Center of attention

Catching up on the news from Camp Tranquility (better known to much of the media as Camp Ohhowwewishformelodrama) . . .

Coco Crisp says he'd rather start elsewhere than be a backup in Boston: Can't say I blame him, can you? He's in the heart of what should be his prime at 28, he's coming off the best defensive season a Red Sox center fielder has had in who knows how long, and has proven he can be a valuable contributor to a winning ball club even when he struggles at the plate. He is completely justified in wanting to play, and the suspicion is that he will be accommodated before the Sox head north . . . er, make that to the Far East. And I think that is a mistake. Crisp will not be divisive force here (let's stop the comparison to the reprehensible Jay Payton now), he's one injury to Manny or J.D. Drew from playing just about every day, and the argument can be made that he's still the best center field option on the roster, at least at the moment.

In praising Crisp, the intent is not to make a case against Ellsbury, to suggest he's some combination of Ted Cox and Dave Stapleton, a rookie tease destined to fail. The job will be his soon enough, and it may still be his a decade from now. I happen to believe Ellsbury will become a borderline star, play in an All-Star game or two, ultimately enjoy a Brett Butler-type career. But his star turn in October has already made him an idol here, particularly among the Pink Hats and Men's Vogue readers, and while the Bill James Handbook (somewhat more credible on baseball matters than Vogue) projects him to hit .320 with an .810 OPS and 42 steals, I'm not quite convinced he's ready for center stage. His minor league slugging percentage (.425) is only slightly higher than Crisp's as a big leaguer (.409), and it appeared to these untrained eyes that the book was out on Ellsbury last September: get two strikes on him and he'll hack at anything. The Rockies evidently didn't have a copy of said book, but it's cause for at least mild concern. The kid still has some adjustments to make.

Again, my point here is that it's not necessary for this to be an either/or deal. I like both players a lot, and the Sox are a better team with both players. And until Ellsbury proves beyond a doubt that he can lay off a low, inside breaking ball and make the center field job his own - or at least until the Sox get a more than fair offer for Crisp - the status quo is the way to go.


Terry Francona signs a three-year contract extension with club options through the 2013 season: I think we've made it clear how we here at TATB feel about Tito: He's far and away the best manager the Red Sox have had in the 30 years we've been watching, and there's no current manager we'd rather have running this team. He's the right man at the right moment with the right team, and we were incredibly . . . well, relieved to realize that the Red Sox front office appreciates him as much as we do. Francona is the rare manager who is adept at both game management and people management. Part of what makes him so effective in relating to the personalities in his remarkably diverse clubhouse is that he has seen baseball from so many perspectives: he's been a phenom (he and some Ripken kid were the hot shot rookies of '82), a journeyman (after injuries sapped his talent), a minor-league manager, a big-league coach, and front office assistant (for Mark Shapiro in Cleveland). It's almost as if everything in his career - including his failed managerial stint in Philadelphia - was preparation for his present job, and he makes the absolute most out of all the knowledge he has gathered along the way. The Red Sox are fortunate to have him.

Former AL Cy Young Award winner Bartolo Colon agrees to a minor-league contract: As long as they're not paying him in Ring Dings and (delicious) Yodels, I can't see a downside to this. Colon, who at age 34 (he turns 35 in May) is just three years removed from a 21-8, 3.48 season, is exactly the kind of low-risk, high-reward chance the Red Sox can - and should - take. Sure, he's got a lot of miles on his surgically repaired right shoulder, and there's a chance he arrives at camp looking like he swallowed Curt Schilling in two bites. But there's also a decent chance he gives the Sox the 120-150 innings they were expecting Schilling to eat (ahem) at the back of the rotation. Better yet, his arrival means he's reunited with two of his best buddies from his baseball youth in Cleveland, Manny Ramirez and Julian Tavarez, and the potential for comedy there is endless. Come to think of it, NESN really ought to give those three goofy amigos their own show.

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As for today's Completely Random Baseball Card:

Mike Greenwell, Mo Vaughn, and Bill Lee in the same year? The Red Sox Hall of Fame banquet just got a whole lot more fun . . . and the after-party should really be something.

The weather is here, wish you were beautiful

Quick thoughts (and a couple of links) on a perfect New England autumn day . . .


• Randy Moss to the Patriots? Something tells me Tom Brady would punt Reche Caldwell to the curb and sign off on this in a heartbeat. Me, I'm intrigued . . . but wary. It's one of those rumors that as a fan, you get excited about even though common sense suggests you probably shouldn't. We all know Moss, for all of his talent, is a complete and total mutt. Those lobbying for the Patriots to deal for him will remind us that Corey Dillon was a malcontent in Cincinnati who has been a model teammate in New England (just ask Laurence Maroney), but Dillon's frustrations with Cincinnati primarily stemmed from losing. Moss strikes me as a player who couldn't give a damn about his team's place in the standings, and I know I'm not the only one who spent words the last few seasons telling people I'd rather have Deion Branch and David Givens catching passes (and blocking . . . and playing selflessly . . .) for my favorite football team than someone like Moss, or Terrell Owens, or any other members of the Insane Receiver Posse. I could talk myself into being excited about Moss becoming a Patriot. But it would take something the player himself too often lacks: effort.

• Though I caught only the end of the interview, it was a pleasant surprise to hear Mo Vaughn on WEEI yesterday. For someone who lived so large, he's been laying pretty low since a blown-out elbow, bad wheels and his affinity for bacon, egg and cheese sandwiches conspired to prematurely end his career at age 35. I hope this is an indication that Mo is ready to become a prominent public figure in Boston again. It seems several eons ago now, what with all the Sox drama in recent years, but it actually wasn't even a decade ago that he in many ways was the Red Sox, their anchor in the lineup, the community, and the clubhouse. He was an accountable, affable, humanly flawed slugger, relentlessly dedicated to both the Jimmy Fund and the Foxy Lady. He was Big Papi with a few more demons and less aptitude in the clutch. And his importance as the first African-American player to emerge as the face and the soul of the Red Sox cannot be overstated. Mo, who made roughly $85 million in his career, sounded as if retirement is treating him well, and he says he's in better shape than he was toward the end of his playing days. He sounded happy to be away from the spotlight, but here's hoping he finds a place next to Tom Caron on NESN, or a prominent talk-radio gig, or something to keep Mo in Red Sox fans' consciousness. I shouldn't need a random reminder to remember how much I liked him.

• I can't recommend enough this piece by Lisa Olson (yes, that Lisa Olson) in the New York Daily News on Cory Lidle. I thought it was far and away the best-written and most heartfelt piece I read on the tragedy, and it gave insight into his personality that was lacking in many of the other columns. She also does a remarkably conscientious job of reporting - she assumes the 6-year-old boy is Lidle's son, Christopher, but because she isn't certain, she tells us she isn't certain. Trust me when I say such forthrightness is uncommon. And of course, the spot-on shots at the Yankees' arrogantly impersonal stars (this means you, Captain) are always good for brownie points with us.

• So I'm on my way to do some errands (Errand No. 1: Iced coffee, Dunkin' Donuts) this afternoon with my 2 1/2 year old daughter when the Bee Gees' "Stayin' Alive" falsettos its way through my speakers. I think little of it . . . until I look in the mirror and, to my delight, catch my daughter grinning and "picking the apple" so perfectly that Travolta surely would shed a tear at the sight of it all. I suppose I must admit at this point that, yes, a few of our retro records were salvaged on Disco Demolition Night, and yes, she may have heard the coke-and-a-smile, decadent-'70s anthem coming out of her daddy's iPod once or twice . . . and yes, her dancin' fool of a father may or may not have been wearing a white polyester jump suit as he taught her the appropriate dance moves. But I've already said too much.

• As for last week's Completely Random Tabloid Cover:


Well, if you really insist.