Saturday night's all right for fighting

Quick thoughts while wondering if Bridget Moynihan will get "Moving the Chains" from Santa . . .

• Carmelo Anthony is probably my NBA favorite player to watch. His image may be hip-hop, but his offensive game is decidedly old-school, especially his gorgeous high-arcing midrange jumper. And his immense talent is exceeded only by his charisma - the kid's got the easiest smile since Magic. So it is with some semblance of disappointment that I must admit the truth: Anthony a damn fool, and I put it that mildly only because I'm trying to avoid language that some might find offensive. The evidence that there's something sinister behind Anthony's smile has been mounting for some time now: His appearance in the underground "Stop snitching" video in his old Baltimore neighborhood was alarming at best, and he's had his share of maturity issues with coaches and teammates in Denver. But last night was the final piece of evidence necessary to convince this jury. There simply is no justification for his brawl-escalating sucker punch of the Knicks' Mardy Collins last night. A player of his stature should be above that. It's another black-eye for the league in the lingering wake of the unforgettable Detroit-Indiana brawl, it's going to devastate Anthony's when David Stern nails with at least a 10-game suspension, and it ruins what's left of his reputation as one of the league's signature players. What a fool. What a shame.

• I know they've won five in a row, and the never-ending Iverson rumors seem to have unified them as a team. Still, after watching Greg Oden do his man-against-boys thing today in Ohio State's decimation of Cincinnati, I'd just as soon the Celtics tank it, pray the ping-pong balls bounce their way, and position themselves to land the NBA's next great center. He's that good.

• My record of predicting Patriots games this season is about as pathetic as the Texans' won-lost record, so take this with a shaker full of salt, but . . . well, I'm nervous as hell about today's game. I worry that Vince Wilfork's absence will leave a massive running lane through the heart of the Patriots' defense. I worry that Andre Johnson will find the Patriots' decimated defensive backfield to his liking. I worry that David Carr will play at least as well as his fellow Class of '02 draft bust Joey Harrington did a week ago. And I worry about the ability of Tom Brady and the Misfits to move the ball with any effectiveness if Laurence Maroney and Ben Watson are in street clothes. Do I think the Pats will win? Even in their wounded and weary state, I'd never bet against them against a subpar opponent. But this game isn't going to be the automatic "W" it appeared to be when we first glanced at the schedule, and frankly, they could really use an easy one right about now..

• If you ever wondered why Gabe Kapler was so popular at Fenway despite his feeble production, well, we're going to pretend it's not because the chicks dug his pecs. Instead, we like to believe the reason he probably accumulated more standing ovations than homers in his Sox career is because Kapler understood and appreciated what it meant to wear the Red Sox uniform, and articulated that understanding and appreciation remarkably well. Consider his thoughtful comments upon announcing his retirement to take a minor league managing gig in the Sox system:

"I have been thinking about this transition for many years, and believe this to be the right time. This will afford me the opportunity to make an impact in the lives of young men, not only to help them develop as baseball players, but also more importantly, as human beings. I had ample opportunity to continue my playing career, but feel that I can give so much more as a manager and a leader. I feel this decision will be extraordinarily fulfilling to me personally and professionally and look forward to tackling the challenges that lie ahead. I am ecstatic that the Red Sox, which I think is the best organization in baseball, believe in me enough to give me this opportunity. I see the minor leagues not only as a place where I can learn and develop, but I'm going to be rewarded emotionally and spiritually. To have an extreme impact on somebody's life can be much more powerful than hitting a home run."

Yup, I'm pretty sure that's exactly the way Casey Stengel would have put it. Something tells me Kapler is going to do all right for himself in his new career path.

• Man, Gerry Callahan's snide browbeating of Julio Lugo a few mornings ago sure did an effective job of turning me into a Lugo fan. Someone needs to tell the 'EEI zeppelins that Lugo was found not guilty of assaulting his now-ex-wife, and I'd say it's a credit to his character that he was given custody of their children. This is not Wil Cordero, people. I'm not sure why the Sox are so enthralled with him as a ballplayer, but the least we can do is give the person a chance.


• I'm still wondering who's going to be coming out the 'pen with a one-run lead in the bottom of the ninth, but for now I'll give Theo Epstein his props for culling together a relatively deep relief corps by buying low on some previously successful pitchers. Brendan Donnelly likely would be voted Most Likely to Be Found With Sandpaper Taped To His Glove should such a poll be put to his peers, but he's been a very effective setup guy for the Angels through the years, and consistent middle relievers (that's practically an oxymoron) usually cost more than the likes of Phil Seibel. As for J.C. Romero, he's got control problems, both in terms of stuff and temperament, but he's been overpowering in the past, and even during his struggles with the Angels last season, he still retired lefty hitters at around an 80 percent clip. He's worthy of at least a look, and he could end up being a bargain.

• It's funny, but I seem to get just as many comments and emails about "The Office" nowadays as I do about the Sox and Pats. At first I wasn't quite sure what to make of it - the last thing I want is to turn it into my own personal "The O.C./90210," if you get my drift - but I'm pleased to know that so many other people are into this brilliantly written and acted show; it's criminally underrated, both by the Nielsen boxes and the awards shows. (When will John Krasinski get some respect for his nuanced performance as heartbroken good-guy Jim? Or how about an Emmy nod for Rainn Wilson, who becomes Dwight Schrute? And I'm guessing you know how our heart races for the radiant Jenna Fischer, who plays Pam with an irresistible balance of sweetness and subversiveness.) This week's episode, "A Benihana Christmas," was as pitch-perfect as any in Season 3, from Dwight's Christmas miracle . . . to Michael's "bold" Photoshop blunder . . . to Jim's revealing pep-talk . . . to Michael "marking" the waitress . . . to Karen and Pam teaming up to take down Angela. This show is so consistently, gut-bustingly hilarious, I almost forget about the underlying theme of loneliness. You might even say it gives me goosebumps.

Value judgment

Ten free minutes for me, 10 free half-formed thoughts for you . . .

1. Might as well face it, my man Ryan was right: Jeter's winning the MVP. (Fist pump! Smirk! And why not . . . another fist pump!) And you know what? Other than the fact that it gives the Bleacher Buttafuocos and Jeterphiles more reason to prance around in their reflected glory, I've got no problem with it - this season, the Captain's stats actually justify his reputation. He has the second-highest VORP in the league behind Travis Hafner, his production in the clutch is typically dazzling, and you, me, and Timlin know he did his part to shovel dirt on the Sox during that five-game debacle. I'm not really sure why Papi felt the need to diminish his accomplishments - maybe he tried some "Driven" and it gave him a killer rash? While I understand Papi's frustration - Jeter, for all he has done, never has and never will be been burdened to carry an offense the way Papi has - he came across as petty in his criticism, no matter what his tone or the context. If he doesn't regret airing his grievances now, he will by the time this series in New York is over. It's going to get ugly. (For the record, my MVP vote would go to the Twins' exquisite lefty, Johan Santana. There is no one more valuable than him.)

2. So a year ago, Tom Brady puts his money where his mouth is, taking a below-market 6-year, $60-million contract to remain a Patriot, explaining that he's willing to forego the Peyton bucks in order to help keep the core of his team together . . . and then his two favorite receivers say sayonara barely a year later while the team remains roughly $10 million under the cap. And you wonder why this Branch thing was weighing on his mind last week.

3. It's a bummer to see Francisco Liriano shut it down for the season, not only because you never want to see such a charismatic and gifted young pitcher derailed by arm problems, but because I thought his return made the Twins the only legitimate challenger to the Yankees.

4. I suppose it's prudent business for the both the Patriots and the Sox to place a specific value on a player and refuse to exceed that number even if it means losing him, but I can't help but wish they should leave themselves just a bit more flexibility in certain situations. For example, I don't understand why the Red Sox, with their vast resources, were willing to give Johnny Damon $11 million per year, yet were reluctant to go a million or two higher than that. And had the Pats predicted the market better and attempted in good faith and logic to sign David Givens a season or two before he became a free agent, I suspect they'd have him at a much cheaper rate than the Titans ended up paying.

5. You know how it pains me to write these words, but at the moment I have no doubt they will be proven true over the winter: Manny Ramirez has played his final game for the Boston Red Sox. And if the thought of trading him for 75 cents on the dollar pisses me off like this, I can't imagine how Papi will feel when it all goes down. (By the way, is it weird that I find myself almost hoping Manny needs knee surgery just to spite all the WEEI wannabe med students who refuse to consider that he might not be jaking it?)

6. What the Sox should do, of course, is retain Manny then go out and get proven No. 5 hitter with 30-homer potential. (I enjoy the Wily Mo Experience, but he's got a long way to go before he can help anchor a lineup.) So I offer you this suggestion: Alfonso Soriano . . . second base . . . Boston Red Sox. Whaddaya say? I know he's Offermanesque defensively, but he wants to play second again, and I might be willing to sacrifice some glove to get that phenomenal bat in the middle of the Sox' order.

7. Don't tell Mrs. TATB, but I'm pumped and jacked like Trojan Pete that I just led Dwayne Wade, Dirk Nowitzki, Joe Johnson and the rest of my Seattle SuperSonics to a 69-13 record on ESPN NBA '05. Hey, did I mention I'm 36, with two kids, a mortgage, and for now, a wife? Yeah, I know, I'll make a note to grow the hell up and re-evaluate my priorities . . . right after my Sonics' playoff run ends.

8. From the Brushes With Fame (If Not Quite Greatness) file: Back in our Concord, N.H. days, TATB logged many turnover-filled hours on the Green St. hoop court with a live-wire named Mike Carri . . . whom you may now know as Mike "Boogie" Malin, the hipster doofus who just connived his way to the $500,000 grand prize on Big Brother All-Stars. We're glad to report he played that game pretty well, too, and in the real world he's much nicer guy than the character he plays on TV.

9. I'm convinced that if Gabe Kapler's involvement with the Sox next season solely consists of sitting to Tom Caron's left during the postgame show, Tito would still find a way to get his dead bat into the lineup twice a week.


10. As for today's Completely Random . . . er, Media Guide Mugshot:


From party-hearty linebacker, to master of the long snap, to sycophantic bully of a co-host, you are a real man of genius, Steve DeOssie.

(And with that I fully expect to get the following message in my email box later today:)

"DID YOU EVER PLAY THE GAME, BLOGGER? HUH? DID YOU? DID YOU EVER PLAY THE GAME!? ALL RIGHT, THEN! DON'T POST GOOFY HEADSHOTS OF ME UNTIL YOU CAN SAY YOU PLAYED THE GAME, BLOGGER!!!"

Nine innings: 08.28.06

Playing nine innings while wondering how close the Sox would be to the Yankees if Mike Timlin were still alive . . .



1. After the Yankees debacle, I was reluctant to write the Sox off, in part because of the hangover New York carried to the West Coast, and in part because I felt like a damn fool for believing in this team's legitimacy as a contender through the summer. I talked myself into believing that maybe the Yankees would lose a couple in a row . . . and maybe the Sox would win a couple in a row . . . and the momentum would shift once more . . . and wouldn't you know it, that late September four-game set would carry all the implications and feature all the drama that an autumn Sox-Yanks series should. Well, turns out the stay of execution was brief, and after watching them sleepwalk through Seattle this weekend, I'm ready to concede truth. For the first time in four years, the Sox will not play in the postseason. They're cooked, done, finished . . . dead-men walking, or more appropriately, swinging and missing. We'll save the autopsy for another day, not that the causes of their demise aren't readily apparent. The kids were too young, some of the veterans were too old, the most prominent newcomers didn't live up their advance billing, and the bench and bullpen were fatally flawed. And beyond the historic slugging feats of Manny Ramirez and David Ortiz, there wasn't a hitter in the lineup that would strike fear in a Portsmouth Little Leaguer. Injuries ravaged the roster, particularly the late-August losses of catcher Jason Varitek and pitcher Tim Wakefield, perhaps the two steadiest rocks in the clubhouse; I will never underestimate their particular contributions again. The team - and the season - was lost without them. You might have noticed that I do love baseball, and no matter how disappointing a season may be, I always lament its conclusion. So I'll watch the rest of the way, of course, to see Papi chase Jimmy Foxx, to see if Dustin Pedroia is more than an Eckstein-in-waiting, to gauge the usefulness of Eric Hinske and Kyle Snyder and other fringe candidates for next year's roster, to deny summer's conclusion for one more day. And I'll remind myself that this is what Theo Epstein desired during his power struggle with his mentor - a chance to take a step back and build the ballclub's foundation, rather than sacrifice the future for a risky win-at-all-costs present.

2. In Theo we trust? Er, not so much at the moment, as you probably gathered. While I remain grateful that he is the Red Sox GM and confident that he will build this franchise into the "player development machine" he so desires, there is no denying that he really hasn't done much right in terms of player procurement since 2004. (I'm likely going to get into that in my next post, hopefully Monday night, so I'll spare you the Edgar Renteria Sucked rehash here.) He must be held accountable for this top-heavy team, and after showing such a deft touch in his first seasons on the job - for a time, I was convinced that on his watch, the Sox would have the financial savvy of the A's, player development touch of the Twins, and the resources to acquire the superstars they desired - I catch myself wondering if something has changed that has led him to making such rock-brained evaluations as A Rudy Seanez sequel is just what we need! or Forget what the Indians say, Coco Crisp will be a marvelous center fielder! It's funny, what I admired most about Theo is that he seemed open-minded to the various different ways of evaluating players. I imagined that in one ear, he had Bill James giving him a player's statistical projections, and in the other, Bill Lajoie would offer a shrewd veteran's scout's take, and then Josh Byrnes and the other trusted lieutenants would weigh in, and then Theo would consider all the information and make his best judgment on the merits of a certain player. I'm not quite sure that's how the front office worked, but it's how I perceived it to work, and it seemed like a clear-headed and wise approach. So I wonder, with Byrnes, Lajoie and Peter Woodfork having departed during and immediately after the offseason tumult, if Theo is getting the feedback and discussion that he needs, or if he is surrounded by enough advisers who aren't afraid to tell the boss that they think something is a bleepin' stupid idea.

3. In a strange sort of way, the collapse justifies Theo's decision not to swap the Lester/Hansen/Delcarmen trio in a major move at the deadline. As the Yankees (and the Mariners . . . and the Royals . . . and the Devil Rays . . . ) have revealed, there simply are too many holes on this club for all of them to be repaired in one fell swoop. Sure, maybe, say, Roy Oswalt might have helped to the point that the recent freefall would be 9 losses in 14 games rather than 11 in 14. . . but still, by my accounting, they'd still need a No. 5 hitter, a decent fielding center fielder (enjoy your new home next year, Coco), a lefthanded reliever, at least two reliable righthanded relievers, a capable defensive catcher, and a fifth starter. Let's be blunt (and hyperbolic): John Henry could have annexed the Marlins at the trade deadline and the Sox still would barely have enough talent to match up with their superiors in the American League. They just aren't good enough right now.

4. What's up with Manny? Should he be playing? Is he healthy enough to play? Is he aware of the perception and the bleep-storm he is causing? Damned if I know. I'm as vexed as anyone else about all of this; while I'm an unabashed Manny fan, I admit I'm frustrated and skeptical regarding this knee injury. On one hand, his track record of needing an occasional three-day weekend each summer suggests that maybe he decided this was a nice time for a rest, pennant race be damned, and there is a vocal percentage of the media that insists he is taking a selfish respite at the worst possible time. Considering that he has cried wolf before, it's a logical perspective, though it strikes me as all too personal at times. But on the other hand, he was diagnosed with patellar tendinitis, an affliction considerably more serious than a sore hamstring or a dislocated eyelash or whatever. This is not something to be messed with. As Gordon Edes (who, as usual, is the voice of reason in all of this) pointed out the other day, that's the same injury that led to the rapid decline of Mark McGwire, and former Sox John Valentin was plagued with tendinitis not long before blowing out his patellar tendon. If the injury is legitimate - and the only the most cynical conspiracy theorists will suggest it is not, that the Sox are covering for him - then I can deal with him missing a few days. It'll never happen, but if only he would just come out and say, "Listen, the goddamn knee has been killing me all season, I've played through it, I want to be out there but it keeps getting worse, so get the hell off my back," I'd feel a whole lot better about defending him. Instead, the storyline lingers.

5. All right, I admit it. I've got the Emmys on in the background as I peck away at this. (Go ahead . . . insult my manhood, I can take it. As long as I've got my cat and a fresh batch of berry-berry daiquiris, you and this cruel, judgmental world can BITE ME!) Um . . . anyway, just wanted to note the three original Charlie's Angels just popped up on stage during an Aaron Spelling tribute, looking all Botoxed to hell and, in Farrah's case, slightly deranged. Not that their facial muscles are moving or anything, but it sure looks to me like they hate each other. I imagine this is what a Jeter/A-Rod reunion will be like 25 years from now, only cattier and with cheaper perfume. (And for the record, Cheryl Ladd was hotter than the three original cast members combined. Right, kitty?)

6. As if there wasn't enough fallout from the whuppin' the Yankees put on the Sox, now we have to deal with this: Yankees fans, silent since October, 2004, are back to being their old obnoxious selves; yup, they've got their self-satisfied swagger back. I can't tell you how many Yankees hats I saw here in the tourist stop known as Wells, Me., in the days after the beat-down, but I can guarantee you it's more than I've seen all summer previously; it took all my willpower not to turn a couple of the Buttafuocos into hood ornaments. And I won't even get into talking about my frontrunning neighbor, who is quick to take down the Yankee flag above her doorstop when things aren't going well for the Bronx Billionaires, yet always seems to have the thing waving proudly milliseconds after a victory over the Sox. One of these nights, I'm going to swipe the flag and replace it with . . . well, I don't know, something tasteless. I'm open to ideas. [Note: I like the pirate flag suggestion. Just bizarre enough to work.] Sports Guy likened this smug-Yankee-fan phenomenon to mosquitoes returning to ruin a pleasant summer. It's a fair analogy, but then again, I've never encountered a single mosquito who has a spotty mustache, accessorizes a knock-off Jeter jersey with knock-off gold chains, and smells like a combination of stale Driven and James Gandolfini's undershirt. But I'm sure they have 'em in droves in Jersey.

7. He is by all accounts a sincere, swell guy and a respected teammate, and as One Of The 25 his name will be fondly recalled here long after his playing days have ended. But it's become painfully clear these past few weeks that Gabe Kapler no longer is worthy of a roster spot on a team with even marginal postseason aspirations. His ax-chop of a swing has always been homely - how did he manage a 28-game hitting streak in '00? - but now it is more ineffective than ever, and his Achilles' injury clearly has robbed him of much of his agility on the bases and in the outfield. I'll remember him well, but the Sox need to do better than this fading sentimental favorite next year.

8. This Week's Reason Jerry Trupiano Should Be Stricken Mute: Yeah, as if there's just one reason. To list all of this dope's transgressions during this frustrating week might just test the bandwidth limits of the internet, so we'll narrow it down to this Troop Gem from today: While trying, in his subtle-as-a-sledgehammer way to insinuate that Manny's injury isn't severe enough to keep him out of the lineup, he cited Cal Ripken as a dependable player who was there for his team every day. Fair enough, if a tad obvious. But then he felt the need to add a second example. Who'd he come up with, you ask? David Ortiz, perhaps? Derek Jeter? Miguel Tejada? Good guesses all, but nope, nope, and nope. Give up? Here are Troop's words, spewed in all seriousness: ". . . and the late Ken Caminiti, he'd do anything he could to play through an injury." Well, yeah, he would do anything he could - including enough cocaine to form his own cartel, and enough steroids to fuel the entire Giambi family. The guy was a friggin' crackhead who admitted he juiced his way to an improbable '96 NL MVP award - and this is a player Troop cites as an ultimate gamer, someone Manny should aspire to emulate. Unreal.

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



While this might be the most disappointing conclusion to a Red Sox season since the incompetent Joe Kerrigan "managed" the reprehensible 2001 crew right down the toilet, at least this team and the individuals remain determined and likeable for the most part. Hey, small victories.

Nine innings: 06.12.06

Playing nine innings while wondering why Varitek didn't pinch-hit for Mirabelli . . .



1. Just when you're ready to wonder if David Ortiz is only human after all, just when you're beginning to think that .260-something batting average is proof that The Shift is his Kryptonite, just when you're sure you're witnessing the first prolonged slump of his Red Sox career, he takes one mighty swing, answers your 2-year old daughter's innocent, daddy-prodded request to "Hit a home run, Big Happy," and turns certain defeat into one more exhilarating victory. Rangers, 4-2? Make that Red Sox, 5-4. Really, what more is there to say that hasn't already been said? The walkoff homer was the fifth he's hit in a regular season game (and I believe the seventh overall, though I think I'll soon go watch "Faith Rewarded" just to be sure), and damned if it doesn't feel like the 25th. I've said it before, and I'm sure I'll say it again: David Ortiz is the best thing to ever happen to the Boston Red Sox. God bless Big Happy.

2. C'mon, don't chicken out now, Jason Grimsley. It's not like you have a legacy to protect, and you're already in the baseball witness protection program from here on out anyway. So keep naming names, and then name some more. And then maybe those players you finger as steroid abusers, HGH freaks and world-class cheaters and frauds will name names, and so on and so on and so on, and before long, we'll finally have the full story about who did what and who was sticking a needle where during this, the Steroid Era. And then, and only then, will we be able to put everything in perspective - the records, the accomplishments, the size of Barry Bonds's head. At last we'll know just how rampant performance-enhancing drug use was/is in baseball, and with the goddamn truth finally having been told, there will be no more bombshells to disrupt the game and steal the headlines every few weeks. I suspect you think you'd be hurting the game to reveal what was going on behind locker room doors. Funny, because with the right dose of courage, you might just end up saving it.

3. Is Josh Beckett is the real-life Nuke LaLoosh? I'm not certain, but I'm pretty sure I saw him trying to breathe through his eyelids during the fifth inning. Actually, all things considered - and with my enormous expectations for him tempered for the moment - you have to consider today's start progress for the ridiculously gifted, ridiculously stubborn 25-year-old righthander. He resisted the urge to try to throw every pitch at 120 mph, spotted his top-shelf curveball with more precision, and while the velocity on his changeup is still too high (at 89 mph, it's the equivalent of a Keith Foulke fastball), he seemed to have made the conscious effort to pitch rather than just throw. He caught the Rangers hitters off-guard a couple of times by throwing breaking stuff when he had two strikes - Hank Blalock looked especially foolish in the first inning - and it was apparent that the scouting report said, "Sit on his fastball with two strikes." Now, this isn't to say that I'm abandoning my conspiracy theory from the other day: I still believe the Blue Jays and Yankees picked up on a hitch or a quirk in his delivery to let them know exactly what pitch was coming. Well, either that or Varitek was sick of being shaken off all the time and told the hitters what to expect, a la Crash Davis when Nuke got too big for his garter belt. You know, come to think of it, Varitek is said to be a big "Bull Durham" fan . . . and the hitter in that scene was NESN's own Paul Devlin . . . hmmm, I might just be onto something here . . . (slipping tinfoil hat back on) . . .

4. Just when I was starting to think that his stellar performance against the Yankees was the aberration and his stint in Boston would ultimately be little more than a cameo, David Pauley settled down after a gruesome start and allowed just one run over his final three innings tonight. The Sox farmed him out after the game - to Pawtucket, a step up from where he was two weeks ago - but I don't think we've seen the last of him, and I certainly hope he'll be back. Despite the homely 7.88 ERA, he showed enough to warrant legitimate prospect status - an old-school curveball, a sneaky two-seamer that cuts back across the outside corner, a darting sinker. And there was something endearing about the way he carried himself upon realizing the dream. He managed to come across as both poised and nervous as hell, and he seemed legitimately awed during the New York game when Big Papi sat down and draped his massive arm around him as if to say "Welcome to the bigs, kid. You belong." While you wish he threw just a little harder, I like what I saw for the most part in terms of ability and demeanor. I'm rooting for him.

5. While Pauley heads down I-95 with three big-league starts and no big-league victories to his credit, Manny Delcarmen finally picked up his first career win as the beneficiary of Papi's Game 1 bomb. Like Pauley, Delcarmen is another one who's impossible not to like - he's the local kid, smiles easily, and has the raw skills to someday be a lights-out power reliever, especially if he can continue to improve his command. You have to be happy for him for achieving his milestone today. I was glad the Sox resisted the Indians' demands to include him in the Coco Crisp deal, and I hope Francona continues to give him a shot to show his stuff, because while he probably won't earn too many more victories as long as he's a reliever, he has a chance to help this team win a lot of games, and perhaps soon.

6. Am I the only one who heard Sox executive Mike Dee on WEEI trying to charm his way through Saturday's rain-delay disaster and wondering if he struts around humming Beastie Boys tunes: "I'm Mike Dee and I get respect . . ." I am the only one, aren't I? Dammit, I hate it when I'm the weirdo in the room.

7. Regarding that Cleveland trade: Andy Marte is hitting .259 with 4 homers in Triple A (looks like sly ol' Schuerholz knew exactly what he was doing), Guillermo Mota has a 7.82 ERA, and Kelly Shoppach lost his backup job to journeyman Tim Laker. Even though Crisp and David Riske are only now beginning to contribute, you'd have to say the deal is tilted toward the Sox so far.

8. In case you missed it, Gabe Kapler went 2 for 5 in his first rehab game in Portland today. Not that I'm suggesting the Sox should rush him back into his familiar fourth outfielder role or anything, but I'm pretty sure he'd contribute more playing with a torn Achilles' tendon in one leg and a wooden peg for his other leg than Willie Harris and Dustan Mohr would with four healthy wheels between them.

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



Can you believe the Sox couldn't manage one measly homer off him? We didn't get to yell "Way back!" even once. What a letdown.

* * *
(Quick programming note: You might have noticed that, for the first time in several months, I turned the post "comments" back on. I did so for four reasons. 1) Blogger has made them much easier to moderate, and you know how I'm a control freak. 2) Haloscan offers a commenting system that doesn't require you to sign up for anything. 3) I always like hearing from you pencil necks, geeks and damn fools, and since I've been overwhelmed with email lately, I figured it would be an additional way to let you have your say. 4) My wife nagged me to do it. So there you go. Feel free to post in the comments or to continue to email me, and as always, play nice. We're a PG-rated site. Okay, PG-13. Of course, if I get that "Brokeback Mountain" photoshop featuring Jeter and Damon again, all bets are off . . . - TATB Management)

Catching up

Quick thoughts on the Sox while my daughter takes her afternoon snooze . . .

• Oh, one day, they'll be right. One of these years, Manny Ramirez will suffer a slump that extends through the summer, and all the morning show jackasses who are quick to suggest trading the one of the most productive hitters of all time for a collection of worn-down gamers and prospects they couldn't pick out of a pack of baseball cards will almost be justified in their feeding frenzy. But after Manny's 4-homer fireworks display during the Yankees series - you could just see him getting locked in, couldn't you? - I am glad to report that such a nosedive will not occur this season. Manny is being Manny once again, and I mean that in the 45-homer, 125-RBI sense. The haters will just have to find something else to occupy their time - making ignorant fun of Wily Mo, I suppose, or wondering why Renteria bunted for a hit against the Orioles in that game a year or so ago, or dare I suggest even watching a game to its conclusion once in a while.

• Oh-fer-5 with four strikeouts? Guess there's no need to drill Big Papi now, huh, Mike Vaccaro?

• I've written a lot of idiotic things in this space, and to quote that painful Red Roof Inn commercial we're force-fed 60 times per Sox telecast, chances are better than "remote" that I'll write a lot of idiotic things in the future. But I have to admit, it's going to be a long time before I spew something as stupid as my recent comparison of Lenny DiNardo to Andy Pettitte. What can I say? Sometimes the medication fails me.

• I believe A-Rod when he claims he had no idea where the ball was during his three-run homer Tuesday night. I will say, however, that only a five-star phony of his magnitude would evoke such skepticism.

• I'm officially worried about Jason Varitek. I don't know if he's hurt (remember him hobbling down to first a few weeks back?) or if the World Baseball Classic had an adverse affect on him, but something is not right. His swing has never been Griffeyesque, but now it's downright hideous, and even mediocre pitchers are having little trouble messing up his timing. Maybe it's just a slump - probably it's just a slump - but his age equals his uniform number now, and as every study suggests, very few catchers are productive at 33 and beyond.

• You say Willie Harris, I say Donnie Sadler with slower wheels.

• I've always liked Gabe Kapler - he's probably the most articulate athlete I've ever interviewed, and he just plain gets it, as evidenced again in this morning's Bob Ryan column - but as a ballplayer, he seemed like little more than a replacement-level journeyman, someone you're always trying to upgrade upon. But after six weeks of Dustan Mohr and Willie Harris, well, thank goodness he'll return soon to remind us that a fifth outfielder can actually be useful. Welcome back, Kapler. The Fenway Sweathogs have missed you.


• Trust me, I am not making this accusation in hindsight: Terry Francona bleeped up by sticking with Tim Wakefield too long Tuesday night. Ten straight balls is a pretty clear indication that a pitcher has lost it, and when a knuckleballer such as Wakefield suddenly goes bad, crooked numbers can go up on the scoreboard in as fast as you can say walk-walk-homer. But I am not going to fault Francona for leaving in Matt Clement to take a beating last night, because I'm convinced the manager was sending the player a message: You were pissed we skipped your turn against the Yankees last week? Prove me wrong. Prove to me you can handle the pressure, pitch out of trouble and win a meaningful game. In the end, all that Clement proved was that his manager's limited faith in him was justified. I doubt he'll be pitching against the Yankees again anytime soon if the Sox can help it.

• Kyle Farnsworth is by all accounts a meathead, but does he ever have some filthy stuff - maybe even enough to overcome his Jeff Weaver-Kenny Rogers-Ed Whitson meltdown potential. If I were a Yankee fan, I'd much rather see him on the mound than his predecessor, Tom Gordon.

• One more item regarding Clement: Don't know if you noticed last night, but after he got hit by Bernie Williams's line drive, he began flinching at batted balls that were nowhere near him. Coincidentally - or maybe not - that's also when his command and concentration went on the fritz. You'd be a fool not to believe that last summer's frightening incident in Tampa Bay remained in his consciousness, but until last night, I had no idea that it was still affecting him to this extent. But for every pitcher who recovers from being drilled in the head with a liner - Mike Mussina and Bill Swift come to mind - there are the Bryce Flories and Herb Scores, hurlers who never feel comfortable or safe on the mound again, and thus never pitch effectively. I'm not saying Clement is in the latter category, but I'm not ready to say he isn't, either.

• Scott Erickson and Terrence Long to the rescue? And Erubiel Durazo and Richard Hidalgo are on the way? Well, damn, let's just concede that 27th championship and get on with enjoying a Sox-free, stress-free summer already. Seriously, you'd think with all of their resources - and Brian Cashman's supposed acumen as a GM, of which I remain skeptical - the Yankees would do a better job of accumulating second-tier talent and maybe even an actual bench. The days of Darryl Strawberry, Role Player, must seem long ago to the Bronx faithful.

• I'm not one to write off a future Hall of Fame pitcher after a handful of rough starts . . . but man, Randy Johnson is a mess, overthrowing his fastball and sacrificing any semblance of command to make up for the MPH father time has taken. And his once-unhittable slider? It's so flat, it might as well have a neon Hit Me sign. Giving up a Mass Pike bomb to Manny is one thing, but when Kevin Youkilis is swinging from his heels against you, you know you've got troubles. It'll be interesting to see how - make that if - Johnson recovers from this. He clearly has no use for Jorge Posada, and with inexperienced Ron Guidry drawling in one ear and know-it-all Joe Kerrigan babbling into the other, it seems he's got a lot of people telling him what he's doing wrong, but no one yet with the solution.

As for today's Completely Random Baseball Card:



Speaking of Guidry, this kid is his second coming - yes, I think Kazmir is that talented. For a Mets fan, this has to be the equivalent of seeing Jeff Bagwell in a Red Sox uniform.