Sleep through the static

I know, it's hardly practical to attempt a media blackout when you work in the sports department of a newspaper. But trust me when I say I did my damnedest. Save for Dave D'Onofrio's thoughtful postgame autopsy and the clear-eyed dispatches of Mike Reiss and Chris Gasper, pretty much everything I read in the past week I read only because I was being paid to.

My clicker never settled on ESPN, not for one shouted, hyperbolic, ill-informed word. No "Sports Illustrated championship pack" commercials for me, or, I suspect, you. No Peter King-Favre, and definitely no Kissing Suzy Kolber. No WEEI or WFAN (my usual late-night choice on the trip home from Boston). Just the new Jack Johnson CD, my own mental NFL Films reel, and ever so gradually, some peace of mind regarding the agonizing way it all played out. Yes, I may need to make a habit of tuning out.

So . . . eight days later, here we are, slowly moving on, trying to make sense of the fact that the quest for perfection was derailed by the likes of Eli Manning and David Freakin' Tyree. Not that we'd ever begrudge the Giants their epic victory; they were clutch, smart, well-prepared, aggressive, resourceful, and damn lucky, a formula that should be familiar to and appreciated by any Patriots fan with a shred of self-awareness.

But I don't think it's bad form to admit the Giants deserved to win while also bemoaning that fact that they Patriots had, what, four or five chances on the final drive to clinch the victory for themselves? It just goes to show that football, not baseball, is the ultimate game of inches. If Samuel holds on to the pick . . . if someone in that sea of hands hauls down Manning . . . if Harrison can just pull Tyree's hand free . . .

If, if, if.

Bleeping if.

Hey, like I said, we're returning from the underground slowly. It ain't easy. The hardest part to accept, other than the actual outcome itself, is this: the Patriots needed one play to secure a legacy as the greatest team in history of the NFL, and players who have consistently delivered those big plays in big moments had their chances . . . and shockingly, they let them slip through their hands, literally so in Samuel's case. And because of this out-of-character failure to make the one play they need, their legacy is not one of greatness or immortalily or dominance, but one of almost . . . I don't know, mockery or pity or as a cautionary tale or something. They seem to be regarded now like the marathoner on a record pace who tripped and fell right on his face before the finish line, except on a grander scale, because no one gives a *%&$ about marathoning. They're laughing at us, not with us, and I fear, with good reason, that 18-1 is the new 1918. I hate this feeling.

Odd how the pendulum swings. One play gets made, one play, and this team's relegates the '72 Dolphins to the obscurity they deserve. But one play didn't get made, and now we're left to wonder if the loss was an all-too-appropriate bookend to the Super Bowl victory over the Rams, the completion of the circle. Removing emotion from the equation, I honestly don't believe that we saw an era's conclusion last Sunday; a smart, talent-rich team with Bill Belichick on its sideline and Tom Brady as its quarterback is not going to fade from perennial championship contention because of one soul-crushing loss. We must concede, however, that the coach and the QB no longer have the air of invincibility in the postseason that they once did. This is three seasons without a championship, and the last two season-ending losses have come, excruciatingly, in the game's final moments. The Super Bowl victory over the Eagles is starting to feel like a long time ago.

In a sense, I wish next season would begin tomorrow, just to dull the memory of their last play. As much as I love baseball, this is not a wound that can be healed by another sport, and it's downright silly to suggest the arrival of pitchers and catchers, while a traditional sign that brighter days are coming, can do anything to ease the disappointment of what happened in Arizona.

Further, anyone who suggests this loss was less significant because the indignity was suffered by the Pats instead of the Sox is simply allowing personal opinion to overwhelm logic. Boston is not solely a Baseball Town, not now, and maybe never again; it is a Pro Sports Town now, as evidenced by the current swirling moods: the genuine grief of the Patriots' demise and the giddiness surrounding the Celtics' resurgence. Hell, I'm convinced that if Jeremy Jacobs ever spent some of his beer-and-wiener loot on his neglected hockey team, the marginalized Bruins could again become as beloved as they were in the Neely/Bourque years, if not the golden days of the Gallery Gods in the '70s. It's easy to forget now, but Boston was once a Hockey Town above all else.

We New Englanders are, however, the only ones who have any affection this Patriots team. Everyone besides you and me - to borrow a word from Tom Jackson - hates them, and you bet I believe the whispers that the press box erupted in cheers when the football settled gently into Plaxico Burress's hands.

While some - okay, a lot - of the public disdain is self-inflicted, and I think it would be hugely beneficial if Belichick would permit himself to always be as charming as he was during Super Bowl week, all the ancillary white noise shouldn't sap the fun out of being a fan. Yet it did; turns out it sucks being Goliath.

You'd think the journey to 18-0 would have been joyful, but between SpyGate, RunningUpTheScoreGate, ConsensualHorseplayGate, BradyInABootOnTMZGate, and all the other saturation b.s. "coverage" on ESPN and elsewhere, it turned out that the only fun in following this team came during the actual games . . . that is, until the last game.

Right now, I find myself looking forward to the day the Patriots are treated like just another very good football team again. If that's even possible.

* * *

As for today's Completely Random Football Card:


Yeah? Something tells me He loves you more, pal.

Three and out

Three quick digressions while wishing Brian Billick a happy new year . . .

1. This season puts to rest any latte-brained notion by the likes of Peter King that Randy Moss is anything but a shoo-in for the Hall of Fame. Even with his past transgressions considered - yes, we know it's not very nice to consider turning a meter maid into a speed bump, as tempting as it may be - Moss's rightful place among the game's legends is officially unassailable, even by the cynics who determine who will be enshrined in Canton. Hell, as unappealing as I found Moss until he brought his ungodly talent and odd charisma to my favorite team (funny how that works), I thought his Hall of Fame case was made long ago, for this reason: He has made the careers of more barely competent people than any player in the history of the league. He's the reason Billick was able to dupe people into believing he was an offensive mastermind, when in truth he couldn't pick a quarterback out of a lineup of Mannings. He's the reason unreliable Randall Cunningham enjoyed an improbable late-career renaissance. He's the reason sniveling Jeff George briefly looked like a quarterback a team could win with. He's the reason we thought Daunte Culpepper was a versatile and talented passer rather than just a clueless chucker. Now, not even Moss could make Aaron Brooks and Art Shell look competent, but I don't have to tell you that he his role in Tom Brady's record-shattering season - and the potentially unprecedented success of this 16-0 football team - cannot be exaggerated. Moss might be complicated and moody and many other things, but there's no deny his track record: he's one of the single most valuable players in the recent history of the league. Just ask those who owe their careers to his talent.

2. Okay, got a ridiculous hypothetical for you. Say the NFL disbanded all of its teams and started fresh, throwing all of its players, coaches, general managers, cheerleaders, and so on into one massive dispersal draft. (Hey, I told you it was ridiculous.) My question: Who do you think the first pick from the league's entire pool of talent would be? Peyton Manning? Tom Brady? Adrian Peterson? Kyle Orton? Or would it not be a player, but a certain coach? To put it another way: Is Bill Belichick the single most valuable person in the National Football League? I have to say, the more I consider this, the more convinced I become that choosing him to run your franchise would be a much wiser selection than taking any one superstar player in the league, the two franchise quarterbacks included.

3. Finally, an overdue tip of the ol' leather helmet to our favorite football curmudgeon, Sports Illustrated's Dr. Z. When he's not telling us how football was better in his day, swigging Metamucil by the gallon, or yelling at those %*&$& kids to get off his lawn, he remains an astute football analyst. We made a mental note at midseason season when he insisted that the Patriots' Logan Mankins, largely anonymous outside of Foxborough at the time, was playing better than any guard in the league, Minnesota's Steve Hutchinson included. Now that Mankins is getting his due as an elite lineman, with his first Pro Bowl bid, we figure we should give credit where credit is due. Dr. Z saw it before anyone else. (And for the record, I still don't believe Mel Kiper knew who Mankins was on draft day '05. I'm going to give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he does now.)

* * *

Programming note: Be sure to check in Wednesday, when we'll have a silly little photographic quiz posted that will test your acumen as a Pats fan. Heck, I'll even give you a hint - at least one correct answer will be "Horace Ivory." Because honestly, what good is a Pats quiz without a cat named Horace? No good, that's what.

Nine innings: 07.24.07

Playing nine innings while wishing Papi would learn how to slide . . .


1. Of course it was heartwarming and wonderful to see Jon Lester on the mound for the Red Sox last night, earning the victory in his first appearance since his cancer diagnosis last August, and from a sentimental standpoint I hope he spends the next dozen years winning ballgames and inspiring Jimmy Fund patients as a treasured member of the Red Sox. But from a coldly unsentimental baseball standpoint, I have to say that the pitcher I saw last night was the same one I saw last summer, one who lacks either the command or the trust in his stuff to be as efficient and effective as a pitcher of his raw talent should be. Sure, I realize the magnitude of the moment, that he surely had butterflies as big as Mothra in his stomach as he completed his long journey back to a big-league mound, and his bases-loaded whiff of Grady Sizemore did bring back fun memories of his high point of a season ago, when he whiffed the Mets' David Wright in a remarkably similar situation. But I still can't help but think (and I admit, hope) that Theo Epstein should be so ruthless as to trade Lester for Mark Teixeira while the young lefty still retains most of his Elite Prospect luster. I hope Lester will become the pitcher we all want him to be, for reasons that extend well beyond baseball. It's just that I'm slightly skeptical, based on what I have seen of him from Portland on up, that it will ever happen, and I wonder, putting their fondness and respect for the kid aside, if the Red Sox honchos feel the same way.

2. Four straight wins . . . the first team in the majors to 60 victories . . . a lead over the "surging" Yankees that is actually a hal-game larger than it was on Mother's Day. Yes, I think it's okay to feel good about the Red Sox again. It's funny, but it seems to me that the baseball gods, who had been conspiring against the Sox for the past few weeks, finally decided to cut them some slack after Tim McClelland turned J.D. Drew's three-run homer into an inning-ending RBI double Friday night. It looked like that was going to be one more bad break, one more lost opportunity . . . and then the next thing you know, Julio Lugo of all people is getting a curtain call after hitting a grand slam, the Sox are cruising to a much-needed win, and all is well. I'm still convinced they need one more A-list hitter in the middle of the lineup, but with Lugo and Coco Crisp contributing and Manny Ramirez finally finding his groove, this lineup more often than not will score enough runs for the stellar pitching staff to come away with a win. As long as the Sox remain reasonably healthy, I'm relatively confident they'll keep the Yankees at a comfortable distance the rest of the way.

3. For all of the talk about Kason Gabbard being a finesse pitcher (I believe the proper baseball term is "a Jamie Moyer-type"), it's worth noting that in his brief major-league career he is averaging slightly more than six strikeouts per nine innings, which is more than respectable and tells you his stuff is better than he's often given credit for. This isn't Kevin Morton or Abe Alvarez we're talking about here. I've seen enough in his 10 career starts to believe that Gabbard has the arm and the repertoire to win in the big leagues.

4. Happy trails, Wily Mo Pena, and good luck with your ongoing and thus far futile quest to recognize a slider. Oh, I know Pena's technically still around, but it's only a matter of days now before he's an Oakland A or a Pittsburgh Pirate, and I figured I'd get the jump on the farewells. That way we can get on with pretending this whole thing never happened.

5. From Peter King's Monday Morning Quarterback column:

b. Not that I'm questioning what planet David Ortiz has fallen off, but the catcher for Kansas City, John Buck, who starts about 65 percent of the time and has 121 fewer at-bats, has as many homers, 16, as Ortiz.

c. The following players, four months into the season, have more home runs than Ortiz, who hit 54 last year: Dan Uggla, Brandon Phillips, Carlos Pena, Chris Duncan, Jimmy Rollins, J.J. Hardy, Jack Cust, Brad Hawpe.

d. Theories, anyone? And don't give me the stuff about his right knee being sore. That's not his plant knee.

Now, I suppose ol' Latte Lips is not-so-subtly implying something about Papi here, but no matter what ham-handed point he is trying to make, I know this: Every time King writes about his favorite team, the Red Sox, I find myself wishing he was a Yankees fan.

6. Obligatory random football note: Considering that Michael Vick has probably overthrown his last receiver for the Falcons, and considering that the only place he's better than Drew Brees is on Madden, this trade has to go down as the most lopsided in NFL history since the Vikings traded half their depth chart along with their draft board for Herschel Walker.

7. Now this is the Coco Crisp the Red Sox thought they were getting from the Indians before last season. This is the guy who was so dynamic last spring before before a broken finger ruined his first season in Boston. After last night's 4-for-5 performance in his first game in Cleveland since the trade, his batting average is up to .284, and most encouragingly, he's finally hammering good fastballs again, something we were told was his strength as a hitter but never really saw until recently. I'm as enamored with Jacoby Ellsbury as everyone else around here, but if the Crisp we've seen the last six weeks or so is the Crisp we're going to be getting from here on out, I'm in no hurry to see him move on. He's been a joy to watch, especially in the field, and I hope - and believe - it will continue.

8. Not that I'm getting tired of the Yankees digging up these sold-my-soul-to-the-devil types who come out of nowhere seemingly ever other year to provide a late-season jolt, but I am wondering if Shelley Duncan and Shane Spencer have ever been seen in the same room together.

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


Beyond the obvious tragedy of a man dying too young, the thing that really breaks my heart about this story is that Coolbaugh had two children, ages 5 and 3, with a third on the way. Being a father of two myself and roughly the same age as Coolbaugh, I keep catching myself wondering how his widow can possibly have the strength to explain to their two boys why their dad is gone.

Space jam

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


1. The Celtics could finish this season with a 50-game losing streak - and if it would guarantee Greg Oden or Kevin Durant, hell, I'm all for it - and I'd still argue that the '96-'97 Celtics were the worse team. Sure, there were some serviceable NBA players on M.L. Carr's 15-67 disaster - Rick Fox, David Wesley, and a rookie named 'Toine, to name three - but they were counterbalanced by the likes of Steve Hamer, Nate Driggers and Brett Szabo. Those stiffs were fringe guys in the CBA, let alone the NBA. And for the record, I still say a roster that includes Al Jefferson, Rajon Rondo, Ryan Gomes, Delonte West and Gerald Green is pretty far from a lost cause, despite what the current standings say.

2. Feel free to tell me I'm as loony as that lovelorn, Depends-clad astronaut, but is it entirely out of the realm of possibility that the Sox will have some interest in Alex Rodriguez should he opt out of his Yankees contract after this season? They'll have an opening at third base since Mike Lowell will be a free agent (if he's not in Colorado by then), they could have an opening in the middle of the lineup since Manny will have one year left on his deal (if he's not back on Mars by then), and I can't help but remember how much the Sox fawned over A-Rod during the winter of '03. I realize much has happened since then - hell, his phony persona has made him immensely unpopular with both Red Sox and Yankees fans, which is quite a feat - but John Henry and the Sox were so gung-ho about making him the "face of the franchise" three years ago that I wonder if they might revisit making him a Red Sox if given the chance. (For the record, our take: Please, Mr. Henry, no.)

3. Wade Phillips? Really? This uninspiring, ex-Denver, ex-Buffalo retread is the best the high-profile Cowboys could do? What, was Bruce Coslet unavailable? Hmmm . . . something tells me Jerry Jones is more interesting in finding a yes-man than discovering the next great football coach.

4. Is it my disdain for all things Colts, or is Adam Vinatieri coming across as just a little too smug these days? Funny what a change in uniform will do to your perception.

5. Read between the lines on these two different perspectives on Paul Tagliabue's failure to be elected into the Pro Football Hall of Fame, and then tell me you wouldn't have loved to be a fly on the wall as CNNSI's Dr. Z sliced and diced CNNSI's Peter King's presentation.

Dr. Z's take on the scene:

Blood was flowing at the Hall of Fame enshrinement meeting Saturday morning. I don't want to go too deeply into this thing because there were heavy repercussions. The Paul Tagliabue discussion set a record of 58 minutes. Two speakers began matters by endorsing him. I was the first of the anti voices. One of my points was that under his stewardship, and without his intervention, the rights of the press were eroded almost beyond recognition. Later I was told that I was a bit over the top. Maybe so. He didn't, as you know, reach level two, composed of 11 candidates.

And ol' Starbucks 'N' Softball's take:

I'm one of 40 electors, and I was asked to present Paul Tagliabue's case for election. I failed miserably. We are prohibited from discussing publicly what was said in the room about the candidates, so I can't tell you exactly what I said or what Tagliabue's detractors said. What I can tell you is how intense a period his debate was. It lasted 57 minutes, the longest in my 15 years on the panel.

To paraphrase Phil Hartman's Sinatra, Dr. Z has chunks of Peter King his his stool. I knew there was a reason (besides this annual gem of a column) why I still liked the old coot.

6. After watching Rex Grossman's spot-on Spergon Wynn imitation in the Super Bowl, I was left with but one conclusion: Brian Griese and Kyle Orton must really suck.

7. The more I hear, the more I believe Adalius Thomas, a Willie McGinest clone, should - and will - be the Patriots' No. 1 target in the offseason, Asante Samuel included.

8. "Moonlighting" jumped the shark when David and Maddie hooked up. "Cheers" regressed from brilliant romantic comedy to a weekly half-hour string of one-liners after Shelley Long bolted. So I understand why "The Office" writers are reluctant to let Pam and Jim live happily ever after so early in the show's run. But man . . . does it have to be so hard to swallow? (That's what she said!) Seriously, tonight's episode, with the Dwight/Jim Pavlovian opening foreshadowing Michael's and Pam's learned behavior, was about as clever as television gets, but to see Jim's face as Pam and Roy left hand in hand was to see heartbreak epitomized. Enough's enough. It's time for Pam to step up and tell Jim how she feels. C'mon, get out there, Beesley. Give the people what they want.

9. The only reason to watch the Pro Bowl - and this isn't much of a reason, to be sure - is to see if Bill Belichick figures out some way to fashion a cutoff hoodie out of a Hawaiian shirt. I'm not betting against him.

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



Glad to see Bronson Arroyo got the big bucks from the Reds today. He was one of the best bargains in baseball during his two-plus seasons with the Sox, and while I wasn't opposed to the trade that sent him to the Reds for Wily Mo Pena last spring, I wouldn't have blamed him for thinking the Sox shafted him by swapping him not long after he signed a below-market contract with the intent of staying in Boston long-term. Looks like it worked out for the best for Arroyo after all. As for the Sox? Given what starting pitchers are commanding these days, you have to wonder if Theo Epstein would like a do-over.

Collaborate and listen

This was originally intended to be a "First and 10" column, but I figure that probably wouldn't be so timely now, four days and countless rehashes after the Pats' 24-17 win over the Jets. Heck, you might say it'd be more like "Last and 10"! (Ha! Ha-ha! . . . knee slap . . . c'mon, it's late.) So instead I've cranked out a monster notebook - kind of a meld between a "First and 10" and a "Nine innings," with a few other ridiculous notions and harebrained ideas thrown in for good measure. Dig in, and as always, thanks for reading and sharing your take:

• Bill Belichick has his team right where he wants them: At 2-0, in first place, and with countless rolls of film documenting their flaws and follies from their ugly victories Weeks 1 and 2. That said, I have no idea what to expect in this Denver game, other than that it's a good policy to stay away from Champ Bailey. The Broncos are historically tough on the Patriots - Tom Brady is 1-4 against them in his career - and Denver has not allowed a touchdown this season. On the other hand, Jake Plummer has suddenly remembered he's Jake Plummer, and he's about one more ill-advised throw away from permanently ceding his job to Jay Cutler. I suppose I'll give the nod to the Pats because they are at home and last season's playoff loss is a motive for revenge, but I don't feel particularly good about it.

• Three thoughts on Tom Verducci's must-read regarding Alex Rodriguez's bizarro struggles, which aren't limited to the ballfield; to a man, his teammates seem to have no use for him, to the point of open contempt: 1) Excuse the pop psychology, but after reading this, you simply can't come to any other conclusion but this: there is no Alex Rodriguez, fallible human, regular guy. His entire persona is tied up in the deceptive image of A-Rod, the perfect ballplayer and Mega Man, and so when he fails or struggles, he simply is not secure enough in himself to come to grips with it. (Hell, he even refuses to use the word "slump.") Yeah, the guy's a mess. 2) Jason Giambi, who seems about as genuine as a chronic cheater can be, comes across as a team-first leader. 3) Derek Jeter, the captain in title if not clubhouse conduct, does not, at least where A-Rod is concerned. Does pettiness count as an intangible?


• The Sox's decision to recall Devern Hansack from Double A Portland is one of those nice stories that remind me why I like sports. Hansack, an affable 28-year-old from Nicaragua, is a journeyman's journeyman: he was released after a couple of uninspiring years in Class A with Houston, did the vagabond ballplayer thing for a while in baseball hotbeds such as Holland (do they wear wooden cleats?), then returned to Nicaragua to play a little ball and get on with the rest of his life. Well, a Sox scout spotted him in a winter league, recommended that Boston sign him, and long story short, he blossomed into the ace of the Sea Dogs' championship team late this summer, winning the clinching Game 5 against Akron and looking like a pitcher with legitimate big-league aspirations. As the Portland Press Herald's Glenn Jordan (who is dearly missed on the Sea Dogs' beat, IMO) details here, it was kind of neat how the Sox informed him his improbable dream was coming true. (Update: My buddy Mistler has another fine first-person take here.)

• Peter King's column used to be staple on my Monday mornings, but ever since his wide-ranging NFL insight began regressing into a grating collection of anecdotes about his massive Starbucks intake, Montclair Freakin', N.J. softball, travel whines, Brett Favre man-love and atrocious fantasy football advice (Chris Simms? C'mon, we know you've known his old man for 20+ years, Peter, but cripes, the kid is on the verge of losing his job to Major Applewhite), he's become a pathetic parody of himself. He seems to have a remarkable sense of self-importance, and for proof, I offer you this as one example of many:

This is going to do nothing but make you envious of me, and so I'm not sure if I should write it or not, but I relate it only to let you know how thankful I am for the charmed life I lead, and to remind you that the next time I complain about anything job-related you need to put me in my place and tell me what a fool I am.

Last Wednesday, at the conclusion of the league meetings, I had a 5:15 p.m. flight on Continental from Phoenix to Newark. Being the baseball nerd that I am, I decided to stop in at the Arizona-Oakland exhibition game in Phoenix for a few innings, in large part because Randy Johnson was hurling. And so here came Miguel Tejada to the dish. Cool moment.

Reigning NL Cy Young Award winner versus reigning AL Most Valuable Player. Here's the pitch. Long drive to right ... twisting ... curving foul ... deep ... and 10 feet foul, over the fence. I thought -- and I have my reasons why -- what a good thing it would be to have that ball.

There was a moderate crowd on this toasty Arizona afternoon. And, after the inning, I walked out to the bleachers down the right-field line and looked over the fence that stood between the main ballpark and the back fields where the A's train. I asked a fan where the ball was that Tejada hit, and he pointed to the first main field, where a ball sat between home plate and the first-base bag. At the same time, a kid, maybe about 7, asked some other fans where the ball was; I heard him. And those fans pointed to four foul balls sitting in sort of no-man's land between the backstop on the first field and the fence where I was. I knew this couldn't be true, because the ball went over the fence barely foul, not 35 feet foul the way it would have had to if it was where the kid thought it was. And so I walked to the area outside the right-field stands where a guard and an A's official were making sure no fans got down to the lower fields and the players' parking lot. I asked if I might be able to get the Johnson-Tejada ball. The official said no problem, and I walked down, past the alerted guard, and onto the pristine field to get the ball. Behind me, all of a sudden, I heard the running footsteps of the kid, who'd apparently snuck behind me and got past the guard, too, and he scrambled past the backstop to get the ball he was sure was the one Tejada hit. I picked up the True Ball, and I told the kid: "I'm sure you've got the one Tejada hit," just so he'd feel good about it. And when the guard saw him walking back up the ramp toward the stadium, he tried to stop the kid, but he was too quick and slipped back into the stadium. (Just like I'm sure I would have done if I was a kid and had an MVP foul ball.) I thanked Matt sincerely, told him the ball would be put to good use, and went back to watch a couple more innings before catching my plane.

And now you know why I have the best job on earth.

Geez, I guessing King's editors cut out the part where he shoved the kid to the ground after he raced past the scone-stuffed, out-of-touch jackass. What. A. Tool. If I ever meet King, I vow to you that I will kiss his ass right up to the point where I tell him I loved him as Norm on "Cheers." Might not be original - the similarity is uncanny - but you know it would infuriate him, in part because George Wendt has him by at least 80 pounds these days, and in part because King surely thinks he's the bigger star. Gotta do something to puncture that bloated ego, people.

• And in a related note, how many so-called experts are revising their trendy Dolphins-Panthers Super Bowl prediction at the moment? I suppose the Panthers could recover should Steve Smith return to good health, but why Daunte Culpepper continues to fool people into believing he's an effective and winning NFL quarterback is a mystery to me. He's perennially overrated. Just like his team.

• I'm not saying Chad Jackson will replace Deion Branch, in terms of production or reliability. But from what I saw Sunday, it's at least a legitimate possibility, and for the moment, that's good enough for me. The kid clearly has tremendous skills. We'll learn about the rest soon enough.

• That said, I do miss Branch and David Givens, and I can't help but shake my head in disgust at the vocal minority who feel the need to denigrate their abilities and accomplishments simply because they are no longer a part of our team. Branch and Givens weren't the most physically gifted receivers in the T.O. sense, but they were smart, fearless, dependable winners who deserve nothing but plaudits for what they helped the Patriots accomplish in their four seasons here. I'll remember them well, and I don't understand why anyone wouldn't.


• Happy 50th, Big Papi. Thanks for bringing a little bit of electricity back to Fenway in this lost September, and for reminding me once again to never take you for granted.

• This made my day, not only because he is again healthy and doing what he loves, but because this column, from the fresh insight to the (completely justified) list of Very Special People, is absolutely classic Gammons. Damn, I sure did miss him this summer.

• Derek Jeter is going to win the AL MVP award whether he deserves it or not, but even Yankee fans will admit their dreams of Championship No. 27 hinge on the right elbow of their real MVP, the indispensable Mariano Rivera. To put it another way: Given a choice between having Jeter or Rivera healthy for the postseason, I think even New Yawkers would relegate Jeter to the status of World's Highest-Paid Bench Coach.


• Just how long has Junior Seau been around? The Chargers selected him with the fifth pick in the 1990 draft. The Patriots selected a linebacker themselves five picks later. Hey, anyone heard from Chris Singleton lately?

• While the Dodgers' four-straight-homers-in-the-ninth comeback was historically wonderful, and Nomar's I-love-this-game reaction after hitting the walkoff winner was a pleasant revelation, the best thing about that ball game's conclusion was the graceful, egoless call by the incomparable Vin Scully. After using his patented "She's gone!" as Nomar's shot cleared the fence, he was silent for a good 30-45 seconds as the cameras captured the Dodgers' pure jubilation. Then he cut in with a wry "And, oh by the way . . . the Dodgers are in first place," and signed off. It was simply perfect. Trupiano and the rest should be so elegantly articulate.

• The Reggie Bush saga, among the increasing list of USC improprieties, suggests to me that Pete Carroll has about as much institutional control with the Trojans as he did during his Pushover Pete days with the Patriots. He's a swell guy, a clever defensive coach, and a charming recruiter, but he commands about as much respect as a poodle in a dog pound.


• Bob Ryan referred to ol' No. 80 as "the venerable Troy Brown" Sunday, and I thought that was perfect. That stiff arm he unleashed on Jets DB Derrick Strait was straight out of a Walter Payton highlight reel, and he remains the savviest third-down receiver ever to run a pass pattern for the Patriots. It seems like he's been around forever - and on these days when he seems ageless, you almost wonder if he will be.

• Buster Olney, whom I respect and whose work I enjoy even though he rarely seems to be right, thinks the Sox are going to make a run at Eric Gagne if he doesn't remain with the Dodgers. I'm not sure if I like this, to be honest. While Gagne is as good as it gets when he's healthy, he's not healthy all that often, and I can't help but notice that he's considerably smaller than he was when he converted from a mediocre starter to lights-out closer in '02. I'm just afraid the risk outweighs the reward in this case, and the Sox need a sure thing more than they need another question mark in that bullpen.

• I'd be glad to be wrong, but from what I've seen of Dustin Pedroia and David Murphy, the Sox will be all set for a utility infielder and a 4th outfielder for the next half-decade or so.

• All right, here's my take on HandshakeGate: I'm fairly certain Bill Belichick is pissed Eric Mangini dismissed his advice and took a job with the hated rival, one that in the aftermath of the HC of the NYJ debacle, once questioned his mental well-being. I'm fairly certain Mangini is taken aback and a little bit hurt by his mentor's petty you're-dead-to-me routine. And that's all the bandwidth I'm going to waste on this made-for-Ordway storyline.

• The moment the ninth inning of Game 162 of the Red Sox season is complete, Terry Francona seriously needs to go into hibernation for about three months. The man is wearing every crushing loss, devastating injury, and unjust break on his face; he looks like hell, pallid and drawn, and he's not exactly the picture of health in the best of times. Get some rest, Tito. The Nation knows you've earned it.

• The rip job Padres GM Kevin Towers dropped on Doug Mirabelli the other day comes as no surprise to anyone who's been around the Sox's washed-up backup catcher for any length of time. Mirabelli's an accomplished blowhard with a ridiculously inflated perception of his own abilities; Francona couldn't wait to be rid of him after the 2005 season, and I'm sure he's just thrilled to have him chirping in his ear now. Man, this trade just gets better and better, doesn't it?

• After making the mistake of watching "Sports Final" Sunday, I'm not sure what Bob Lobel openly disdains more: The Red Sox, the Patriots, the fans, or Steve Burton.

• Not sure if this is a legit rumor or just wishful thinking, but it's worth noting that Sox media relations honcho Glenn Geffner used to do radio play-by-play for the Padres. Hmmm. Anyone know if Trupe's contract has been renewed yet? Please say no . . . please say no . . .

• Okay, the important stuff. Here's my prediction for tonight's season premiere of the official sitcom of TATB, the Emmy-winning "The Office": I'll drool and grin like a jackass every time Pam is on the screen, my wife will roll her eyes and tell me I'm much more of a Roy than a Jim, I'll counter by noting that Angela reminds me of her, but much warmer, then I will be ordered to sleep on the couch . . . in the driveway. Hey, it's kind of our Thursday routine, you know. As far as the actual show is concerned . . . I say Jim transfers to Stamford after Pam breaks his heart and stays with Roy. I say it's several episodes (or seasons) down the road until Pam admits her true feelings, probably only after Jim has a new best girl in his life. If you want more of my pathetic insight, well, hell, stop by. That'll be me babbling on the couch, down by the mailbox.

• As for today's Completely Random Football Card:


When I was a kid, way back in the days before Flying Elvis stole Pat Patriot's gig, my dad would insist that Russ Francis was the best all-around tight end in the game - better than Kellen Winslow, Ozzie Newsome, Dave Casper, all of them. I took it with a dose of skepticism - he also insisted Stanley Morgan was better than John "J.J." Jefferson, my third-grade football hero, and I knew that couldn't be true . . . except, ultimately, it was. And don't tell my old man, but I think he might have been right about Francis, too.

Heating up some leftovers . . .

• Got quite a few emails along these lines today: You really think the Sox are making the playoffs, or are you just being positive to counter the Ordways of the world? Honestly, yes, I do believe the Sox will make the playoffs, though the wild card seems more likely now that the Yankees have finished collecting the entire 2003 Topps All-Star team in pinstripes. In wallowing in the Sox' problems, we tend to forget that competition has plenty of flaws too. The White Sox seem to have lost a little of their special karma from last year, Jim Thome has nagging injuries, just about all of their talented starting pitchers are curiously underachieving, and David Riske is prominently involved in their bullpen, which as we know firsthand is never a good thing. And the Twins? They are more pretender than contender if Francisco Liriano is indeed ailing, and it sure looked that way last night. I'm not denying that we should have concerns about the Red Sox. The pitching is obviously a disaster zone at the moment, and the Lorettas and Lowells need to prove they have the crunch-time character of the Damons and Muellers. And the limp and limping offense at the moment is all too reminiscent of the stretch run last season, when it consisted of Manny, Papi, and seven slumbering mediocrities. I do think it's temporary this year, though. Kevin Youkilis is stinging the ball again, Coco Crisp is hitting at a .364 clip over his last 14 games, and Wily Mo Pena will have his monstrous moments. I know they're not permitted for long around here, but slumps happen, to good players and good teams. They're going to be fine.

• I never thought I'd be glad Ken Huckaby cleared waivers, Corky Miller (1 for his last 50-something) is the worst so-called major-league player I can recall seeing seen since Marc Sullivan was doing his nepotism thing 20 years ago. I've seen bleepfaced guys in the batting cages at Funtown with better swings.

• Funny how those yowling that the Sox should have done something, anything at the trade deadline never seem to tell us exactly what they should have done or who they should have acquired. It's the first rule of being a bleep-stirring banshee: Never let reality, facts or common sense get in the way of a good whine.

• Yes, I'd still rather have David Wells than Cory Lidle. You will too.

• Peter King regressed into self-parody several trips to Starbucks ago, but he officially lost me as a loyalist of his once-great Monday Morning Quarterback column today with this staggeringly ignorant comment:

I honestly think Jason Varitek is a bigger loss to the Red Sox than Manny Ramirez would be.

Ri-damn-diculous. And this from an alleged Sox fan - albeit one who recently claimed Derek Jeter is the best player he will ever see. I bet the fool wears a pink hat to Fenway. What say we stick to fawning over Brett Favre and leave the baseball writing to grownups like Verducci, okay, Mochachino Boy?

• Jump throw . . . fist pump . . . calm eyes . . . intangibles . . . grapefruit. Yup, glad to see we're not the only ones making sport of Captain Jetes. And somewhere, Peter King is fist-pumping a scone down his gullet.


• I have to admit, I always perceived Omar Minaya to be just shy of incompetent, based on the mocking he absorbed in "Moneyball" as well as the reports during his time in Montreal that he didn't want to deal with the Sox because he thought Theo hadn't paid his dues. But he's done a hell of a job with the Mets, particularly in comparison to predecessors Jim Duquette and the laughable Steve Phillips, and he deserves tremendous credit for having the foresight to lock up budding superstars David Wright and Jose Reyes long term. Those deals might be considered no-brainers, but if I recall correctly, Phillips said on "Baseball Tonight" prior to the start of the season that the Mets should deal Reyes while he had value. Yeah, thanks for the tip there, Branch Rickey. At the least, Minaya seems blessed with common sense, which puts him several strides ahead of more than few of his peers.

• Not to prematurely switch seasons here, but damn, it puts a bounce in my step seeing Rodney Harrison on the football field again.

• T-minus four days and counting until the arrival of your favorite semi-loyal blogger's second child. For reasons both logical and sentimental, Ortiz "Little Papi" Finn is daddy's preferred name choice (boy or girl), but for some reason mom hasn't quite been convinced yet. Maybe a walk-off or two this week will do the trick.

• As for today's Completely Random Baseball Card:


Heard somewhere tonight that Eck coined the phrase "walk-off home run." I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, especially considering he might have given up the most famous walk-off of all.

Nine innings 5.31.06

Playing nine innings while wishing Mike Timlin and Jason Varitek had skipped the World Baseball Classic . . .

1. So it looks like Roger Clemens is remaining in Houston. Can't say I'm surprised, though as one who declared the Rocket officially dead to me the moment he first put on the pinstripes, I have to admit I'm a little more disappointed than I thought I'd be. It would have made for neat closure - not mention great copy - for him to return to Boston to finish his legendary career. But sentiment has never been in Clemens's repertoire, at least as a substitute for cold, hard cash, and any hopes of a Rocket Reconciliation became a pipe dream a few weeks ago when the Astros made it clear they would match the Sox and Yankees dollar for dollar while continuing to let Clemens live his life of convenience. Oh, well. Guess we'll have to wait 'til next year, when he puts us through the whole "I'm 99 percent retired unless a team offers me $20 mil for three months' work" routine again.

2. Is Curt Schilling a Hall of Famer? At first glance at his baseball-reference.com page, an unbiased fan would probably say no. He's never won a Cy Young award, though he's finished second three times. He's won more than 20 three times in the previous five seasons, but he never won more than 17 in the first 13 years of his career. And while the 200th win was a hell of an accomplishment, didn't you think he surpassed that milestone a few years ago? His similarity scores don't exactly bunch him with a pitching staff's worth of Cooperstown shoo-ins, either. David Cone is the most similar pitcher to him, and that certainly seems valid. But others on the list include Dwight Gooden, Kevin Brown, Jimmy Key and Bob Welch - fine pitchers all, but not Hall of Famers by any stretch. Of course, Schilling has a scrapbook full of defining moments that are worthy of a plaque - pitching the D-Backs past the Yankees in the '01 World Series, helping the grubby Phillies to the '93 Series, and I think I've heard something about a bloody sock that sounds pretty heroic. His postseason record - 7-2 with a 2.06 ERA - gives him the right to claim he's one of the best clutch pitchers in recent history. Ultimately, I think he'll get in - hey, never said I was unbiased - but a few more seasons of 15+ wins couldn't hurt his case.

3. Who bats leadoff? Does it really matter that much? Talk about your 'EEI-driven faux controversies. No matter which way Tito Francona approaches this, the Sox will be fine. If Coco Crisp leads off, the Sox have an fleet-cleated instigator atop the lineup, with Kevin Youkilis dropping down to add depth to the lineup. But if Youkilis remains in the leadoff spot - and with a .420-something OBP, he couldn't have done a better job - Crisp has enough pop in his bat that batting sixth or seventh is not out of the question. They're both versatile offensive players, and they're going to help the Sox score a lot of runs no matter where they are situated in the lineup. It's win-win, either way.

4. While it's tempting to take a page from one of the New York tabloids and suggest the best way to deal with a tormenting opponent is by putting a fastball in his ear hole, instead I'm going to take the high road and say there's no shame in getting beat by Vernon Wells. While he is one of about six Sox Killers in the Toronto lineup, the difference between Wells and the relentlessly aggravating Gregg Zauns, Reed Johnsons and Frank Catalanottos of the world is that the Jays center fielder is among the premier (and most underrated) all-around players in the American League, and very possibly an MVP-in-waiting. If you're going to get whupped, he's the kind of player who should whup you.

5. This Week's Reason Jerry Trupiano Isn't Qualified To Call The Shoot-Water-In-The-Clown's-Nose Game at Funtown USA: A few nights ago - I can't remember which particular game it was - the Sox were down to their final out. Joe Castiglione, sounding like his dog ran away as he always does when Sox defeat is inevitable, was trying to call what would be the game's final pitches. ("Pahhped him up . . . (sigh) . . . this should do it . . . ") But, inexplicably, Trupiano kept talking over him, babbling on about how the Kansas City Royals overlooked a local kid named Albert Pujols several years ago and now their in-state rival was reaping the rewards. Now, you don't have to listen to many to broadcasts to realize Troop left his heart in St. Louis - I'm still skeptical that he was pulling for his employer in the 2004 World Series - but is he so oblivious that he finds it acceptable to go off on a tangent during the game's final moments? With a story about the freakin' Royals? I wonder if he would find it at all interesting that the Red Sox supposedly scouted and worked out Pujols and ultimately chose not to draft him way back when, thinking, the story goes, that he was a decent hitting prospect but couldn't play a position? At least that tale might have been relevant to his listeners.

6. I'm not saying he's a wimp, but in terms of mound demeanor, Matt Clement is starting to make Derek Lowe look like Bob Gibson. Okay, I guess I'm saying he's a wimp. And while we're at it, can all the armchair pitching coaches please stop talking about how he has excellent stuff? He doesn't. What he has is a 90 MPH straight fastball that he struggles to spot, and a sharp slider that is as likely to find the middle of the plate as it is the webbing of Jason Varitek's mitt. Cripes, Rudy Seanez has better stuff than that. Clement's might have been excellent once. It's average at best now.

7. Random football note: Peter King predicted in his MMQB column that the Pats and Cowboys will meet in next season's Super Bowl. Sounds reasonable . . . but wait. King also predicted that the Lesser of Bills would win the matchup, Dallas taking a 23-21 victory. Sounds like Mr. King's frequent references to drinking Starbucks beverages are actually euphemisms for sniffing glue.

8. Now that Balco Barry has finally hobbled past the Bambino, I trust that ESPN will halt its all-Bonds, all-the-time coverage and get back to its regularly scheduled programming. Namely, Stu Scott Why-The-Bleep-Is-He-Rhyming-The-Royals-Vs.-Tigers-Highlights Poetry Slams interspersed with Which Teammate Terrell Owens Is Ripping Today updates every 20 minutes. That is the plan? Whew. Such a relief. That ombudsman really gets it done, huh?

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



Remember that Sox-Yanks game in, oh, I believe it was in '86, when one of the Yankees' mustached, vulgar, wife-beater wearing, truly elegant and classy fans plucked the hat off Jim Rice's head? And remember how one daring, bat-wielding member of the Sox went into the stands with Jim Ed to "reacquire" the hat? That was our man LaSchelle here. He might not have been much of a hitter, but he was one hell of a wingman. We tip our hat to him, and we bet Rice would too.