Everything's coming our way

Well, it looks like that blowhard gene doesn't skip a generation after all.

Seriously, how much are you loving the Hank Steinbrenner Era? He's a Jennifer Love Hewitt-diggin', tabloid-courtin', droopy-joweled version of his old man, right down to the ubiquitous blue blazer. (What, no white turtleneck? Step it up, son!)

Yes, the Steinbrenner boy possesses that famous Steinbrenner bluster. Unfortunately for him, he hasn't quite mastered the art of the ultimatum quite like his dear ol' bloviating daddy did.

First Hank deftly bullied A-Rod and shrewdly manipulated that negotiation until the poor, humiliated third baseman came crawling back to New York to accept the richest freakin' contract in baseball history. And now his take-or-leave-it offer to the Twins for ace lefthander Johan Santana hangs in the air unanswered, with Minnesota making counter proposals, disregarding his false bravado, and apparently pondering alternative options . . . including, as I suppose you've heard, an intriguing bid from those meddling Boston Red Sox.

Which brings us to the poll question of the day: Whaddaya say, Sox fans? Should they go for it? Should they do - and pay - whatever it takes to get Santana from the Twins, the side benefit being, obviously, that he does not end up in New York? I'll admit it: I've got seriously mixed feelings about the pursuit of the two-time Cy Young Award winner.

The positives, of course, should be obvious even to a dope like Steve Phillips. Santana has been the dominant pitcher in the American League for half a decade. His presence in a rotation with Josh Beckett, Dice-K, and Curt Schilling would make the Sox everyone's favorite to repeat as champs. And he's humble, charismatic, and a delight to watch, sort of a mellower, southpaw version of Pedro. Santana's easy to root for, and the citizens of Fenway would quickly come to adore him.

And yet . . .

The price is appropriately steep, both in terms of Santana's salary and personnel compensation to the Twins. I have a hard time fathoming Theo Epstein committing $20 million per season to any pitcher who will be in his mid-30s at contract's end, even one as accomplished as Santana.

And you have to figure it will take Jacoby Ellsbury and Jon Lester to make the deal happen, despite the Sox's insistence at the moment that it will be either/or. Ellsbury strikes me as somewhat overvalued right now - should the baby-faced October hero be dealt, the Pink Hats surely will weep into their $7.50 beers while yowling, "But he won us a taco!" But I stand by what I wrote in July: Ellsbury projects to be a Brett Butler type rather than the Fred Lynn/Johnny Damon hybrid his legions of admirers envision. He's talented, but hardly untouchable. But in a package with Lester, who threw the best game of his career in the biggest game of his career, and perhaps Jed Lowrie, and perhaps Justin Masterson or Michael Bowden? In that case, the status quo works for me, thanks, and given how often Epstein emphasizes the importance of having young, inexpensive contributors on the big-league roster, I imagine it will be too rich for his blood as well.

Besides, Santana may not be such a sure thing from here forward. I wrote a couple of times in the Fox column this season, he may be showing subtle signs of a decline; statistically, this was his worst season since he moved fulltime into the Minnesota rotation in 2004, and it's alarming to some degree that scouts thought he was hesitant to throw his slider during his mediocre final month of the season.

The pitcher I've often likened him to is Ron Guidry, another undersized lefty with a filthy slider who slipped from historically great to merely pretty good rather quickly. Gator's peak season - and what a season it was - came at age 27 in '78. Santana's peak has been longer and better, but he will be 29 in March, and it's worth noting that his most similar comparison on baseballreference.com from ages 26 through 28 is Tim Hudson - respectable company, sure, but not who you'd expect for a pitcher of Santana's magnitude and reputation.

Another popular question these days is this: Should we believe Epstein is sincere in his interest? I think so . . . to a point. The Sox would love to have Santana, but on their terms. But the Yankees need Santana. Huge difference. Epstein has handled this negotiation with a casual calm - no deadlines, no worries - and part of his motivation simply has to be to drive up the ransom for the desperate Yankees, who must acquire this ace unless they want to spend the next half-decade looking up to the Sox in the standings.

Logically, the Yankees have no choice but to meet the Twins' demands - even Georgie's Boy must know this. I only hope Minnesota rookie GM Bill Smith is savvy and patient enough to wait out Son of George's next dozen or so "drop-dead deadlines" until he ends up with Philip Hughes (who's actually nine months younger than Joba Chamberlain, and a superior long-term prospect to the Midge Magnet in my opinion), Mussina-wannabe Ian Kennedy, and Melky Cabrera, an adequate talent whose energy greatly exaggerates his ability.

There are indications that Smith is getting antsy to make a deal - he is apparently willing to take outfielder Austin Jackson and righty Alan Horne instead of Kennedy, a logical proposition the Yankees reportedly rejected late last night. But in the end, if the Twins don't get a collection of talent they are pleased with in exchange for the best pitcher of this decade, it's their own fault.

After all, the Yankees are desperate to get this done. Listen closely to the blustery words of the nervous man in the blue blazer, and you might even hear it.

* * *

As for today's Completely Random Baseball Card:



Sox fans of a certain age have to be proud today that the deft and demanding manager of the Impossible Dream Sox is headed for Cooperstown, one of five candidates voted in by Veterans Committee today. Personally, I'm just hoping he remembers to wear pants to the induction ceremony. (By the way, Williams's autobiography, "No More Mr. Nice Guy," is a fantastic read. Can't recommend it highly enough. He rips everyone, save for his wife, Andre Dawson, and maybe Tony Gwynn.)

Nine innings: 05.28.07

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Fever pitch

It was the great unanswered question of this Red Sox offseason: Will Daisuke Matsuzaka call Fenway Park home in 2007? And now that it has been answered with a resounding "yes," an affirmation that can be heard all the way to the heart of the Pacific Rim, and now that we've tracked the flight plan of John Henry's plane on Sons of Sam Horn, cheered the would-be ace's arrival on the tarmac, watched every last minute of the "Matsuzaka Marathon" and the surreal press conference on NESN, and wondered just what he makes of all of this, here are a few more questions and answers regarding the new No. 18 in your program:

Did Theo Epstein and the Sox front office handle this as flawlessly as it appears? Let's put it this way: This entire situation has restored my wavering faith in this front office. Make no mistake, Theo Epstein, Larry Lucchino and the rest played the game brilliantly, from beginning to end. They targeted Matsuzaka as the pitcher they simply had to have this offseason, blew the dumbstruck Yankees and everyone else out of the water with the eye-popping posting bid, realized they had all the leverage and held their ground despite Scott Boras's transparent but effective make-'em-sweat negotiating machinations, and ultimately signed a 26-year old pitcher whom everyone in baseball likes (more on that in a second) to a six-year deal for an annual average salary that is more than $2 million less than that of career mediocrity Gil Meche. Yeah, I'd say they handled it flawlessly. I haven't felt this good about this management team since October, 2004.

Will he live up to the Japanese Pedro billing, will he be the second coming of the Fat *$&#@ Toad, or will he be something in between? Let's get something straight right away: he will not be another Pedro. Petey's stretch of dominance from '98-'00 was a once-in-a-fan's-lifetime gift from the sports gods, and it's not fair to ask anyone to live up to that standard. Now, with that disclaimer out of the way . . . I'm convinced he's going to be very good, as in Cy Young-candidate-good, and I believe that for this reason: Even when those in the know around baseball were taken aback by the Sox's enormous posting bid, no one - and I mean no one - questioned whether Matsuzaka was a worthwhile investment. I am yet to hear or read comments from a scout or an insider with first-person familiarity with Matsuzaka who does not believe he's going to be an outstanding major league pitcher immediately. From what I've seen (thanks, YouTube) and heard, he looks like a young Mike Mussina, but with a better fastball, and while that's not Pedro territory, you're damned right it's high praise. Man, I cannot wait to watch this kid throw the baseball.

Was there a specific point during the negotiations when you became certain a deal would happen? When ESPN's Steve Phillips said it wouldn't. Seriously. How did that boob-with-a-pulpit ever get a GM gig? He must have nudie pictures of the owner groping Mr. Met or something. Actually, as I wrote a few days, I thought this was going to happen all along, despite the tension and posturing by both sides during the negotiations. A deal simply made sense for everyone involved: The Sox clearly were sincere in their desire of the player and were willing to pay a reasonable price, Matsuzaka has hungered to pitch in the majors for a few years now and had no intention of returning to Japan for another season, the financially strapped Seibu ballclub had already announced how it was allocating the posting fee and may or may not have been in cahoots with the Sox regarding a threat to send Matsuzaka to the minors if he returned, and Boras needed to make a deal or risk losing credibility with a Japanese public that does not look upon greed as favorably as does a lizard-skinned baseball agent. Despite all the countdown-clock drama, the signing was inevitable.

What's the Japanese word for "guts"? To put it another way, can he handle the pressure of Boston? Ah, the question every self-important TV talking head is oh-so-seriously contemplating these days. We're only going to say this once, so listen up, all you vacant hairdos and Jim Rome wannabes: Matsuzaka became a national icon in Japan when he was in high school; he's carried the weight of a nation on his right shoulder for eight years, and despite the pressure, he somehow managed to emerge as the premier pitcher in the land. Something tells me he's going to be just fine handling the weight of Red Sox Nation. As for the melodramatic overkill of the last few days? He's used to it; I worry more for his teammates, who are in for a claustrophobic surprise when they realize how many Japanese media will be cramming into their clubhouse every day. But given what he's put up with already, a few bleacher blowhards and yowling ninnies like Gary Tanguay aren't going to affect him, though it probably helps that he doesn't speak much English. (I did love Shaughnessy's suggestion that Matsuzaka throw out his AM radio. Heaven knows I should do the same.)

Why is Doug Mirabelli gently weeping into his chicken parm? Because yesterday was supposed to be his day, dammit. And he didn't even get a police escort this time! You can bet Dr. Charles Steinberg will be hearing about this. You do not treat the world's most famous .193-hitting, 36-year-old backup catcher this way without having hell to pay!

Did Glenn Ordway, in the rare moments when he wasn't instigating a catfight between vapid Steve Burton and disingenuous Dale Arnold today, actually stumble upon a great idea? Shockingly, yes, when he suggested NESN should air a handful of Matsuzaka's Japanese League games so fans could have a chance to become familiar with him. It's a shrewd idea to feed our baseball jones while filling out those blase winter programming blocks, and I'd be surprised if Tom Werner hadn't already begun looking into it. Come to think of it, Ordway probably lifted the idea from him.

As for today's Completely Random Baseball Card:


Speaking of Ordway, judging by his pronunciation, I'm pretty sure he thinks this guy is Matsuzaka's agent. It's Bor-ASS, Glennie. You'd think he'd be familiar with the second syllable.

Say hello, wave goodbye

This time, I'm afraid, all the experts, insiders, and rumor pushers are right. Like one of his legendary moonshots toward the Mass Pike, Manny Ramirez is going, going, gone.

Now, unless this is your first visit to this warped corner of cyberspace, you're surely aware that TATB is unabashed Manny Territory. We admit it upfront. We're awed by the player (should Albert Pujols fail to keep up the pace, Manny's Hall of Fame plaque will refer to him as the greatest righthanded hitter of his era) and amused by the man-child antics (though admittedly not so much come last September, when his season was aborted due to some combination of injury and indifference). Other than Butch Hobson, the wild-eyed idol of our childhood, we have never enjoyed watching a Red Sox player more. You could say every blast has been a blast.

Yet we're resigned to the sad fact that he'll be an ex-Red Sox shortly, just as soon as Theo Epstein receives the appropriate handful of shiny rocks and magic beans in return. Manny's going to be a Dodger, or an Angel, or a Padre, and one of the most fun, productive, and successful eras in Red Sox history will officially be in the past tense. Pardon me while I cue up Faith Rewarded and wonder why it feels so long ago.

It's not like I don't understand why the Sox would consider shopping him. He's going to be 35 next season; the decline has to begin sometime, and his aching knees may already be a harbinger. And if you believe the whispers - certain to be a full-fledged smear campaign once the deal is consummated - the home clubhouse may not be such a welcoming place for him anymore. I find no fault with Buster Olney's clear-eyed assessment of the situation today:

"Here's the thing: It seems evident that the Red Sox have determined internally that they are better off without Ramirez, a talented slugger who is nonetheless an enormous distraction, and may or may not have quit on the team in the last five weeks of the regular season. And if that's what club officials believe -- if they believe that having Manny Being Manny is a serious problem -- they should make the best deal possible for Ramirez ASAP and move on."

Well-said, but here's the quandary: The words that spring off the screen in that paragraph are "best deal possible," and of all the rumors floating around out there right now, not one of them strikes me as particularly beneficial to the 2007 Red Sox. Scot Shields and a prospect from the Angels? Throw in Brandon Wood and Howie Kendrick and we'll talk. James Loney and Matt Kemp from the Dodgers? Intriguing, especially if Theo's goal is to bolster the Pawtucket roster for the summer. Scott Linebrink from the Padres? C'mon, Theo, don't get pantsed by Kevin Towers again.

There's one question that every Red Sox fan should be pondering right now: How in the hell does trading Manny make the Red Sox better?

Will they get an equal talent in return? Highly unlikely, unless Albert Pujols should suddenly get caught looting Tony La Russa's office or Texas foolishly parts with Mark Teixeira after a down year.

Does trading him allow them the financial flexibility to fill other holes? Sure. But if you give me the choice of Manny Ramirez and two replacement-level players or no Manny, but with the immensely unlikeable Julio Lugo and J.D. Drew, I'll take the former option and kick the latter's butt all season long. And frankly, I'm so sure I trust them to spend Manny's millions wisely. In Theo we trust? Yeah, not so much these days.

I'd feel better about this if only they were doing it for baseball reasons. Instead, they seem intent on trading a diamond for three cubic zirconiums, just to rid themselves of the Manny Melodrama. Heck, noted baseball historian Hazel Mae attempted to sum up that mind-set tonight on NESN: "Getting rid of Manny might not be as great as it sounds," she bleated. I don't even know what the hell that means. It's like she was channeling McCarver.

Unfortunately, her silly comment speaks to the common perception we're dealing with at the moment: trading Manny is a good thing, no matter what the return. It seems most of the Trade Manny advocates blame him solely for the gruesome demise of the 2006 Sox, ignoring the indisputable fact that virtually everyone else on the roster either got hurt or, pardon my French, royally sucked down the stretch. Oh, the anti-Manny brigade will yelp and yowl and wait on hold for 45 minutes just to agree with that third-rate lounge act Mike Adams that they deserve someone reliable, a DIRT DAWGGG, A GAME-AH, not a QUITTAH like Manny.

Well, guess what, ya basement-dwelling dope? He's one of the most reliable players in the history of the sport. During his six seasons with the Red Sox, he's batted .316, with an average of 39 homers and 116 RBIs. He has been the Gehrig to Papi's Babe, or vice versa, and you can check the numbers, adjust them for their era, and you'll realize that's not at all hyperbolic. Even with the headaches and midsummer vacations, he's been worth every single Benjamin of his $160 million contract. You want reliable? Despite missing 42 games with a busted finger in 2001, he's averaged 142 games per season with the Sox, a number his supposed successor in the cleanup spot, the infamously indifferent Drew, has surpassed twice in his nine-year career.

Trade him? Sad to say, I'm afraid the banshees will win this round, people. I'm afraid the Sox front office will be unburdened from the contract they've always abhorred, even now, ironically, as it's become a downright bargain. Manny's a goner. This time, it's inevitable.

Too bad. In a time when one-tool players (Juan Pierre) and one-year flashes (Gary Matthews Jr.) are getting PowerBall deals, you bet it's time the Sox do something with Manny Ramirez.

Me, I'd start by picking up his option.

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.