Sign up to get email alerts for each new posts

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Some final thoughts on El Tiante

By now I'm sure you all know that despite my best efforts to drum up some last-week publicity with a "Turn Out for Tiant" event at Jerry Remy's, the most popular Boston pitcher of the last half century not named Clemens or Martinez was once again left on the outside looking in after Monday's Hall of Fame voting by a 16-member Veteran's Committee.

I already went through the many reasons Tiant deserved to get a Cooperstown nod in a separate column on ( so I won't list them again here. Suffice it to say that LOO-EE not only had numbers that matched up quite favorably with previous inductees like Catfish Hunter and Jim Bunning, he also routinely displayed the type of late-season, pennant race dominance that is the true sign of a great hurler.

The results of the voting were what really got me down -- and got me thinking. Cubs third baseman Ron Santo received 15 votes out of 16 cast, making him the only player to earn the 12 needed for enshrinement. This was OK, I always was in Santo's corner, but the fact that Jim Kaat was the only other nominee to crack 10 votes, and that several men including Tiant had received less than three, was especially disheartening. I wondered how anybody who looked at the numbers and actually saw Tiant play could consider him unworthy, and then I realized something:

Sometimes greatness is measured in how a person handles disappointment.

Santo was the perfect example here. For decades he came up short in voting, but he always maintained his love for the game and the Cubs. He had bigger things to worry about than the Hall of Fame, namely his rapidly deteriorating health, and while he was very open in saying he felt he deserved the honor, he didn't let his failure to attain it define him.

From what I've observed from afar and in my brief dealings with him, I believe Tiant is another man with more on his mind than Cooperstown. Here was a guy who was separated from his father for 15 years, his mother for eight, and his extended family for nearly a half century after his abrupt departure from Castro's Cuba. He overcame injuries and a mid-career spiral to bounce back and become one of the most beloved and successful pitchers of the 1970s, and he has spent the 30 years since his playing days teaching others the game.

Tiant has done his part for charity with his "Swing for Diabetes" golf tournament and other endeavors, and is always willing to sit and chat with a fan no matter what his or her age. Like Red Auerbach, he is so engaging and enticing that you don't even mind having to sometimes deal with cigar smoke to get close to him. He's also a devoted family man and a doting father and grandfather.

The Veteran's Committee saw Tiant pitch a lot more often and closely than I did. They didn't believe he was quite up to Cooperstown material, and they are the experts. But in the game of life, in which we are ultimately judged by what we do and how we treat others, his plaque is assured.



Monday, November 28, 2011

Meet Luis Tiant Nov. 30, back his Hall of Fame candidacy (see petition link)

Red Sox pitching great Luis Tiant has been nominated by the Veteran's Committee for the Baseball Hall of Fame. This Wednesday night (Nov. 30) at Jerry Remy's Sports Bar and Grill, a block from Fenway Park, meet Luis and show him your support by signing your name to a petition that will be sent to the Hall of Fame in advance of next Monday's vote.

Have Luis autograph a new copy of my latest book, Fenway Park: The Centennial, and his award-winning documentary, Lost Son of Havana, produced by the Farrelly Brothers. The event is being co-hosted by Narragansett Beer SupahFan Streetwear:

Luis will be on hand from 6-9 p.m., and there will also be a trivial contest and the Bruins game on Remy's many big-screen TVs.  So tell all your friends and Turn Out For Tiant! For more info go to; to sign a petition supporting Luis, go to:

Saturday, November 26, 2011

Who will be next to have his number retired at Fenway?

The numbers are lined up along the right-field grandstand roof at Fenway Park as silent bas-relief beacons to nearly 80 years of outstanding performances by Red Sox players. 

They were once arranged in order of when they were officially retired, which led Boston Globe columnist/fatalist Dan Shaughnessy to note that the original four digits formed a date -- 9-4-1-8 -- on which Fenway was being prepped for a Red Sox-Cubs World Series. For 86 long years, 1918 would mark the last year that the ballpark was home to a world champion. 

Perhaps to help break this "curse" the numbers were later rearranged from smallest to largest, so that they now read across as follows: 1 (for Bobby Doerr); 4 (Joe Cronin); 6 (Johnny Pesky); 8 (Carl Yastrzemski); 9 (Ted Williams); 14 (Jim Rice); 27 (Carlton Fisk); and 42 (Robinson). 

The first seven men wore Red Sox uniforms with distinction; the eighth, Robinson, was denied the chance to do so after a sham 1945 tryout at Fenway based on the color of his skin. Robinson's number has now been retired by every major league team, but its presence here is particularly significant because of what could have been. 

Boston management has set down ground rules for this exclusive club -- all such honorees (besides Robinson, of course) must have played at least 10 years for the franchise, retired a Red Sox, and later made the National Baseball Hall of Fame. 

These rules, however, have been altered twice.

In 2000, after his selection to the Hall of Fame, the Red Sox gave Carlton Fisk a consulting job with the team so he could "retire" with Boston and have his number retired that summer—even though he had spent the last half of his playing career with the White Sox,

Pesky never made the Hall of Fame; by raising up his "6" a day after his 89th birthday in 2008, the Sox honored his six decades with the team as a player, coach, manager, broadcaster and instructor. Although he actually fit none of the original three criteria for number retirement, it's hard to imagine anybody being more dedicated to the franchise.

Assuming the rules can be broken again, whose numbers are the best candidates to join these legends in the years to come?

David Ortiz (#34): The heart of the franchise since 2003 and a force behind two World Series champions, Ortiz has been officially dubbed "the greatest clutch hitter in Red Sox history."

His charisma and flair for the dramatic—including three walk-off hits in a week during the epic curse-busting playoff run of 2004—assures his place in team history.

If the free agent signs on for two or three more years with Boston, "Big Papi" will likely reach his milestone 400th or even 450th home run with the Sox. That plus his magnetic personality make him the most likely number retiree on the current club, although ending his career elsewhere could harm his chances.

Jason Varitek (#33): The captain's reputation as a gritty, dedicated team player took a hit this September when the Red Sox blew their huge wild-card lead. Fans wondered aloud about "Tek's" leadership skills as news broke about the chicken-wing eating shenanigans of Boston pitchers.

Still, the catcher's total body of work over 15 seasons with the Sox is impressive: a team-record 1,488 contests behind the plate, a Gold Glove,193 home runs and two World Series rings. Pitchers swear by his game-calling, and he has caught an MLB-record four no-hitters to support their claims.

Tek is now strictly a backup with a 40th birthday looming in April, but if he can help Boston rebound next season and end his career on a high note—and in a Red Sox uniform—it may be enough to get his "33" up on the wall.

Tim Wakefield (#49): Starter. Closer. Long man. Short man. Innings-killer. Friend to sick kids in Dana-Farber Cancer Institute's Jimmy Fund Clinic. Tim Wakefield has done it all for the Red Sox since being claimed off the scrap heap by Dan Duquette in 1995, and the knuckleballer is now within reach of becoming Boston's all-time winningest pitcher—just six wins behind co-leaders Cy Young and Roger Clemens (192 apiece).

Therein, however, lies the quandary.

Wakefield took nine long starts to reach his 200th career victory last summer—his first 14 wins were with Pittsburgh—and many fans felt manager Terry Francona should have replaced the 46-year-old in the rotation with long-reliever Alfredo Aceves and his sparkling 2.61 ERA as the wild-card lead slipped away. Bringing back Wakefield (7-8, 5.12 in '11) for one more year in 2012 doesn't guarantee he'll get the wins record, and many fans feel he should hang 'em up and let a younger arm take his place.

But if he does come back, and he does break the mark, it will be a great story  and greatly increase the chance his "49" will one day be retired.

Pedro Martinez (#45): Wakefield may have more victories, and Clemens may have more Cy Young Awards, but there is no debating the best Red Sox pitcher of the last 25 years. In fact, when taking into account the era in which he played, Pedro Martinez may be the most dominating hurler in team history.

Martinez went 117-37 with a 2.51 ERA for the Red Sox from 1998-2004, a period when steroid-pumped sluggers were keeping most AL starting pitchers well above the 4.00 mark. In the 2000 season, when he finished with a 1.74 ERA, the next-nearest hurler to him was Clemens (then of the Yankees) at 3.70. It was like the days Babe Ruth used to out-homer entire teams; nobody else was even close to Martinez.

Pedro left Boston after the magic 2004 season for the security of a longer contract with the Mets, but unlike with Clemens all was forgiven. Martinez received huge ovations in his returns to Fenway with New York and to throw out the first pitch of the 2010 season, and a decision to retire his "45" would likely receive similar support from fans.

Luis Tiant (#23): Pedro had fans in a frenzy as he struck out batters at a record clip during his prime, but for sheer enjoyment there was no Red Sox pitcher who was more fun to watch then Luis Tiant. Inside this portly hurler with the wild, twisty-turny motion was the heart of a lion, and Fenway crowds chanted "Looie-Looie" each time he took the hill.

Tiant won 20 games three times for the Red Sox in the mid-70s, plus two more wins in the epic World Series of 1975. His career regular-season stats, including a 229-172 record and 49 shutouts with six teams, match up favorably with several Hall of Famers, but this Cuban hero has fallen short in his bid to make it to Cooperstown.

Luis is now up for consideration by the HOF's Veterans' Committee, and if they vote him in on Dec. 5, a retirement of his "23" at Fenway next summer would be a classy gesture by management—and a great public relations move as well.

Dustin Pedroia (#15): Sure, it's a bit too early to make a spot on the wall for Dustin Pedroia's "`15." "But if early results are any indication, the diminutive fireplug with the big bat and smooth glove will one day be honored in a fashion similar to another great Boston second baseman, Bobby Doerr.

In just five full ML seasons, Pedroia has been named a Rookie of the Year, an MVP, a three-time All-Star and a two-time Gold Glove winner. He's led the AL in runs scored, hits and doubles, become a 20-homer, 20-steal performer and emerged as a leader on the Boston team.

If he keeps it up for another 10 years, he'll be booking his tickets for Cooperstown—and a place among the all-time greatest Red Sox.

Nomar Garciaparra (#5): There was a time, as recent as 2003, when the thought of the Red Sox one day retiring Garciaparra's number was a foregone conclusion.

Just a year later, it was suddenly anything but a sure thing.

For his first seven seasons, from 1996-03, the shortstop had compiled a .323 average and a .555 slugging mark while emerging as one of the most popular players in team history. "Nomah" had won two batting titles and was a perennial All-Star and MVP candidate.Then it all came crashing down.

After the 2003 season, believing that injuries were slowly robbing their star of his range and bat speed, the Red Sox hotly pursued Rangers shortstop Alex Rodriguez. A-Rod signed with the Yankees instead, but the slight angered Garciaparra and impacted his performance on the field and in the clubhouse.

By August of 2004 the disgruntled icon was traded, and missed out on the magic World Series run that fall. He still got a ring, but he may have lost his chance at a number retirement.

Dwight Evans (#24): This one is a real long shot, but it shouldn't be. Evans played the last season of his career with the Orioles, but for 19 years and 2,505 games before that he was a Red Sox—and put up some of the most impressive numbers in team history.

On defense, "Dewey" had great range and a rifle arm, winning eight Gold Gloves for Boston despite having to play a right field in Fenway Park that was bigger and more sun-challenged than most. Offensively, he went from being a streaky hitter with 20-homer power in the 1970s to one of the best all-around batters in the game—leading all AL players in homers (256) and extra-base hits during the '80s.

His Boston totals of 379 homers, 474 doubles and 1,384 RBI all rank in the Top Five in team history, and nobody in franchise annals has matched his Gold Glove total. It's hard to believe that those 101 games with Baltimore might be the only thing keeping Evans from having his "24" retired at Fenway, but now that Manny Ramirez is no longer wearing it either, the right-field grandstand would be a great place for it to wind up.

Tony Conigliaro (#25): No Boston-area kid ever had a more glorious career ahead of him with the Red Sox than a young "Tony C." And nobody ever had that glory taken away so fast—or in such horrible a fashion.

Conigliaro was movie-star handsome, a rock singer in his spare time, and by mid-1967 had reached 100 home runs at a younger age (22) than any other American League player. Then the local legend was nearly killed by a pitch, and although he came back several times in heroic fashion, eye problems connected to the injury kept him from ever fulfilling those early expectations.

Tony C couldn't even get lucky in retirement. A massive heart attack at age 37 caused irreversible brain damage, and left him largely incapacitated for the last eight years of his short life. Nobody ever showed more guts while wearing a Red Sox uniform, however, and for this reason many fans believe his "25" should be retired as much for what could have been as for what he did accomplish.

Who do you think should be honored alongside Yaz, The Kid, Jim Ed, and the rest? After all, the Yankees have retired 16 numbers including Robinson's—surely the Red Sox can find a ninth man to recognize in this fashion.

Monday, November 21, 2011

Valentine overcame gruesome injury early in playing career

It remains to be seen whether Bobby Valentine will be the next manager of the Red Sox, but one thing is certain: If Larry Lucchino and his partners are looking for a guy who knows how to bounce back from a tough year, this is their man.

Valentine was one of baseball's top prospects in the late 1960s. The Connecticut native with sprinter's speed headed west to USC and was the fifth pick (by the Dodgers) in the '68 draft. Big things seemed in store when he was named Pacific Coast League MVP after batting .340 with 14 homers and 16 triples at Triple-A Spokane in 1970. A shortstop, he was the heir apparent to Maury Wills in Los Angeles.

Things didn't go quite so smoothly. Valentine started out slow in the big leagues, partly due to torn knee cartilage sustained playing touch football, but seemed to be hitting his stride after being swapped up the freeway to the Angels.

A month into the '73 campaign the 23-year-old had his average at .302 and was taking time off from shortstop to fill in for an injured teammate in the outfield when he ran back to the wall in pursuit of a Dick Green fly ball.
What happened next was a baseball equivalent of the Joe Theismann injury, with the vinyl fence at Anaheim Stadium playing the role of Lawrence Taylor.

As Sports Illustrated later described it: The ball missed Valentine's glove by an inch, and his leg drove into the vinyl between the two support poles so that the tarp first yielded, then ensheathed his calf like a vise before flinging him back to the ground with a grotesque bend in the middle of the shin.

The incident fractured both of the bones in Valentine's lower right leg, and he spent nearly six months in two different casts. When the second one was removed, doctors discovered that the bones had knit poorly—leaving an 18-degree bend between his knee and ankle.

Valentine had two choices: suck it up and learn to play in pain, or spend 13-16 more months undergoing surgery and leg reconstruction with screws and plates. 

"In my mind," he told SI, "to go with their plan meant not to be a ballplayer." Doctors gave him a few months to decide, and by spring training he was jogging and ready to play. Valentine had a huge lump on his knee, a constant limp and his speed was gone. But he played 117 games anyway, batting .261 in his transition from superstar prospect to fringe performer.

Over the next five years he did whatever he could to stay on the roster—eventually playing every position but pitcher—and wound up getting into nearly 400 games on one good leg for four different teams. He knew adversity, but didn't know how to quit.

In that regard he had a lot in common with his father-in-law, former Brooklyn Dodgers pitcher Ralph Branca, another guy who wore No. 13 and had been dealt a tough blow by fate (in Branca's case, it was giving up Bobby Thomson's "Shot Heard Round the World" that clinched the '51 pennant for the Giants over the Dodgers). Imagine the late-night discussions those two had.

Nobody would have blamed Valentine for limping away from the game, but he loved it too much and wanted to help others succeed at it.

As manager of the Rangers and Mets, and in two stints skippering teams in Japan, he was not always loved by his ballplayers, but he was respected for his intelligence. Peter Gammons, who has worked with him at ESPN during Valentine's recent stint as an analyst, calls him, "One of the most brilliant men I've ever met."

Cocky and at times abrasive, he rubbed many people the wrong way. He could also explode with the best of them, and wasn't afraid to sit down under-performing players.

Clearly this is one guy who would not let pitchers get fat and happy on beer and wings. He fought too hard to stay in the Show to let others give less than their best.

Terry Francona had a sterling reputation as a nice guy and a "player's manager" who preferred letting others get the bulk of the attention and credit.

Valentine enjoys being in front and saying what he feels, even if players won't want to hear it. And with a roster full of stars that could use some shaking up, Bobby V. may be just what Larry Lucchino and Red Sox ownership feel they need.

Friday, November 18, 2011

The (MVP) Case for Ellsbury

As the Red Sox managerial search continues, the American League MVP race has been largely pushed to the back-burner in New England. But now seems an appropriate time as any to put in a last good word for Jacoby Ellsbury before the decision of media voters is announced next Monday.

According to the experts, the AL MVP is likely going to be one of three front-runners: Ellsbury, Blue Jays slugger Jose Bautista, and Tigers ace Justin Verlander. Since Verlander already (and appropriately) copped the Cy Young Award in a unanimous vote this week, his stock has risen. But so has the discussion about whether pitchers should even be eligible for the MVP, or if it should be reserved for everyday players.

The way I look at it, the pitchers have their award, and the non-pitchers should have dibs on this one. Maybe they should just rename the Cy Young the "Most Valuable Pitcher Award," to help voters understand this logic. But for now, at least, Verlander and his 23-5 record are very much in the mix.

This brings us to Bautista and Ellsbury. While there is no mistaking that Bautista has had another outstanding power year -- his 43 home runs led the league, as did his .608 slugging percentage and 1.056 OPS -- he doesn't compare to Ellsbury as an outfielder or all-around player. Ellsbury won his first Gold Glove Award with a Fred Lynn-esque year in center, and while much was made of his near-miss in one of the season's final critical games at Baltimore (here it is in case you forgot:, the fact is that most outfeilders would never even have gotten their glove on the ball, nonetheless held on as they smashed against the fence. Bautista? No chance.

As for the "MVPs make those plays" talk, well, it's true that they often do. But MVPs also hit game-winning 14th-inning home runs in the heat of the pennant race, as Ellsbury did against the Yankees in the waning days of the Red Sox collapse. In fact, one can make the argument that no Boston player did more to prevent the September swoon than Ellsbury -- who hit  .358 in September with 8 homers, 11 doubles, and a 1.067 OBP.  Batusita hit .259 in September, but nobody really cared about that since the Blue Jays weren't even in the playoff hunt.

Yes, the Red Sox blew it. But when you combine defense, offense, speed, athleticism, and general excitement, there was no better player on an everyday basis in the American League this year than Jacoby Ellsbury. He was a threat to steal every time he got on base, and certainly would have swiped far more than 35 bags in another lineup (he had 50 and 70 in 2008-09). The impact this had on pitchers can't be measured; Bautista (9 steals) made no hurlers nervous once the bat was out of his hands.

Many times they never let Jose swing it anyway, as he was walked a league-best 132 times. Even so, Ellsbury scored more runs than Bautista (119 to 105) while igniting the Red Sox offense from the top of the lineup. In fact, Ellsbury's own power numbers (32 homers, 105 RBI) were among the best ever garnered by a lead-off man. For an apt comparison, see Nomar Garciaparra, circa 1997.

Voters may not be able to get past the historical Boston collapse, but they should. Ellsbury did his best to prevent it, and when you throw in the fact he lost almost the entire 2010 season to injury, and was batting leadoff, there was no more impressive performance by an American Leaguer this season. Bautista was this year's George Bell, another Jays slugger whose 1987 MVP year is largely forgotten today. Nobody is going to forget Ellsbury's breakout season anytime soon.

Sunday, November 6, 2011

My excellent adventures with Red Sox managerial candidate Pete Mackanin

When Pete Mackanin was suddenly thrust into the spotlight as a candidate for the Red Sox managerial job this past week, the first thought most Bostonians had was "Who's Pete Mackanin?"

Although Phillies fans know him as the bench coach and trusted adviser to skipper Charlie Manuel, and astute seamheads might remember his workmanlike nine-year career in the majors and brief interim posts managing the Reds and Pirates, the majority of New Englanders had never heard of Mackanin. They joked about how he looked like Ted Danson with his heavy mane of wavy gray hair, and asked when Norm from Cheers would be coming in for his turn to interview.

I was in the minority. I had not only heard of Mackanin, I had actually spent many late-summer nights talking to the guy. 

Back in the spring of 1993, as a young sports correspondent for The Washington Post, one of my first assignments was to profile the new manager of the Frederick Keys—an Orioles minor league club that played in rural Maryland. I figured I'd be writing the standard cliche-filled piece about a guy who loved baseball and teaching it to others, but it wound up being more of a study in the harsh realities of the game. From the first time I talked to this guy, he held nothing back.

"Late last June, Pete Mackanin was a Class AAA manager with the Cincinnati Reds organization, looking forward to a major league promotion he believed was imminent," my story began. "One year later, he was alone in a hotel room in rainy Woodbridge, Va., a Class A manager with the Frederick Keys who no longer dreamed of the majors."

Mackanin was 41 at the time, and with his studious glasses had an air of maturity about him. He loved the game all right, but he was also bitter that after five years managing just one rung below the show in Iowa and Tennessee, he was back in the low minors. 

The previous year, he told me, he had been promised by Reds scouting director Jim Bowden that a big-league coaching job was his if he spent just one more season managing at Nashville—but after his club lost 10 straight Mackanin was fired instead via a 6:30 a.m. phone call. For six months he collected unemployment and spent $600 sending out resumes, until Orioles scouting director Doug Melvin offered him a one-year contract at Frederick with no guarantee of advancement. Rather than making the six figures promised by Bowden, he was bringing home $30,000 and looking for a winter job.

I was surprised that Mackanin would be so open with me about his travails, and even his salary, knowing that his words would soon be in print where Bowden and others could see them. But as he told me more, and I began covering his team on a semi-regular basis, I realized that this was just the way Mackanin was—and I developed a quick respect for this frank, passionate baseball lifer.

This was a guy who was a fighter, going back to when he was "amazed" to be drafted by the Washington Senators in 1969 despite a .209 average as a junior at Chicago's Brother Rice Catholic High. Although he told me he figured his pro career would be a short one, he impressed Washington manager Ted Williams with his toughness and versatility and made the majors as an infielder in '73—by which point the Senators had moved to Texas and become the Rangers. To further hone his skills, he spent winters playing in Venezuela.

He failed to hit in a couple stretches with the Rangers, ending up traded to Montreal after the '74 season. He got to start at second base for the Expos the next year, and although he batted just .225, he showed some pop with 12 homers. Back-to-back .224 averages in 1976-77 cost him his starting job, however, and he was on the move again in '78 to Philadelphia.

He saw very little big-league action in two years with the Phillies, after which another trade led to his best ML season as a utilityman with the woeful 1980 Twins. He saw time at every infield position and hit a respectable .266, but Minnesota was starting a youth movement, and Mackanin—now an ancient 28—signed on with his hometown White Sox as a free agent after the '81 season. When he failed to catch on in Chicago or another big-league club over the next three years, he was set to finish his business degree when he was offered a job managing the Cubs' Class A Peoria club. Realizing baseball was what he knew and loved best, he took it as a way to stay in the game.
Eight years later, he was resigned to the fact he might never make it back to the majors. But in his job as "part babysitter, part father figure" to young Orioles prospects, any resentment he had never showed. He led the Keys to the 1993 Carolina League North title with a fine 78-62 mark, then was promoted by Baltimore to Double-A Bowie for the '94 campaign.

Bowie was another Maryland suburb, which meant I came along for the ride, watching another Mackanin-led club led by the likes of flamethrowing reliever Armando Benitez and future big-leaguers Curtis Goodwin and Alex Ochoa. The Bowie Baysox played in a new, not-yet-completed stadium, so many of my post-game chats with Mackanin now took place in a makeshift trailer office that one approached carefully through the muck and mud of the construction site.

When the major leagues went on strike that summer of '94, the Baysox were suddenly the highest-level baseball team playing in the entire Maryland-Virginia-DC area, and Mackanin and I both got a lot more ink. By the time Bowie made it to the Eastern League playoffs we were on the front page of thePost Sports section, above the fold, and after the Baysox took a 2-0 lead in their best-of-five series against Harrisburg the road to coaching (for Pete) and covering (for me) the Orioles seemed to be opening up. Harrisburg won three straight, however, and our big-league dreams were dashed.

Both of us moved on after that—Mackanin to the Expos as a Triple-A manager and me back to my hometown of Boston—and I lost touch with his whereabouts until he resurfaced as the Pirates interim manager in 2005. He led Pittsburgh to a 12-14 record the last month of the year—quite an improvement from their 55-81 mark under predecessor Lloyd McClendon. But the Pirates brass wanted a "name" manager at the helm and gave former Dodgers skipper Jim Tracy the full-time job for 2006.

Mackanin had another interim shot with an awful Reds team in '07—and I was cheering from afar when Cincinnati went 10-4 after he took over. Even after a late-season slide they finished a very respectable 41-39 under his leadership, not bad for a team that had failed to finish .500 in seven seasons, but once again Mackanin was passed over for a veteran manager in Dusty Baker.

Now Mackanin is being considered for the open full-time post in Boston and perhaps Chicago. Most experts and fans figure he has little, if any, chance of getting either job, but I'm still quietly rooting for him. He's the same open, honest guy I remember, as Boston baseball writers discovered when they interviewed him after his day with the Red Sox brass. He also seems at peace after 40-plus in pro ball.

"Of course I've wondered," he said to reporters when asked during his Boston visit why he's never gotten a permanent managerial job. "I don't know. If you believe you need a big-name manager, I can't convince you otherwise. That's just your opinion. I don't happen to believe that's important."

Once you've managed out of a trailer, he probably figures, you can manage anywhere.

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

How I cursed the Red Sox in Game 6... a 25-year admission

As I am writing this the clock reads 12:46 a.m.; almost exactly 25 years ago at this hour, on Oct. 26, 1986, the Red Sox did something that makes the last few awful weeks feel like a dip in an MDC kiddy pool. And ever since the horrific events of Game 6 unfolded, I have lived with the guilt that the Sox should have won the '86 World Series in six games instead of losing it in seven -- if only I had been thinking more sensibly.

It all started when my friend Scott and I heard about some tickets available for Game 5 of the Series at Fenway Park. The Mets and Sox were tied at two games apiece, and Game 1 hero Bruce Hurst was slated to go again for Boston. Scott and I were sophomores at Syracuse, located deep in the cold heart of Mets country, and we were anxious both to get to Fenway and get away from all the obnoxious New Yawkers back at our dorm. This being long before Craig's List, Stub Hub, and other Internet tickets options, we would have to drive to Boston to get our tickets -- knowing full well that our 300-mile journey would be for naught if something fell through.

It was certainly a chance worth taking, and with my girlfriend Wendy joining us in the old Cruising Vessel (see entry of July 14, 2011 at we took off for home and Kenmore Square. The vessel made it in one piece -- which we thought boded well for a successful overall journey. We were wrong. 

The tickets did indeed fall through, and although Scott and I went down to Fenway the night of the game, we found nothing in the starving colleague student price range available from scalpers. We wound up watching from a bar as Hurst threw another masterpiece at the Mets, and the Sox headed for Shea Stadium one win away from their first World Series title in 68 years.

Scott and I now changed our thinking. We figured we'd stay in Boston a few more days, (hopefully) watch the Red Sox win Game 6, and then join in the downtown parade. If the Red Sox lost Game 6, we'd also stay for Game 7 and the eventual victory celebration. When Game 6 got under way, Scott headed for a loud locale where he could scream with other Sox fans while I hunkered down with Wendy in the quiet den of my boyhood home to watch the NBC broadcast.

I certainly don't need to tell you what happened that evening at Shea, but I am now ready to explain my culpability. In the 10th inning, once the Red Sox took a 5-3 lead, I started thinking about how I would now be able to shut up Big Dave, Buddha, and the rest of the Mets crazies back on campus. 

"Go get my camera," I yelled to Wendy, and as I watched the first two Mets in the bottom of the 10th quickly make outs, Wendy arrived back in the doorway with my Cannon sure-shot and a devilish grin. She knew how much this meant to me, and we agreed the best picture for me to copy and distribute to Mets fans would be a blow-up of me standing beside the TV with my hand raised in a classic middle-fingered salute.

As Gary Carter came up for New York, I had Wendy get the camera ready. Only after Carter singled, and then Kevin Mitchell, and then Ray Knight (making it 5-4),  did I realize what was happening and scream for her to stop. But it was too late; moments later Mitchell scored on a wild pitch/passed ball to tie the game, and a moment after that Mookie Wilson hit the ground ball heard 'round the world to Bill Buckner at first. Like generations of Red Sox fans, I had mistakenly assumed victory was in the bag before the last pitch.

After a rainout the next day, I headed back to Syracuse without the 100 photocopies of my Game 6 victory photo originally slated for the doors of Mets fans. The wrong team had won, and back on campus I holed myself up with other Red Sox backers in a dormitory lounge for Game 7. Boston held a 3-0 lead into the bottom of the sixth inning, and although we kept the cameras safely in our pockets, those of us without good sense began imagining again about how we'd celebrate our grand victory in enemy territory.

An hour later, I was running for my room with the taunts of Mets fans ringing in my ears; New York had come back to win the game and series, of course, and when I opened my door the next morning it was covered with streamers and front-page headlines from the Times, Daily News, and Post. Wendy and I didn't last much past Christmas break, and I would have to wait nearly 20 years for my revenge over Gotham.

On Oct. 20, 2004, only after the final out of the '04 ALCS, did I tell my wife it was OK to get the camera and shoot...

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

My Glass is Half-Full (and I'm not in the dugout)

Every time you turn on the radio or glance at the paper these days, there is more dismal news on the Red Sox front. All the accusations and innuendo -- much of it hidden under guise of contrition -- has left fans and sportswriters angry and alienated. Even letting the GM leave on his own terms has turned into a complicated, drawn out process.

The negativity is worse than that which hung in the air after the heart-wrenching postseasons of 1986 and 2003, due to the overwhelming presence of talk radio, podcasts, and other social media channels through which media and fans can vent. Unless you go unplugged and unread, it's impossible to avoid the deluge.

My goal is to not have this blog become one of those channels.

There is nothing I can tell you here about September meltdowns, fried chicken in the dugout/clubhouse, or John Henry's free agent preferences that you don't already know. I am not a beat reporter covering the team on a daily basis, so I am not going to surmise to know the inside scoop about if or how Tito lost the clubhouse or why players may have quit on him. While I won't completely avoid these issues, I am going to try a more novel approach to the 2011-12 Hot Stove season:

Being positive.

How, you might ask, can I accomplish this? Well, rather than speculate why Josh Beckett was channeling CC Sabathia during the last month (in how he filled out his uniform, not how he pitched), or question the extra-base production (or lack thereof) of Adrian Gonzalez in August and September, I'll focus in this and future entries on some of the GOOD things to come out of the 2011 season -- and what we have to look forward to in '12.

Here it goes:

Jacoby Ellsbury is the real deal. The final numbers speak loud and clear about Boston's centerfielder, the AL's "Comeback Player of the Year" and a darkhorse for MVP honors. In addition to becoming the first 30-30 man in Red Sox history, Ellsbury had 105 RBI hitting primarily leadoff and was just about the only player to deliver for Boston down the stretch with a .358 average and 8 homers in September. The one statistical knock you could have on him was that his stolen base success ratio went down quite a bit from his first two full seasons. We should all have such problems.

Dustin Pedroia at 70 percent is better than most guys at 100. Injuries limited Boston's driven second baseman to just 75 games in 2010, but this year despite nagging aches and pains he suited up for 159 contests and set career highs with 21 homers, 91 RBI, and 26 stolen bases. In terms of defense and determination, he's peerless. My favorite position player to watch at Fenway since Dewey Evans.

Carl Crawford will be improved at the plate and in the field. He can't be worse, right?

Jon Lester will rebound from his poor September. Unlike fellow Chickengate running buddy Josh Beckett, who seems to have one mediocre season for each good one, Lester has never had a year in which he won less than 62 percent of his games. His 76-34 lifetime record translates out to a .691 winning percentage -- the third-highest in MLB history for pitchers with 100 decisions. And he's still just 27.

David Ortiz will stay in Boston and cement his legend. Big Papi may have suggested he was considering a switch to The Dark Side, but I suspect that's just his frustration talking. Ortiz is coming off his best season since 2007, including a .342 average at Fenway, and if he stays healthy and re-signs for three years could hit his 400th or even his 450th home run for Boston. Then, assuming he retires a Red Sox, he'll also have his number up in right field some day. Leave for more money? Ask Mo Vaughn how that worked out.

Fenway's 100th birthday will be a diamond anniversary to remember. No word yet on what the Red Sox brain trust has planned for the home opener or at other points in the 2012 season, but for all the heat they've taken for pushing their commemorative bricks and NESN packages, this ownership group has almost always gotten it right when it comes to bringing history to life.

My dream would be for the team to wear 1912 throwback uniforms all year long at Fenway -- how cool would that be? -- and play the home opener with no electronic videoboard or broadcasted music. Just the organ and the Green Monster. Maybe they could even dress the vendors in white and give them wicker baskets to carry their hot dogs and peanuts like the old days. No sushi or chowder either.

For all the hype about this year's team being the best in Red Sox history -- at least for four months-- the true holders of that title are the group that broke in Fenway a century ago. Tris Speaker, Joe Wood, and Co. were coming off a dismal September of '11 as well (10-17), but they turned things around big-time in their new home. And what better way to celebrate the park's centennial than by matching the accomplishments of the 1912 squad, which went 105-47 and won the World Series?

Maybe it will happen, and maybe it won't -- but it sure feels better to imagine such a scenario than to wallow in negativity.

Thursday, September 29, 2011

Did Girardi have Proctor groove one?

A thought occurred to me as ESPN switched from the nightmare in Baltimore over to Tampa Bay. It's the 12th inning, and the last thing Joe Girardi wants is to keep playing a meaningless game and wear out his pitchers. He seems to whisper something to the guy sitting next to him -- was it pitching coach Larry Rothschild? -- and the next thing you know, I believe on the next pitch, Longoria hits a game-winning home run off Scott Proctor. Just three minutes had elapsed since the game in Baltimore ended.

Talk about the ultimate diss to your arch-enemy. It's like a diabolical plot. The Yankees take a 7-0 lead into the eighth, get the Red Sox fans in Baltimore (and everywhere else) thinking playoffs, as well as the Sox players themselves, and then rip out all their hearts and mess with their psyche by blowing their touchdown advantage and several scoring chances in extra innings.

Now, not surprisingly, the Sox start tensing up and making stupid, desperate, mistakes. Scutaro gets thrown out at the plate. Ortiz gets thrown out at second. Pap keeps throwing fastballs -- just like in his 2009 playoff melt-down -- when a split-finger or two would have likely ended the game. And then Crawford, who I kept cheering to turn things around as his season unfolded in Renteria-esque fashion, blows a catch he absolutely could have caught and for good measure throws a lollipop to the plate as the winning run scores.

Now here's the really funny thing. I'm in Detroit visiting my wife's family. As the evening began unfolding in very promising fashion for the Sox, Yanks, and Tigers, I envisioned myself  blogging from Commerica Park this weekend and Ryan Lavarnway celebrating the Jewish New Year with a homer in true Hank Greenberg style (actually, Hank beat the Red Sox with TWO homers at Fenway on Rosh Hashanah, 1934). Then it all slipped away, and I was left with the worst pit in my stomach since Aaron Boone took Wakefield deep in '03.

But as tempting as it was to believe the Evil Empire planned this all out, deep down I know what my old buddy Justin has been saying all month is true: the 7-20 September Sox did not deserve to make the post-season. The swoon was more than bad luck or bad karma -- it was just bad baseball. With the exception of Jacoby Ellsbury, who is still my choice for American League MVP, the offense fell flat. Ortiz and Gonzalez may have kept their averages high with a rain of meaningless singles and doubles, but their power strokes disappeared. The starting pitching was awful. The relief pitching was (mostly) awful. The defense was shaky.

And here I am, author of a brand new book on Fenway Park. As my wife the reluctant fan switched out her lamp, leaving me in the dark with my computer, she said, "Don't worry, nobody will blame this on Fenway. The Red Sox never would have won anyway." She's probably right, but I would have done anything to have one more chance this fall to walk down Yawkey Way with the smell of sausages in the air, grab a bag of peanuts from Nicky Jacobs, high-five Big League Bryan, and then cheer on the home team in an attempt to put the worst month in recent memory behind us.

Now we have to wait seven months to get that chance.

Thursday, September 22, 2011

Forget 1978, This is More Like '88

During the latter stages of the horrific 5-16 September swoon by the Red Sox, there have been a lot of comparisons made between this year's team and Don Zimmer's '78 ballclub -- which looked like a juggernaut in June and July, and then blew a 14.5-game lead and the AL East to the Yankees in a one-game playoff.

A closer look at the facts, however, suggests that the current freefalling Sox are actually performing more like another Boston team of recent vintage: the "Morgan Magic" bunch of 1988. Most fans who remember turntables and cassette decks know that the Sox won 12 straight games and 19 of 20 after Walpole lifer Joe Morgan replaced John McNamara as manager that summer. Led by Clemens and Hurst on the mound and Burks, Greenwell, and Evans at the plate, Boston went from a lackluster 43-42 record and fourth place at the time of Morgan's ascension to 62-43 and a tie for first.

This, however, was where the hot streak ended. The '88 Sox went just 27-30 the rest of the season, and limped to the finish line with a 4-8 mark over the season's last 12 games -- including six losses in their final seven contests. They nearly blew a 6.5-game AL East lead thanks to the swoon, and although they did win the division (by one game over Detroit), they were swept four straight in the ALCS that followed by the Oakland A's of Canseco, McGwire, and Stewart. There were no major injuries to blame; Boston just forgot how to win.

So while it's true that the 1978 Red Sox had the more dramatic fall from mid-season glory -- they were 60-28 with a .682 winning percentage and an 8.5-game lead in mid-July, and then played barely .500 ball the rest of the way -- they were far from their coldest down the stretch. In fact, Boston was the hottest team in baseball over the last two weeks of the regular season, winning 14 of 15 and its last eight straight to force the winner-take-all playoff game with the Yankees. Bucky Dent and Co. ended the momentum there, but certainly there was no crawl to the finish like the current Sox or the '88 club endured.

What does it all mean? Will this year's Sox manage to make the playoffs in spite of their sloppy stretch drive, and then play like it's June or July come the postseason? Or will Fenway stay silent until it's time to ice it down for hockey? The next few days will provide the answers. 

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Buy a book, support cancer research and care

Today is without a doubt one of my favorite book events, because all the proceeds from today's signing at Dana-Farber's Friends Corner Gift Shop go to support cancer research and care here.

If you are in the neighborhood between 12:00 p.m. and 2:00 p.m. stop by the first floor gift shop in Dana-Farber's beautiful new Yawkey Center for Cancer Care and pick up your personalized copy. Books will also be available after I'm gone, so if you can't make it today please do consider buying a copy here at a later date and support the great work of Dana-Farber and its Jimmy Fund. (Call the gift shop at 617-632-4242 to check availability.)

Thanks, and GO SOX!

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Great Sunday at Fenway -- Despite the Final Score

Hope Weston waited a long time between trips to Fenway -- 75 years, to be exact. So when the 96-year-old great-grandmother finally made it back Sunday to the old ballpark that she had last visited when Jimmie Foxx batted cleanup for the Red Sox, I was honored that she did so after purchasing a copy of Fenway Park: The Centennial to help her down memory lane.

Mrs. Weston -- who wore a Red Sox shirt emblazoned with "Weston 96" on the back -- was just one of the many fans of all  ages and backgrounds encountered during Sunday's whirlwind book signing on Yawkey Way. During pre- and post-game sessions, the author inscribed copies for fans from North Dakota, Florida, California, Canada and many other locales of an ever-expanding Red Sox Nation.

After decades of customer loyalty to Twins Souvenirs (OK, it's called the Fenway Park Store or Yawkey Way Store now, but it will always be Twins to me), it was great to experience life on the other side of the counter doling out books to kids, parents, and kids at heart like Hope. She remembers watching games with her father while standing behind ropes on Fenway's outfield grass -- common practice when overflow crowds were allowed into the ballpark in the 1910s. "I'd have a hard time seeing over the hats and heads of men in front of me," she recalled with a wry smile, but, "but we were the envy of the peanut gallery in the bleachers."

The one-sided Red Sox loss that followed was frustrating, but the mass exodus by fans in the late innings did allow my son Jason to sneak down to a front-row seat next to the Red Sox on-deck circle. He's holding his own copy of Fenway Park: The Centennial, which we've now had autographed by Joe Morgan (who came to the Walpole signing) and Frank Malzone (who was also at Twins signing on Sunday morning).

The DeAngelo family that owns Twins was so happy with the signing that they bought up the remaining books and had me sign them too -- so if you stop by their store the rest of this season, be on the lookout. And while I didn't see Mrs. Weston after the game, I can only "Hope" that she fell asleep in the late innings and dreamed that the Red Sox came back to win. She deserved a victory more than any of us.

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Book signing at Fenway today!

If you are going to today's Red Sox-Rays game, be sure to stop by the Fenway Park Store (Twins Souvenirs) across from Gate A and pick up a personalized, signed copy of Fenway Park: The Centennial. I'll be there signing from 11:30 a.m. to 1:30 p.m., so come say hi and then go and cheer Wake on to victory No. 201!

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Walpole Joe Sighting, the Hits Keep Coming

After recovering from the latest Daniel Bard meltdown, the Fenway Park: The Centennial book tour headed to the Walpole Barnes & Noble and an evening reminiscing and signing books with old friend Joe Morgan (with the author below). The manager of Red Sox AL East champion clubs in 1988 and '90  held court for nearly two hours as people from grandmothers to cops stopped by to check out the book and bend his ear.

"Walpole Joe," who still lives in town less than a mile from the house he grew up in, had his own Fenway memory to share, circa 1959:

"I was playing with the old Kansas City A’s. I came to Fenway Park, and half the town of Walpole was there. I pinch-hit, the only time I ever hit at Fenway as a professional. Jerry Casale was the Red Sox pitcher. He gave me a fastball I fouled off, then he gave me a curve which I took, and I would have bet my life that he would come back with another curve ball. But he came back with the high fastball, and I said, 'Thank you very much!' as I smoked a triple off the left center-field wall."

Asked about his favorite Fenway moment as a manger, Joe naturally chose the record-breaking hot streak that the Sox went on after he replaced John McNamara. "When I was first hired, [general manager] Lou Gorman said to me, 'OK, Joe, we’re going to make a change in managers, and you will take over until we find another manager.' I said, 'Don’t look too far, Lou. You’ve already found him.'"

Morgan was right, of course; the Red Sox went 12-0 in his first dozen games at the helm, took 19 of 20, and won a record 24 straight at Friendly Fenway. Morgan was soon named the "permanent" manager and wound up winning two division titles in his first three years.

Others to stop by included Pat Conley, an old Ted Williams/Bruce Hurst fan who purchased a book for her grandson,  and the Corkery twins Madison and Nicole (see below), who have never been to Fenway but are sure to bug  dad Chris to take them now. Thanks to Anne-Marie Kennedy for being a wonderful host.

Early buzz about the book as been very good, with terrific reviews on numerous websites including and (see list above right).

Thursday night it's on to the West Hartford Barnes & Noble for another 7 p.m. signing, where the author expects he might encounter some Yankees fans gloating about Boston's recent slump. On Saturday it's on to Barrington (Rhode Island) Books for a 1 p.m. session, and then on Sunday a pre-game session (around noon) at the Fenway Park Store on Yawkey Way. Hope to see you soon!

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

200 for Wake, 1 for Wisnia

A big night all around for Fenway Reflections Tuesday. Pedroia, Ellsbury, and Co. made sure Tim Wakefield got all the runs he needed -- and then some -- to capture his 200th career victory, and the Fenway Centennial book tour kicked off at the Burlington, Mass. Barnes & Noble.

The fourth-biggest B&N in the country (who knew?) was a beautiful lead-off location and staffer Katelyn McDermott (above, with the author) was a wonderful host. She even had her own Fenway story to share; as a 6-year-old, she found out her father was taking her 4-year-old brother to his first Red Sox game, and she convinced him it wasn't fair -- she was the oldest, so she deserved to go. He agreed to take her, and every year since on her birthday the two have headed to Yawkey Way together.

Some other fun stories from customers: Joe Colameta recalled sitting atop a billboard beyond left-center field as a 15-year-old during the heat of the '78 pennant race, and when asked how he and his buddies got up to the top, he laughed and said, "I don't remember. I must have blocked it out due to the fear."  Then there was Matt Diamond, who spoke of the one night he didn't mind having to sit diagonal to fit his large frame into the cramped right-field grandstand seats.

"I was with my father and brother, sitting in Section 15 about 13 rows up," Diamond recalled. "Jon Lester was pitching real heat -- he was just amazing -- and we all kept looking at each other saying, 'Is he going to do it? Is he going to do it?' In the whole section, nobody was saying the words we were thinking -- we all just kept looking at each other and smiling. And he did it; he pitched a no-hitter. It was amazing. Fenway just exploded, and I'll never forget the experience as long as I live. People stayed and cheered and sang as he waved his cap to everybody."

The night's youngest book recipient was an unborn boy nicknamed "The Nugget" -- who will be getting one courtesy of grandma, with the inscription, "Welcome to life as a Red Sox fan" -- but people of all ages already out of the womb enjoyed the evening. Next stop: the Walpole B&N Wednesday night, where the rumor is that "Walpole Joe" Morgan may make an appearance. A discussion and Q&A starting at 7 p.m., with signing to follow. Hope to see you there.