a knack for handling a bullpen. He's the right man at the right time in the right town. That "Francoma" b.s. has always been born from the miniscule minds of morons. I hope he never has to hear it again. It's time he got the universal appreciation from Sox fans he deserves . . . Timlin just brought Wakefield to the verge of tears, interrupting the knuckleballer's interview with Don Orsillo to praise him for being such a selfless teammate. Nice gesture by Timlin, and it clearly meant a lot to Wakefield. They're getting emotional in their old age . . . Julio Lugo and J.D. Drew are World Champions. Chew on that for a minute. And you know what? The way they played the last seven days, they damn sure deserve it . . . All right, I'm officially gassed, in a delirious way, of course. But before I go, I'll sign off with the sage words of an old friend, the most optimistic Sox fan I know (he knows who he is):

FIRE UP THE DUCK BOATS!!!!

(And to all, a good night.)

(P.S. - How'd the Pats do today?)

And kingdoms rise/And kingdoms fall

If you came here this morning expecting some sort of semi-coherent preview on the Sox/Angels series, you can find my best attempt at that over here. Gotta push the paying gig first, peeps.

As for a brief elaboration . . . well, I guess it's just funny, considering how many words I spent the last few months of the season whining and worrying about the Sox' postseason prognosis, that I'm feeling strangely fine about their chances in this series.

The Angels' John Lackey is a legitimate ace with an accomplished postseason resume, but he's also 1-6 with a 6.27 ERA against the Sox in his career, and I don't think he's capable of matching Josh Beckett, who I get the sense is on a freakin' mission to duplicate his '03 heroics with the Marlins. This is his chance to cement a legacy as Boston's next great ace, and he knows it.

All things considered I've got a pretty good feeling about Dice-K in Game 2 (assuming Tito keeps him on a short leash to prevent his patented walk-walk-homer meltdown), and I think the Angels are the one team in the playoffs with an offense distinctly inferior to Boston's, especially with Vlad Guerrero apparently held together by athletic tape nowadays.

I say Papi adds another moment to his personal postseason highlight reel, Dustin Pedroia, J.D. Drew, and Jonathan Papelbon each take a turn in the hero's spotlight, and the Sox win the thing in 4.

(As far as that other AL series goes: Go, Tribe! . . . obviously. I know it's perhaps the greatest rivalry in sports, but I've had a enough Sox-Yankees playoff drama for one lifetime, thanks.)



And just for a touch of a good karma, here's a random YouTube video from a long-ago PawSox game that includes footage of Butch Hobson, Chico Walker, and a giddy Mark Fidrych. If a mention of that trio of TATB favorites can't bring good vibes to the Sox tonight, nothing will. (Oh, and Dave "Spaghetti" Righetti? Seriously, announcer guy?)

It's gonna be ecstasy/This place is meant for me

Orioles broadcaster Jim Palmer won 268 games in 20 seasons in the major leagues. He was enshrined in Cooperstown in 1990 on the first ballot. He knows more about pitching than he does about jockey shorts.

So when, as the story goes, he banged on the glass to the Red Sox radio booth in the third inning last night to inform Joe Castiglione that the 23-year-old on the mound for Boston reminded him of himself, it was confirmation enough that, yes, Clay Buchholz has the substance to match the hype.

Six innings later, Buchholz and Palmer had the same number of career no-hitters: one. Baseball symmetry sure is funny like that.

So now we know why Palmer, hardly an easy grader of young pitchers, was smitten after watching Buchholz for a mere three innings. Now we know what the summer-long buzz in Portland and Pawtucket was about. Buchholz made the Orioles look like castoffs from the Altoona Curve, striking out nine, walking three, and becoming more impressive the closer he got to completing the 18th Red Sox no-hitter and the 21st by a rookie in baseball history. He was dazzling, dominant, pick your own adjective. Nope, it was not a bad second big league start at all.

While this "feat of Clay" (as the Globe headline put it after his first start; fits better this morning don't you think?) puts Buchholz on the radar of fans who aren't "Baseball America" subscribers, a no-hitter is no guarantee of future greatness - or even of future mediocrity, really. Anyone seen Mike Warren lately? Hello, Bud Smith, are you out there? But there's a reason I've yowled since he was overmatching Eastern League hitters back in the spring that this kid can help the Red Sox this season: this is no ordinary phenom. As Buchholz demonstrated time and again last night, he owns three top-notch major-league pitches, including a drop-dead changeup, a curveball that might rival Josh Beckett's as the best on the staff, and a fastball with that little Maddux-style tail that cuts back over the outside corner to a righty. His command can go on the fritz on occasion, but he has a repertoire to win in the majors immediately - I'll let you decide whether we should call his stuff "filthy" or merely "electric" - and it became apparent, as Fenway rocked and rollicked in the late innings, that poise and composure are also among his attributes. There is no doubt that he can give the Red Sox the boost Jonathan Papelbon gave them in '05, the boost Joba Chamberlain and perhaps Ian Kennedy are giving New York now.

Hell, he already has . . . and while I'm not a huge believer in "signature" wins, we all know that this couldn't have happened at a better time. The Sox had lost four in row, including three straight to the rejuvenated Yankees in the Bronx. Cleanup hitter Manny Ramirez has an ominous oblique injury, Tim Wakefield's back is acting up, Tito Francona is being forced to play "Project Runway" in the middle of games, and the days don't seem to be coming off the calendar fast enough. They needed this.

The question, as it was happening, was would they get it. The cynic in you thought Millar, that rascally ol' Cowboy with such a history here, would be the one to spoil the moment. Or maybe Jay Payton, the sour clubhouse lawyer and the only veteran player we know of to wear out Francona's patience, would ruin the party. But the Orioles, who seem intent on setting a franchise record for humiliating losses this season, went down with a whimper, Nick Markakis looking at the final, physics-defying breaking ball of the night.

Cue the pandemonium on the field. Which reminds us - Buchholz wasn't the only Red Sox who should be basking in this. Sure, no-hitters go into the record books as a solo effort, one name recorded forever in the small type. But we all know they are often a team accomplishment, and such was the case last night. Coco Crisp, who is playing such a consistently graceful/dazzling center field this season that he's giving ol' Gammons flashbacks of Paul Blair, typically made several difficult catches look routine. And Dustin Pedroia, the underestimated rookie second baseman, made the play that will be featured in NESN promos for the next 20 years, diving to his right spear Miguel Tejada's skidding rocket in the seventh inning, rising to throw out the hustling Oriole, then punctuating his web gem with a fine choice of expletives. Or maybe he just said, "Buch, yeah!"

Either way, Pedroia earned the right to enjoy the moment, for it made the night's bigger moment possible. Clay Buchholz: two starts, two wins . . . and one no-hitter. Amazing.

He's set the bar pretty high for his third start, no?

Do not bat this man second

First, the praise: I admired Jerry Remy as a kid, and still do. He was the speedy second baseman on those late-'70s Sox teams that hooked me for life, the Fall Rivah kid living the dream. And for all of his huckster tendencies as a broadcaster, he's a superior analyst to every last one of the national nitwits, and he gets bonus points for bringing out the personality in Don Orsillo, who we still suspect is really a vinyl-covered automaton programmed to repeat old Sean McDonough soundbites at the appropriate times.

So, yeah, I'm staunchly pro-RemDawg. It's just . . . well, I recently discovered that he was a really bad offensive player. I mean, really bad. How really bad? Let's put it this way: Remy's career OPS of .655 is exactly .004 points lower than Alex Cora's. I think I understand Remy's verbal fawning over Cora now. Remy might be built more like Dustin Pedroia, but he knows Pedroia has more pure hitting ability than he ever did. He sees his reflection as a player in Cora.

Now about those stats - they're about as attractive as Tawny Kitaen's mugshot. (Click at your retinas' risk, Coverdale.) I first became aware of them a week or so ago when the Hollywood Sports Guy made a crack about Remy's career OPS, and I checked them out further while doing some research for this week's Fox column on the feeble '75 Angels, who hit 55 (yes, 55) home runs as a team. You probably knew that Remy hit just 7 career homers in his 10 seasons, since he jokes about it often with the OrsilloBot. But did you know that he had a career OPS+ of 82? That he was in the top 10 in caught stealing four times, including 21 times against 34 successes with the '75 Angels? That he was in the top 10 in outs four times? That his on-base percentage was .327? That his slugging percentage was .328? Not only was he unproductive, but he was remarkably inefficient.

Don Zimmer did a lot of indefensible things in '78 (running off the Buffalo Heads, playing a woozy Dewey Evans, starting Bleepin' Icewater Bobby Sprowl, sticking with injured, scatterarmed Butch Hobson . . . ah, hell, you get the point), but batting Remy and his .321 on-base percentage in the No. 2 spot in front of Rice, Lynn, and Fisk might have been the dumbest. It's like Zimmer had a metal plate in his head or something. It's a wonder his egregious lineup construction didn't lead to him getting taken hostage by a 10-year-old Rob Neyer.

I realize it was a different game then. The ballparks were bigger, the ballplayers were smaller, and second base, save for the great Joe Morgan, the criminally underrated Bobby Grich, and a couple of others, wasn't regarded as an offensive position. Second base was for the gritty, gutty gamers, the runts and the bunters, the pre-Ecksteins, if you will.

Which explains, I suppose, why Remy, despite his puny numbers, accomplished enough in his career to be rated the 100th-best second baseman of all-time in The New Bill James Historical Baseball Abstract. (Hey, to be ranked in the top 100 ever at anything is a compliment, even if Remy comes in 21 spots below Yankee punchline Horace Clarke). Wrote James:

When Remy was playing for El Paso in 1974, he wondered aloud if he would ever make it to the major leagues. His manager, Dave Garcia, overheard him and said, "Listen, do you know who is playing second base for the Angels?"

"Denny Doyle," said Remy

"Who runs better, you or Denny?" asked Garcia

"I do," said Remy.

"Who throws better?"

"I do."

"Who hits better?"

"I do," said Remy.

"Well then," said Garcia, "you're going to the major leagues."

Remy took Doyle's job with the Angels in '75 . . . then replaced him in Boston after coming over in a deal in the winter of '77. So it's all relative, right? There are a lot of second baseman who were worse than the 100th best. Doyle's on that list, somewhere.

* * *

Other notes scribbled in the margins:

• Considering he's the NFL's fourth all-time leading rusher, you'd think Curtis Martin's retirement this week would have merited more attention. I guess there's no time to appropriately salute one of the classiest and accomplished players in recent league history when a certain network's NFL airtime is alloted entirely to a flashy but second-rate quarterback's cruel way with animals. Fortunately, Newsday's Bob Glauber hit the mark with this tribute; Martin's quiet grace, on the field and off, was overshadowed in this day and age in which police lights and the spotlight are often indistinguishable. Even if his football legacy is mostly with the Jets, I'll always remember him as one of my favorites for his three terrific seasons with the Patriots. It's funny to recall now that early in his rookie season, after he scored the winning touchdown against the Browns, Bill Parcells warded off the media hype by saying, "Don't put the kid in Canton quite yet, fellas." Who would have thought then that the Hall of Fame eventually would beckon?

• I might as well say it, because it's become the truth: When Papi comes to the plate with the game hanging in the balance in the late innings, I'm no longer confident, let alone certain, that he's going to come through. And that makes me sad, in a melancholic sort of way. I'm not ready for that era to be over yet.

• Who's NOW? I mean, you're kidding me, right? Bob Ley must weep for what ESPN has become.

• Nice of Wily Mo Pena to tantalize us with his breathtaking, maddening talent once more before he departs. Or did last night's performance and Nick Cafardo's nice piece Thursday about how hard he works and how much his teammates believe in him give you pause about giving up on him now?

• Well, it sure looks like the wheels are coming off my Mark Teixeira-for-Jon Lester bandwagon. The offer Atlanta supposedly made to Texas for the 27-year-old slugger includes catching phenom Jarrod Saltalamacchia (another player the Sox should covet), and I doubt Theo Epstein could trump that offer without including Clay Buchholz, who should not and will not be going anywhere. Teixeira is exactly what the Sox need (check out Mike Lowell's career first- and second-half splits and try not to cringe), but at the moment, the price seems much too high to make it happen.

* * *

As for today's Completely Random Baseball Card:



"Man, that job-stealing Remy punk is really starting to *&%^ me off."

Of course, Chris House is glad he's in Detroit

A few quick items while trying not to wonder what exactly "intestinal turmoil" entails . . .



I know I wasn't the only one playing the What-If game while watching Gary Sheffield pummel Red Sox pitching the last few days. Sheffield, as I'm sure you recall, last season expressed a desire to play for the Red Sox, which likely was a huge factor in Yankees GM Brian Cashman's decision to pick up Sheffield's option and trade him to Detroit rather than allowing him to defect to the the enemy. You have to wonder if Sheffield would be playing right field and batting fifth for the Sox right now (rather than J.D. Drew, whose ineptitude is even ticking off mild-mannered Joe Castiglione these days) if only he'd kept his mouth shut about his intentions. Perhaps it's because he has such a disdain for the Yankees now, or perhaps it's his fondness for Boston (something Michael Wilbon should take note of), but I kind of get a kick out of Sheffield these days, and I'd love to see him on the Sox. He's my kind of crazy.

I'm not worried about Manny yet. Slightly concerned in a Jim Rice-circa-'88 sort of way, but not worried. Nope, not yet.

Man, it drives me nuts when the Sox can't touch Todd Jones. His ERA just recently fell below 6.00, his K/BB ratio of just about 1 to 1 is atrocious for any pitcher, especially a closer, and he's got the same repertoire of slop that he had when he spent the summer of '03 getting lit up for the Sox.

Not only was I wrong about Dustin Pedroia, but I have to admit he's becoming one of my favorites. Tony Mazz hit it right on the sweet spot in the Herald this morning: Pedroia is Tanner Boyle from the Bad News Bears. In case you forgot, he's the shrimpy blond kid who yells at the Yankees (of course) after they beat the Bears in the championship, "Hey Yankees, you can take your apology and your trophy and shove it straight up your (three-letter synonym for Steinbrenner)." I can see Pedroia doing the same, can't you?

Jeff Bailey, meet Andy Dominique. Andy Dominique, Jeff Bailey.

Been meaning to say this for a while, but John Rish does a fine job on the Red Sox radio postgame show. He knows his stuff, is uncommonly reasonable, and best of all, has a low tolerance for the Budweiser-soaked morons who make up 80 percent of Mike Adams's callers. WEEI could use a few more like him.


Yes, I admit I had more fun writing this week's FOX column than usual, something that the talented guys at Yanksfan vs. Soxfan seem to have figured out. I actually thought the column would generate more of a reaction than it did from the Bleacher Buttafuoco types, but I guess they probably need someone to read it to them in order to get upset.

As for today's Completely Random Baseball Card:


This is the player I expect Jacoby Ellsbury to become.

Hoping to be back tonight with a look at where the Sox stand and where they may be heading, including my suspicion that they may pull off a trade no one sees coming, so be sure to check back in . . .

TATB Live: Sox vs. Big-Head Barry

Two thoughts before we dig in here:

1) Barry Bonds is going to hear it tonight, and you, me, and Henry Aaron know he deserves every last boo. But I only hope Sox fans lean toward the creative side rather than the obnoxious side, because I get the sense certain Bonds apologists (boo-yeah!) are just waiting to say Boston disgraced itself in its treatment of baseball's most accomplished walking pharmacy. Go ahead and let him have it, Sox fans . . . but stay classy in doing so. Slowly climbing off soap box . . .

2) Dave Roberts is going to hear it tonight, and just as he's the polar opposite of Bonds in terms of personality and character, his reception will be the polar opposite of Bonds's as well. You surely need no reminded that his stolen base in Game 4 of the 2004 ALCS is perhaps the defining moment of that cathartic postseason, and other than his return for the ring ceremony in 2005, it's the first time he's appeared on the field at Fenway. Here's hoping his ovation blows away the Dr. Charles-orchestrated salute to Trot Nixon a few weeks ago. Without Roberts and his fleet feet, we might be talking about an 89-year drought right now.

All right, time to score some runs for once and get a win . . .

FIRST INNING
Roberts is leading off, and he looks genuinely touched as 37,000 or so Sox fans salute him in unison. (Though I have to admit, I thought the ovation would last longer.) Of course, while he's one of ours when it comes to all the highlight films and misty watercolor memories, he reminds us that its the Giants who keep his bank account full these days, singling to right off Julian Tavarez and coming around to score on Mark Sweeney's double into the corner. It's 1-0, Giants, and so much for sentiment.

Randy Winn grounds to second, moving Sweeney to third (they're so fundamentally sound in the NL) and bringing up Bonds and his size 24EEEEEEEEEEEE head. The reaction was pretty much one massive group boo, but it was hardly of the vicious Get-the-bleep-out-of-here-you-cheater nature the WEEI banshees led us to believe would take place.

Bonds pops weakly to Pedroia, who holds Sweeney at third. Guess who forgot to put his HGH on his pancakes this morning?

Tavarez heaves a one-hopper past Varitek, Sweeney trots home, and its 2-0, Giants. Just the start the Sox needed. Has A-Rod homered tonight yet?

Considering the over/under on the amount of runs the Sox would score tonight was probably one given the way they've been swinging the bats, this has to be considered a fantastic start. J.D. Drew gets brushed by a Barry Zito pitch, and wee Dustin Pedroia follows two pitches later with shot into the Monster seats, tying it at 2. By the way, is it obvious that my jokes about Pedroia's height are a pathetic way of trying to mask the fact that I was completely wrong about the kid? It is? Shoot.

Well, this is just a wonderful development. Papi argues a called third strike, slams down his bat and helmet on the way back to the dugout, and promptly gets tossed by home-plate umpire Tony Randazzo. As much as I hate to say anything negative about Papi, there's no denying he deserves this. First, the pitch was a strike, and second, it seems like he's never taken a called strike that he didn't complain about, which means he's probably getting the reputation as a pain-in-the-you-know-what among the umpires. And frankly, getting tossed from a game at a time when the Sox' offense is struggling and their lead in the AL East is shrinking by the day is inexcusable. He should be better than that.

Remy sums up the developments so far with his usual succinctness: "Plenty of action already tonight, with Bonds nearly hitting a home run [he just missed wrapping one around the Pesky Pole], Pedroia hitting a home run, and Ortiz getting tossed from the ballgame." If I've said it once, I've said it 1,000 times. There's just nothing like the Sox-Giants rivalry.

SECOND INNING
You know, I like to think I follow baseball pretty closely, especially now that I have the gig at Fox. I devour Buster Olney's blog daily, follow the minors like a "Baseball America" junkie, watch "Baseball Tonight," pretty much everything you'd expect. So it pains me to admit that I have no freakin' idea who this Schierholtz kid is that's currently at the plate for the Giants, and there were about a half-dozen guys one the Diamondbacks' roster last weekend that I wouldn't have been able to pick out of a lineup of baseball cards. Either I don't know as much as I think I do, or there are a lot of obscure players currently breaking through in the lesser league. I'm going to pretend that it's the latter, thank you very much. (And Tavarez, who I have heard of before, cruised through a 1-2-3 inning.)

Coco Crisp draws a two-out walk, but Julio Yugo grounds to third to end the Sox' half. I think my new policy is going to be to take my snack 'n' pee breaks during Lugo's at bats. (But not at the same time, sicko.) Good thing he's got only three years and $27 million remaining on his contract after this season. You're a sly one, Theo.

THIRD INNING
Roberts grounds to Pedroia to leadoff the inning as Tina Cervasio cuts in with a clip of Roberts talking about the warm reception and thank-yous he gets from Sox fans everywhere he goes - including, according to his anecdote, the bathroom. I don't imagine he's exaggerating - a buddy of mine ran into Roberts at a bookstore in San Diego a couple of years ago, and he couldn't pass up the opportunity to thank him for The Steal. My friend says Roberts was remarkably gracious, and told him a day doesn't pass when he doesn't encounter a Sox fan somewhere who wants to tell him how much 2004 means to him. As far as legacies go, that's surely not a bad one.

Tavarez works out of a minor jam (two-out double by Winn, intentional walk to the Human Syringe).

Upon further review, some nifty NESN split-screen camera work shows this Randozzo guy apparently had it out for Papi, peering at him all the way back to the dugout as if waiting for an excuse to run him. Says Remy: "If he had done that right around Randozzo at home plate, I'd certainly understand the ejection, no question about that. But that far away? C'mon, gimme a break . . . You can call that a homer call all you want, but that's the facts." As it is, Wily Mo Pena will be your DH for the remainder of the evening. Enjoy.

Drew singles (he's the present-day Rickey Henderson!), Pedroia reaches on a bobble by Sweeney, and Zito does the impossible and walks Wily Mo. So here's Manny, and isn't he about due for a two-homer, six-RBi night? Yes, yes he is. But he'll have to get the other five ribbies latee, because this time he bounces a fieder's choice to third to make it 3-2, Boston. It's probably worth noting that Manny was busting it down the line.

Youkilis hits into a double play to end the inning. Is it too late to take his name off the All-Star ballot?

FOURTH INNING
Benjie Molina of the Flying Molina Brothers leads off by hitting a one-hopper to Tavarez, who, against all odds, does not bowl the ball to first base, but actually throws it. Go figure. The Giants go down 1-2-3 again, and as usual Tavarez is giving the Sox everything they could ask for from a fifth starter.

NESN just showed Jon Miller, the ESPN Sunday Night Baseball play-by-play guy who is also the voice of the Giants. Maybe it's just my imagination, but he looks so much happier without Joe Morgan blabbering cliches and Big Red Machine anecdotes in his ear.

Ray Durham makes a nice play to throw out Coco on a roller up the middle, getting him in a bang-bang play at first. For some reason, I sympathize with Crisp in his current offensive struggles a lot more than I do with Lugo, perhaps because Crisp is actually doing something to help the team (Gold Glove defense in center) and seems anguished by his inability to buy a hit these days.

Lugo swipes second - his 19th without being caught, so I guess he is doing something to help the team - but this one comes with an asterisk. It appeared Zito had him picked off, but first baseman Sweeney threw to third to make sure Mike Lowell wouldn't break for home, and Lowell scurred back to third safely. Typically heady play by Lowell, and the Sox reap the benefits a moment later when Drew, who is apparently an amalgam of Rickey, Rock Raines, and Lou Brock as a leadoff hitter, ropes a two-run double over Roberts's head in center to make it 5-2, Sox. "Imagine if he finds himself as a leadoff hitter," Remy says with a laugh. Pedroia follows with his third hit of the night, scoring Drew to make it 6-2, prompting Orsillo to exclaim, "Here are the runs the Red Sox have been without lately!" Eloquent, Don-O, you vinyl-covered automaton. Vin Scully couldn't have put it better.

FIFTH INNING
Roberts pokes a one-out double to right, Sweeney bounces one to Youkilis for the second out . . . and then, wouldn't you know it, Tavarez busts out his mad bowling skills once again, fielding Winn's slow roller along the baseline and rolling it even slower to Youkilis for the third out. Francona looks like he just swallowed a wad of Copenhagen, but whatever works, right?

Sox go in order in the bottom half. Man, Barry Zito is going to be worth every dime of that $126 million, isn't he?

SIXTH INNING
Here's Bonds at the plate . . .

. . . and here's Bonds as an Alaska Goldpanner in, I believe, 1983.


Man, the dude really hasn't changed a bit.

Bonds bounces to second as Sox fans jeer him with what sounds like three or four different chants. The lack of cohesion is mildly disappointing. Maybe they should just go with the trusty old "steeee-roids" chant that used to greet Jose Canseco back in the day. Don't make it more complicated than it is, people.

Minor trouble brewing for Tavarez. With one out, Ray Durham singles, and moves to third on Molina's single. (By the way, I'm pretty sure that if they raced around the bases, Doug Mirabelli would lap Molina. The guy is so slow that time stands still when he runs.) But the Sox starter escapes, getting Schierholtz to ground to second. Pretty impressive performance tonight by Tavarez, especially given the team's semi-desperation for a win.

After third baseman Pedro Feliz punts Crisp's one-out grounder, Zito's night ends when Bruce Bochy gives him the hook. I don't want to belabor the point that this was a poorly-conceived signing by Brian Sabean and the Giants, but according to Bill James, Zito threw the second-most pitches below 80 mph in the AL last season, trailing only a certain local knuckleballer. My point: In terms of stuff and results, Zito barely resembles the young ace who went 23-5 in 2003. He's little more than a lefty junkballer now.

Drew, who is obviously the greatest Red Sox leadoff hitter since Wade Boggs was devouring chicken, Miller Lite, and Margo Adams, singles off reliever Randy Messenger to drive in Crisp, who had swiped second., and it's 7-2, Sox. It's like I've been saying, all the Sox need to get their offense going is to get that albatross Ortiz out of there. (Actually, I shouldn't even joke about a Papi-less lineup, should I? Bad karma - bad, bad karma. What say we scratch that joke from the record before the baseball gods get wind of it.)

Zito's final line: 5 1/3, 5 hits, 4 BB, 5 Ks, 6 ER. Hey, but at least the chicks dig him.

Now that's pretty baseball. With Drew running and the second baseman covering the bag, Pedroia pokes his fourth hit of the night through the vacated spot. Somewhere, David Eckstein is nodding his tiny transluscent head in approval.

Cervasio, who's due for a Murrow Award one of these years, has an exclusive with Ortiz's son, D'Angelo, who can't be older than 4. The kid's adorable, though a suspicious mind might note he looks more like Manny than he does his old man.

SEVENTH INNING
Another easy, breezy inning for Tavarez, though Remy points out that he seems to be limping and favoring one of this legs in his follow-through. No one in the Sox dugout seems particularly concerned, however.

Sweeney makes the final out of the inning, and I just want to drop a name Simmons-style here and note that he was a year ahead of me at UMaine and is a hell of a good guy. Which, come to think of it, is probably one reason why he's managed to last 13 years in the big leagues despite hitting .257 with just 41 career homers. I think even Bonds likes him.

Manny (who walked) is having a typically good old time chatting with Omar Vizquel while standing at second base. What are the odds that he remembers they were teammates for seven years in Cleveland? Fifty-fifty? In all seriousness, with the benefit of hindsight, it's astounding those Cleveland teams never won a championship, though I suppose they have Jose Mesa and Tony Fernandez to blame for that, as well as a pitching staff that never really had an ace. But those Belle-Thome-Manny Era lineups were so ridiculous, Manny sometimes batted seventh. (And while we were giving you Tribe flashbacks, the Sox get nothing and like it.)

EIGHTH INNING
The Sox have a new pitcher, and Remy dutifully informs us that "Okajimer" hasn't worked since the Sox were in "Arizoner." If anyone wonders why he doesn't have a national gig other than for reasons of his own volition, that classic Mass accent is probably why.

Bonds greets Okajima with a single. Must have rubbed some cream and the clear on the ol' Louisville Slugger between innings. (Sorry, pervs, but that's not a euphemism.)

Crisp singles to left off Jack Taschner, whom I couldn't pick out of a bullpen full of generic middle relievers. He appears to be lefthanded, however, which means he'll probably pitch another 20 years.

Two runs, eight Ks, 6.1 innings from Roger Clemens-Waldman tonight . . . um, not that I'm scoreboard watching or anything.

Drew just hit another one on the screws that Roberts ran down in center field. We joke about the whole leadoff thing, but he really does seem to be swinging the bat well lately, even if he hasn't always gotten the results. Yup, I suddenly have some hope for him - when he's been healthy, the guy has always hit.

Pedroia drills his fifth hit into the left-center gap, driving in two more runs (his fourth and fifth RBIs of the night), making it 10-2. And like I told you guys all along, the kid is going to make it no matter what all the numb-skulled naysayers claim. (Oh, okay, I'll admit it - I WAS WRONG! DOES THAT MAKE YOU HAPPY? I THOUGHT HE'D BE AS EFFECTIVE AS A LAWN GNOME! INSTEAD, HE'S A 1/16 REPLICA OF ROGERS HORNSBY! I WAS WRONG! AHHHHHHHHH!!!

All right, Manny's been lifted from the game, which is my cue to check out as well. But before I go, I offer you one more parting shot:


Give the guy a great hand tomorrow, too, Sox fans. For a priceless moment like the one he gave us, it's the least we can do.

TATB Live: Sox vs. '62 Mets

The rain has stopped after a half-hour delay, the Sox have taken the field, A-Rod has finally arrived after a delightful afternoon with a worn-out peroxide case at the Foxy Lady . . . and I've got the laptop, the clicker, and am fully prepared to be glued to the couch for the next three hours. So let's play ball already. But before we get this thing going, a few quick thoughts:

• The Sox's lead over the Yankees in the American League East is 13.5 entering tonight. Come Sunday night, here's hoping it's at 16.5 and Joe Torre wakes up Monday morning to learn that the classy New York tabloids are demanding Georgie Porgie roll some heads. Sox fans have been waiting a lot of years to spend a nice summer without concerning ourselves with the Yankees. Don't waste the opportunity now - win tonight, win tomorrow, blow 'em out Sunday, and stick a fork in 'em for the rest of the year. Who needs the drama besides the 'EEI banshees?

• I always think of Tim Wakefield as something of a Yankee killer, perhaps because of his efforts in the 2003 and '04 postseasons (Aaron Boone excepted), but he has a 7.84 ERA against the Bombers this season and has won something like one of his last eight starts against them. My point: Now would be a real good time to start living up to his reputation.

• I'm beginning to realize that Derek Jeter's barely concealed disdain for A-Rod actually reflects pretty well on the captain. Who knew that judging a person's character was an intangible?

All right, to the ol' ballyard . . .

FIRST INNING
. . . and while we're still writing pecking out our lame intro, the Yankees go 1-2-3, with Mike Lowell throwing out Captain Jetes on play right out of the Brooks Robinson Gold Glove Handbook. Not a bad start for Knucksie.

Here's one of those wasted early opportunities that sometimes come back to haunt you. The Sox load the bases with two outs on a walk by Papi, a single by Manny, and another walk to the rotting corpse of J.D. Drew, but Lowell grounds to One-Step Range Jeter to get Chien-Ming Wang off the hook. Seems to me he's one of those guys who tends to settle down if you don't get to him early, so this might be one we're lamenting later.

SECOND INNING
Tom Werner is seated alongside Christie Brinkley. If they're actually a couple, then that's a major upgrade from Katie Couric. In baseball terms, that's like trading Milt Pappas for Frank Robinson.

A-Rod's leading off the inning. Surprisingly, he does not come to the plate to the strains of Motley Crue's "Girls, Girls, Girls." He works a walk. By the way, would it be cruel to suggest that Mrs. A-Rod is a first-team member of the Butterface All-Stars? ("Yeah, dude, her body's hot, but her face . . .") It would be? Okay, then let's just say A-Rod always does what he can to ensure he's the prettiest one in the room.

Wakefield is threatening to turn this one into a blowout early, and not the way we'd hoped. After A-Rod's walk, he whiffs Jorge Posada, but Robinson Cano, one of the main culprits in the Yankees' offensive underachievement, cranks one into the rightfield seats to make it 2-0, Yankees. Bobby Abreu (the Yankees' version of J.D. Drew) then doinks one off the wall, and Wakefield walks the next three hitters (including Benedict Damon with the bases loaded), to make it 3-0, Last-Place Team. Fortunately, Jeter hits into a 6-4-3 double-play on the first pitch he sees to limit the damage. Intangibles!

Dustin Pedroia pokes a double to right, putting runners at second and third with one out, and I have to admit the little feller is winning me over. I still wonder how he gets away with swinging like a righthanded-hitting Reggie Jackson up there, but what's going on with him right now seems to follow the pattern of his entire career dating back to college: he struggles at first in adjusting to each new level, but eventually he gets comfortable and becomes a very productive hitter.

After Julio Lugo plates Coco Crisp with an RBI groundout to cut the lead to 3-1, Kevin Youkilis works a walk after taking a ball three that everyone in the ballpark the home plate umpire thought was a strike. That's the kind of respect you get when you're hitting .354 and have a 22-game hitting streak. Papi, who has jokingly referred to himself as Ichiro during his recent power outage (16 games without a homer), Suzukis one to left to score Pedroia. Then Manny follows with one of his patented yup-he's-locked-in ropes to right to load the bases, pulling his incredulous how-did-you-not-score? comedy routine when he sees Youkilis still standing at third. Unfortunately, Manny is probably right in wondering why DeMarlo Hale didn't take a chance, considering that Drew is up next, and Drew pops to third to kill the rally, just as you, me, and Manny expected he would do.


THIRD INNING
One out, and here's A-Rod again. Got an email from a reader this morning suggesting Dr. Charles and the Red Sox production team should play the snippet of the seagulls from "Finding Nemo" chirping "Mine! Mine! Mine!" on the scoreboard every time he prances to the plate. I suppose I'm not doing it justice if you haven't seen the movie, but hey, I thought it was a clever idea. However, the Sox fans in the third base boxes apparently had their own creative ways of taunting A-Rod tonight - there are a lot of dudes wearing masks with a blonde woman's face. Whatever it takes, I guess. Of course, the best way to get to him is to make him look like a fool on the field, and Manny does just that, playing A-Rod's wall ball perfectly and making his trademark, oddly effective quick-release throw to nail him by five feet at second. It must have been a long walk back to the dugout, though at least he got to check out what he must have thought were some hottie blondes on the way. Anyway, it's an easy inning for Wakefield.

Doug Mirabelli is now a sizzling 2-for-his-last-23 after singling to left past A-Rod (still checking out the masked blondes) and Jeter (still shooting hate lasers at A-Rod). Crisp, who reached on a fielder's choice and swiped second, holds up at third, and the Sox have something brewing.

Pedroia, a gritty, gutty little gamer whom you'll recall I've championed all along, doubles to left, and it's 3-3. Also, Hideki Matsui plays left field like he's blindfolded. Just thought I should mention that.

Don Orsillo, my favorite vinyl-covered automaton, mentions a stat that everyone's been repeating the past few days . . . and damned if its not one that's worth repeating again. When Roger Clemens gave Suzyn Waldman the most pleasure she's had in years by - goodness gracious! - showing up in Steinbrenner's box, the Yankees were 5.5 games back of the Sox. Four weeks later, they're 13.5 back, which means they've lost two games per week in the standings since the Rocket's announcement. Man, I do love that stat.

FOURTH INNING
So I abandon my post here at the keyboard for a minute to help Mrs. TATB put the kids to bed, and I come back just in time to see the Yankees, with the bases loaded already, take a 4-3 lead on a wild pitch. Time to get Wakefield out of there, and don't let me ever mistake him for a Yankee killer again.

Wakefield's still in there, one out, and the Yankees lead, 6-3, now. I rarely have a beef with just about anything Terry Francona does, but seriously, what's he waiting for? It's apparent that Wakefield doesn't have it tonight, and worse, it's one of those nights where, typical of a struggling knuckleballer, he's giving away runs (he's walked in one, another scored on a wild pitch, a third on a passed ball). Don't let this one get out of hand. Get Kyle Snyder in there.

And after another walk . . . here's Snyder, about four batters too late. I knew he was pitching well, but I have to admit, I didn't realize he had a 1.53 ERA. Not too shabby for a long reliever.

Snyder hits A-Rod (unintentionally, we're sad to report), bringing up Posada, who promptly rips a three-run double into the left-field gap, blowing this one open at 9-3. It's a six-run inning, the Yankees have batted around, and Wakefield ends up charged with eight runs in 3 2/3 innings. Not quite what we had in mind at the beginning of the night.

An eight-pitch inning for Wang, who's helped by Manny double-play grounder, his team-high, Rice-in-'87-like ninth of the season. Drew also grounds to second. At this point, he should change his number from 7 to 4-3.

FIFTH INNING
Uh-oh. Lowell, who was hit by a pitch earlier in the game, is replaced by Eric Hinske. Given that Lowell leads the Sox in homers and RBIs, it's fair to say his absence for any length of time would be damaging. Here's hoping it's just precautionary.

I keep hearing how Bobby Abreu looks indifferent at best these days, but man, I don't think the Sox have gotten him out since he came over from the Phillies. He just clanged his second double of the night off the wall. And who said the Yankees weren't hitting, anyway?

Just as Lloyd Bridges once picked a bad day to stop sniffing glue, I apparently picked a bad day to start liveblogging the Sox. (Snyder just walked Melky Cabrera, the Yankees' seventh freakin' free-pass of the night.) So we're going to change gears a little bit here if/until the Sox get back into the game and comment on a few peripheral Sox-Yankees items.

• Seems like every time I read about one of Mike Timlin's rehab appearances at Pawtucket, he's giving up a run and a couple of hits per inning, which has done nothing to alter my suspicion that he's cooked. I appreciate him for all he did from 2003-05 (he was as guilty as anyone for what happened last August, IMO), but it's because of those watercolor memories that I worry Francona will be tempted to use him in crucial situations, something he hasn't been able to handle for some time now. I'm not saying I think he should hang it up . . . but it might not be the worst thing, just to save Tito from the temptation.

• Looks like Jason Giambi might be done for the season after injuring his foot "circling the bases" against the Blue Jays. I'm guessing "circling the bases" is a euphemism for A) "getting his foot shattered by a Selig henchman" or B) "sticking the needle in so far that it chipped a bone," but the way he was going, this might be a blessing for the Yankees anyway. It gives them the chance to play Cabrera regularly in the outfield while DHing Damon, Abreu, or Matsui, which probably makes them a better defensive team while keeping the old dudes' legs reasonably fresh.

• Is it me, or has Jerry Remy seriously toned down the pimping of his RemDawg trinkets this season? Wonder if he got a talking-to from Dr. Charles. Probably woke up one morning to find Wally the Green Monster's severed head in his bed.

• I don't care what he low K-rate suggests. If Wang can stay healthy - and judging by his minor-league track record, that's a big if - he can be a very successful pitcher for years to come. That sinker is an incredibly effective out-pitch, and it's not like he's a slopballer - his radar-gun readings reach the mid-'90s. I'm not going to hold it against him because he's uncommonly efficient.

• Papi's on pace for 29 homers. That's hardly lousy, but it makes you wonder how much those hamstrings are bothering him.

• After Wakefield's performance tonight, I officially consider Julian Tavarez the fourth starter.

• I usually forget to mention these things here, but while I think of it, my latest column on FOXsports.com is up, just as it is every Friday. Check it out if you get the chance.

• Quick note from the game: Torre just got tossed after the third-base ump blantantly blew it and called Bobby Abreu out on an attempted steal of third. My question is this: Why's he stealing third in a 9-3 game? That strikes me as something A-Rod would do. Also, Drew has left the game with a hamstring strain. There are no words for what a flop he has been so far.

• Even though he has just six fewer RBIs (31) at the moment than he had all of last year, I still don't get the Sox front office's fascination with Julio Lugo. He's played better than expected at short, but he's a mediocre offensive player who isn't getting on base nearly enough from the leadoff spot. Tell me again what was wrong with Orlando Cabrera?

Well, we're in the eighth now, it's still 9-3, Yankees, Remy and Orsillo are getting giggly, and it looks like the Sox lead over New York will be 12.5 in tomorrow's newspapers. I guess that 16.5 thing isn't going to happen after all. But I do want to mention, before I sign off for the night (assuming there is no miracle comeback in the works), that even if the Yankees sweep this series and cut the Sox lead to 10.5, I am entirely convinced that the Sox will win the American League East this season. There is zero chance that the Yankees can re-enact their comeback of '78, for one reason more than any other: Terry Francona is a far superior manager to Don Zimmer. He knows how to handle a pitching staff and manipulate a bench, he doesn't bury quality players with petty grudges, and he'll pace his regulars over the course of the season so they aren't deep-fried come September. Futher, this Sox team is much more well-rounded than the '78 crew that had a fearsome lineup, no bench (see: Frank Duffy), and a mediocre starting rotation after The Eck, while these Yankees, with their endless pitching question marks and aging core, are vastly inferior to the Guidry-Gossage-Reggie club that went 100-63 that season. The only people that think this severely flawed Yankees team has a chance to make up 12.5 games over the Red Sox in the coming months are the same ones who refuse to admit that the events of October, 2004 changed the dynamic in this rivalry forever. The Sox are better, and assuming there is no deluge of injuries, the final standings will confirm as much.


Postscript:As Remy just noted, things just got interesting for the rest of the weekend. With one out in the bottom of the ninth, Youkilis just got drilled in the shoulder by Scott Proctor (pitching for the 2,838th straight game), and Youks, who extended his hitting streak to 23 earlier in the game and thus probably figures he shouldn't have to put up with such b.s., started heading toward Proctor as the benches emptied. Proctor was ejected immediately, arguing the dismissal vehemently, and it appeared Posada was trying to convince Youkilis that the near-beaning was accidental and not retaliation for Cano getting hit in the top half of the inning. Whether it was intentional or accidental, it's fair to say that the odds of A-Rod getting a faceful of Varitek's glove tomorrow just increased exponentially.

Nine innings: 05.28.07

Playing nine innings while looking forward to the Yankees' trading-deadline fire sale . . .

1. Think Dr. Charles has anything appropriately cheesy planned for Trot Nixon's return to Fenway Park today? Maybe have noted baseball songsmith Terry Cashman crank out another silly, simple tune ("The Dirty-Hat Ditty," perhaps?). It certainly seems like NESN intends on playing up the Trot angle tonight, from a pregame one-on-one interview with Tom Caron to having ol' No. 7 miked up for some goofy batting-practice banter. Who knows, maybe they'll even bring back Brian Daubach for a reunion with his old partner in grime. While we here at TATB never quite understood why Nixon was such an unconditional darling of the Dirt Dog crowd (from flipping the second out into in the stands twice to failing to hustle home before an inning-ending out could be recorded at another base twice, he always seemed to run neck-and-neck with Manny for the team lead in boneheaded plays), we always respected him for his sincere appreciation of playing in Boston, his big-moment ownership of Roger Clemens, and the fact that he was One of the 25, and the one who happened to deliver the big hit in the clinching game. No, he may never have been our favorite, but today, we will tip our dirty Sox cap his way. After 13 years in the Sox organization, we owe him that much.

2. Kevin Youkilis is batting .353, he has seven straight multi-hit games, a higher OPS than sluggers named Morneau and Teixeira . . . and you know what? I'm beginning to think he's actually this good. It's funny, but the scouts who were skeptical of Youkilis as he rose through the Red Sox system noted that for all of his patience at the plate, they didn't think he was a skilled enough hitter to always make the most of it when he did get a hittable pitch. Well, here we are three years after Youkilis first arrived in the big leagues, and it seems like the guy never misses his pitch - he's a line-drive machine. I realize he got off to a similarly scorching start last season before wearing down in the second half, but I've seen enough to be convinced that he's ready, at age 28, to put up excellent numbers all season long.

3. There are a few things about Dustin Pedroia that annoy me - the swing-from-the-heels approach to hitting, the sense that his tough-guy gripe about A-Rod's slide comes from an incurable case of what my dad used to call "little man's disease" - but I have to admit, he's winning me over as a ballplayer. He's better than advertised defensively, certainly superior to rangeless predecessor Mark Loretta, and if his classic at-bat against Eric Gagne yesterday is a fair measure, there are very few pitchers who will overmatch him despite his unorthodox uppercut swing. I'm not sure I like him yet, but I'm beginning to appreciate him.

4. Well, I guess Pedro Martinez won't be getting a bedazzler for Christmas. If you missed it, the greatest pitcher in modern Red Sox history recently weighed in on the comeback of the second-greatest pitcher in modern history, and Pedro's opinion was basically this: Right now, Roger Clemens looks like a fat, old junkballer. To which we can only say that we hope Pedro is as good a scout as he is (was?) a pitcher.

5. Speaking of Pedro, and to a lesser extent Johnny Damon, it might be time to give Theo Epstein his due for the unsentimental manner in which he refuses to overpay for the club's popular but aging stars. Pedro, of course, crumbled physically in Year 2 of his four-year deal with the Mets, and the years of playing with reckless abandon sure seem to be taking a heavy toll on Damon in his second season with the Yankees. We're not saying Pedro and Damon are finished as premier players . . . but at the moment, Theo looks shrewd for letting them leave. Kinda makes you wonder what his post-2007 plan for Curt Schilling is, doesn't it?

6. Brief Celtics aside: I vow that in 2017, when the Celtics inevitably stink and the next franchise big man (Shazaam O'Neal?) is the prize of the NBA lottery, I will not get caught up in the hype or daydream of said franchise big man in green and white until David Stern's nerdy underling pulls the Celtics' card out of the envelope as the No. 1 pick. The crushing letdown from realizing Tim Duncan, Greg Oden, or Kevin Durant will be some other franchise's grand prize is simply too much to endure again.

7. Brief Patriots aside: Since I've been telling anyone who will listen that we never would have heard of Bryan Fletcher had Junior Seau remained healthy - the one thing he can still do at an elite level is shadow tight ends and running backs in pass coverage - you bet I'm glad the Patriots are bringing him back for another year of graduate school. In a supporting role, Seau's still a very useful player.

8. As if Red Sox fans needed another reason to adore Orlando Cabrera.

9. As for today's Completely Random Baseball Card:


PLoved this story by Joe Posnanski (for our money, one of the two or three best sports columnist in the country - he actually seems to like sports, go figure) on the legend of Bo Jackson. if you didn't see Jackson in his too-short prime, well, you missed something truly special, but Posnanski does a wonderful job of recapturing it, particularly with the Harold Reynolds anecdote. The only time I saw Jackson play in person was in the spring of, let's see, probably '89 or '90 at Fenway, when me and a bunch of my UMaine buddies made the four-hour drive down from the Orono hinterlands for the sole purpose of seeing him (and George Brett) play. As usual, Bo did not disappoint, smashing line-drive home run off Wes Gardner that dented the back wall in centerfield, about 20 feet from where we were seated in the bleachers. I've never seen anything like it - or anything like the man who hit it, for that matter.

Nine innings: 05.12.07

Playing a quick weekend edition of nine innings while waiting for Tito to take away Curt Schilling's internet privileges . . .

1. Josh Beckett is the most dominating pitcher in the American League. Tim Wakefield is on one of his unhittable hot streaks. Dice-K is showing the aptitude to make the adjustments required for him to live up to his reputation. And the bullpen has been the season's most pleasant surprise. I don't know how much of this is directly attributed to the work of new pitching coach John Farrell, but I will say this: His staff is making him look extremely competent right now.

2. The more I see of Dustin Pedroia, the more I think the comparison to Jody Reed is spot-on. Pedroia, like the former Sox second baseman (1987-'92), is a small, slow-footed converted shortstop who nonetheless has more pop than you'd expect. Reed made a habit of scraping fly balls off the Monster, averaging 43 doubles from 1988-90, and Pedroia, whose unorthodox swing-from-the-heels approach generates a ton of fly balls, looks like he might have the same knack.

3. Enough will the foolish suggestion that he could handle center field for any length of time should Coco Crisp suffer another injury. Wily Mo Pena is absolutely the worst outfielder I have ever seen at catching - make that attempting to catch - fly balls. And if he's charging a ball that's still in the air, forget it - just hope stays in front of him after clanging off his glove, or chest, or forehead. Mark my words: He's going to Canseco one off his coconut and into the stands before his time in Boston is done.

4. All right, I'll cut to the chase: If Roger Clemens fulfills the media's daydream-du-jour and makes his first '07 start at Fenway Park in the Sox/Yanks series June 1-3, I'll order one of his wife's unbelievably tacky sequined Yankees jean jackets - yes, you read that right, and A-Rod undoubtedly owns a closet full of them - and wear the "bedazzled" disaster to work every day until the AL East is clinched. My point: Why does everyone forget that a season debut against the Sox is just the kind of high-pressure event that Roger historically dodges?

5. Nick Markakis, the Orioles' second-year outfielder, put on a show against the Sox tonight, rapping four hits while robbing Jason Varitek of what looked like a possible home run. It won't be last time the Sox get beat by this kid - it's damning with faint praise considering the Orioles' player development failings, but Markakis is already the best young position player they've come up with since Cal Ripken Jr. 26 years ago.

6. Roy Halladay, out four-to-six weeks with appendicitis? Might as well start the firesale now, J.P. Ricciardi, because baseball season in Toronto is officially O-V-E-R.

7. Ken Griffey Jr. hit his 569th career home run tonight. Considering that the perception around baseball is that Junior's achievements are on the level - unlike some of his oversized contemporaries, he hasn't mysteriously improved in his mid-30s - I say that's a greater accomplishment than anything soon to be on Big Head Barry's resume.

8. Quick programming note: TATB, in its ongoing quest for world domination, is now linked up with Boston.com, a development we're pretty excited about for obvious reasons. (You can find us on the Red Sox page. Just scroll down a little, and there we are under Nation On The Net.) The only likely change around here is a positive one: I'll be more diligent about writing regularly, given the obligation and opportunity that comes with the new association. Also, we'll have better snacks in the break room. Anyway, for those of you have been coming here since I had something like 30 readers a month, thanks for spreading the word, sticking it out while we found our voice, and making good things happen for the site. Your contributions to this are greatly appreciated.

9. As for today's Completely Random Baseball Card:



Because you can never go wrong with Dewey.

Nine innings: 05.09.07

Playing nine innings while feeling a whole lot better about the Hanley Ramirez trade these days . . .

1. Okay, so maybe we went a little over the top with our Kinison-like rant in ripping Roger Clemens the other day. It's just that of all of the things about Clemens that aggravate us - the convenient "tweaks" when a game isn't going his way, his knack for shrinking when the moment calls for him to stand tall, his demand for more perks than any diva in Hollywood, his phony aw-shucks demeanor - it's the oaf's chronic dishonesty that bugs us the most. Why did he have to stand there in Steinbrenner's lair and, peering smugly at the Yankee Stadium peons below, try to claim that he's back with the Yankees because they so quaintly "came and got him out of Texas"? Why can't he just admit that it's about what it has always been about with him: THE MONEY, STUPID! There's nothing wrong with that, particularly in this day and age, and yet the disingenuous rube thinks he's fooling us by claiming it's about everything but the cash. Who's he trying to kid? Remember when his name came up in the Jason Grimsley case? His first concern was that it was going to cost him endorsements. He's made $100-something million in his career, Koby, Kielbasa, Klambake, Kareem, and all the other "K" kids are financially set for several lifetimes, and yet he's more worried about losing his five-figure gig pitching Preparation H than about how being pegged as a juicer would affect his legacy. And still, in the face of his transparent greed, he has the hubris to act as if his cause is something far more noble than further engorging his bank account. What a fraud. Let me just make one more point before I go ballistic again: Had the Red Sox somehow outbid the Yankees in this charade - and given the desperation in the Bronx, that was not going to happen - you know he'd have fed us a similar line of Texas bull about how much coming home to Boston means to him and all of that treacly, Dr. Steinberg-scripted nonsense. Would we have eaten it up? Well, I suddenly find myself looking forward to watching Randy Moss play for my favorite team after years of despising the guy, so in the spirit of the truth I'll admit that, yeah, I'd swallow a heaping helping of hypocrisy and probably cheer Clemens, even though I'd hate myself in the morning. Hey, we sports fans are suckers for sentiment. Just ask Roger.

2. Unless David Ortiz actually enjoys the WEEI-driven conjecture about his own enhanced performance since he became a Red Sox, he'd be wise to refrain from any further head-scratching proclamations that he doesn't believe Barry Bonds knowingly used steroids. We appreciate Papi's good (if ill-informed) intentions, but he must realize than any time a slugger of this era speaks up in defense of Bonds, he immediately becomes a target of steroid suspicion himself. As for a certain other Sox player who weighed in on Bonds Tuesday, let's just leave it at this: When Curt Schilling had his chance before Congress to opine on steroids' impact on his profession, he clammed up to the point that we half expected him to pull the Sammy Sosa No hablo Ingles routine. Please, spare us the sanctimony now.

3. The pining for Alex Cora to play every day has died down now that Dustin Pedroia has begun to look like he belongs, and that's a good thing. While Cora is certainly a valuable member of the roster - this isn't the first time I've said he's the best utility player the Sox have had in my lifetime, and it won't be the last - he's a 31-year-old who has a .246 average in 10 big-league seasons. As a certain local football coach might say, he is what he is. The Sox are wise to give Pedroia an extended chance, and should he prove incapable of handling it, Cora should remain in the reserve role in which he thrives, while someone out of the Graffanino/Grudzielanek/Loretta cookie-cutter is brought in to take the majority of the at-bats.

4. If you thought you've been saying, "Did you see that catch Coco made?" on a frequent basis lately . . . well, according to Bill James via Seth Mnookin, there's a good reason for that, and it's not because you're suffering a flashback to that excruciatingly ubiquitous NESN commercial of a season ago. Crisp has been dazzling in center field lately, averaging roughly one Web Gem every other game or so, and at the plate and on the bases he's starting to look like the dynamic player the Sox coveted as Johnny Damon's successor. Hmmm, maybe he's going to thrive here after all.

5. You've probably heard this by now, but it's worth hearing again, because this hilariously shrill snippet of Yankee propaganda is so over-the-top that even Georgie Porgie mouthpiece John Sterling seemed taken aback. This will never get old. Heck, I'm putting it into heavy rotation on the iPod just to bring a little more comedy to my day. And for the record, I'm pretty sure Suzyn Waldman is what Glenn Geffner would sound like if he worked for the Yankees, idolized Liza Minnelli, and had a more masculine voice.

6. Toronto's Vernon Wells is becoming the Joe Carter of era, an outstanding all-around player who spends an inordinate amount of his time absolutely slaughtering Red Sox pitching. And like Carter, his predecessor by a generation as a Blue Jays signature player, Wells is an affable star whose ego has not swollen in proportion to his salary, as this fun story indicates.

7. Thirty-one games into his Boston tenure, Julio Lugo is the same guy I saw all those years in Tampa Bay: occasionally exciting, often erratic, and not someone you're terribly interested in having on your favorite team. I'm not going to go all Lobel on you and wonder why the Sox let Alex Gonzalez depart, because his currently stellar offensive numbers will be subpar once the summer is over. But I still don't understand Theo Epstein's fascination with Lugo, let alone for the 4-year, $36-million price tag.

8. Despite his Mark Clear imitation in his 2007 debut last night, we're going to stick by our binky and repeat our preseason prediction that Devern Hansack will be a valuable contributor to the Red Sox pitching staff this season. His command was clearly on the fritz last night; judging by what I saw of him last summer in Portland, that's highly unusual. Hansack is a strike-throwing machine with good movement on his low-90s fastball, a decent changeup, and a tight, sharp slider that is a major-league out pitch, as Frank Thomas found out last night. He's 29, with an unusual backstory and hardly the Baseball America pedigree, but you can hold me to this: Given a fair chance, Hansack will succeed in the big leagues.

9. As for today's Completely Random Baseball Card:



Macha, the less-than-beloved former A's manager who once employed Terry Francona as his bench coach, is the latest addition to NESN's cadre of studio analysts. The early verdict: Though he's got about as much charisma as a sanitary sock, he brings an insider's knowledge when he talks about players' strengths and weaknesses. We still wish The Eck had the gig every night, but Macha has the potential to be a decent second option.