Yawkey Way decision shows lack of creativity on part of Red Sox and John Henry

Jersey Street -- how is that better?

Judging from the on-air and online commentary, feelings are most definitely mixed on the Boston Public Improvement Commission's decision to rename Yawkey Way -- with far more negative sentiment than John Henry might have anticipated. I'm not going to pass judgment on Henry's reasoning for this move, because it's moot; Thursday's vote means the war is over, and Henry has won.

What baffles me is the lack of creative thinking on Henry's part. Faced with fans he had to know would view a name change as political correctness gone amok, the Red Sox owner missed the opportunity to push for the type of change that might win some skeptics over -- and generate additional positive buzz around the move.

The good old days ...?

By bringing back Jersey Street, Henry has effectively returned Fenway's home address to a time when stale cigar smoke wafted through the stands, the bullpen cart rolled across Joe Mooney's lawn, and drunken bleacherites yelled "Hey Uncle Ben!" at rookie outfielder Jim Rice.


Mail to Fenway arrived on Jersey Street when Jackie Robinson was told "don't call us, we'll call you" after his sham tryout in 1945, and it was where Boston manager (and sometimes GM) Mike "Pinky" Higgins reported for work when he vowed "They'll be no niggers on this club as long as I have anything to say about it." Under Yawkey's employ, he had his way longer than any other MLB boss.

Robinson did not leave Jersey Street smiling.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying everything about Jersey Street is bad. I'm sure lots of nice people have worked and lived on it. But if you're trying to bring about change, why not go all the way?

Here are five alternate street names that would have made for an upbeat ending to this saga -- and still could, if it's not too late for John Henry to get on the horn to the commission.

Bobby Doerr Boulevard: It's hard to think of a more universally respected or beloved Red Sox figure than Doerr, a Hall of Fame second baseman and coach with the club who died last November at age 99. Naming a street for him this year would be a wonderful way of honoring the memory of No. 1.

As an elder statesman, Doerr remained regal.

Ted Williams Way:  Yup, I know this was tried before back in 1991. In fact, I was standing a few feet away on the Fenway grass, working as a young freelancer shortly after college, when Teddy Ballgame was handed the street sign that bore his name and would soon be affixed to what was previously known as Lansdowne Street. Things didn't go as planned; folks kept stealing the Ted Williams Way signs, and the name never took. There is probably a whole generation of kids under 25 who never knew this attempted change ever happened.

But this August marks the 100th anniversary of Williams' birth. What better time to try again to name a street for the greatest hitter in Red Sox history -- and a two-time war hero and champion of the Jimmy Fund to boot. In a 21st century, twitter-fed world, I bet it would stick this time.

It didn't take the first time, but maybe now....?

Jimmy Fund Drive: I admit being a bit bias on this one. I've worked for Dana-Farber Cancer Institute since 1999, focused largely on the great work of its Jimmy Fund charity. I have seen up close many, many times the important role the Red Sox play in making the lives of cancer patients happier -- and how their efforts each summer in the WEEI/NESN Jimmy Fund Radio-Telethon generate millions in critical funds needed for research and clinical care. 

There is already a "Jimmy Fund Way" on Dana-Farber's main campus in the Longwood Medical Area, which Yaz and Mike Andrews dedicated in 1997 to honor the '67 Impossible Dream Red Sox. A Jimmy Fund Drive at Fenway would nobly honor the annual fundraising drives that the Sox make for New England's Favorite Charity.

A bridge for Papi - how about a street for Pedro?

Pedro Place: Other Red Sox greats have statues, why not give the best pitcher in team history his own street? The fact Pedro Martinez is also a man of color known for doing many great works on behalf of his Dominican countrymen and others makes him a worthy and fitting symbol of change in the post-Yawkey era. Besides, how cool would it be to say you were going to meet your buddies at El Tiante's on Pedro Place?

Red Sox Way:  This isn't very creative, but it is straight and to the point. It would help folks find Fenway when lost, and would symbolize what John Henry is trying to create here -- a new Red Sox way of going about business. 

If you're reading, Mr. Henry, my vote goes for Jimmy Fund Drive or Ted Williams Way -- just make sure those new street signs are bolted down tight.

Red Sox Bobbleheads we'd like to see -- 2015 team & retro set

In honor of Mike Napoli Bobblehead Night, here are some other Red Sox past and present we'd like to see similarly honored -- with a bit of revisionist history at work:

Eduardo Rodriguez following through during record 9th straight win to start his MLB career. 

Pablo Sandoval completing a RIGHT-HANDED home-run swing.

(just reverse the picture--I can't find one)

Hanley Ramirez making leaping catch against the Green Monster -- the ball snug in his glove.

Nine mini-Brock Holts manning all nine spots on the diamond.

Jon Lester shaking David Ross' hand after hurling an 8-0 shutout on Opening Day, 2015.

Nomar Garciaparra going through his between-pitch rituals.

Carl Everett petting Wally the Green Stegosaurus.

Wade Boggs pissing off Barney by drinking all the beer in Moe's Tavern.

Bill Buckner singling to finish Boston's 4-run, game-winning rally in 9th inning of Game 7 of 1986 World Series at Shea Stadium.

Carlton Fisk signing his new three-year contract after it arrives in the mail on Dec. 18, 1980.

It's a 1981 card (sigh)

Don Zimmer and Bill Lee hugging after Lee shuts down the Yankees to save the 1978 AL Playoff.

(This was taken a few innings before)

Bernie Carbo rounding the bases  after his third pinch-homer of the 1975 World Series clinches the championship for Boston.

Jackie Robinson, resplendent in his home white Red Sox uniform, congratulated by on-deck hitter Roy Campanella after Opening Day homer, 1949.

(I know, just squint and make believe)

Babe Ruth on deck in 1927 World Series for Red Sox at Fenway Park -- Boston's fifth Fall Classic of the decade in "The House That Ruth Shook."

Pedroia takes road Vaughn should have traveled

Get used to this guy; he'll be around a while. 

I was on my honeymoon, sitting in Hawaiian paradise with a cool drink in my hand and my wife of one week at my side. 

"What's wrong?" she asked, looking up from her chaise lounge. She had seen the look on my face, but I knew only a person who understood the significance of Bobby Sprowl and Mookie Wilson in Boston sports history would be able to fully understand my angst.

"Talks with Mo Vaughn have apparently broken down for good," I said, staring at the USA Today article in my lap.

She said she was sorry, and returned to her book. I'm sure Michelle really did feel bad for me, but the true significance of the moment was lost on her. 

Mo left his Monster seasons behind in Boston.

I had heard Vaughn say "it's not about the money" on a radio show a few months before, but now the Red Sox' All-Star first baseman who was coming off a .337, 40, 115 year (and a .993 OPS before people factored in this sexy stat) had spurned an offer of five years and $62.5 million to resign. As a free agent, he planned to see what else was out there. 

Nearly 15 years later, I still remember the emptiness I felt as I searched around the pool for someone in a "Thanks Yaz" painter's cap with whom I could commiserate. I had no luck, but since I'm still married I guess i got over it somehow.

Cano could break the bank; that's OK with Petey.

In signing an eight-year contract extension this week, Red Sox second baseman Dustin Pedroia did more than secure his own place of employment through 2021. He made a statement: even though he would have likely stood to make much more than a $14 million average annual salary were he to wait until his Yankees counterpart Robinson Cano signed his next deal as a free agent deal this coming winter, Pedroia decided to stay put. 

More money would be nice, I imagine he thought, but why take a chance on blowing something so great? In Boston he has a team that is almost always competitive, a passionate fan base that loves him, and a ballpark very well-suited to his talents. None of this would be guaranteed were he to leave, even if his pockets were better lined.

Pedroia knows he has a good thing going.

 It was the same case with Vaughn all those Novembers ago. He had the perfect Fenway swing, an MVP award on his wall (like Pedroia), and popularity that crossed all color lines (not quite as easy a feat in 1998 Boston as it is today). 

Vaughn even had a number -- 42 -- that was a magical baseball digit and would be his until he retired even as it hung in right field to honor Jackie Robinson. Had Mo stayed in Boston until he retired, there is good reason to speculate the Sox would have placed a second "42" next to Jackie's to signify Vaughn's great career.

Instead, claiming a lack of respect from general manager Dan Duquette, he went west -- signing the largest contract in major league history ($80 million over six years) with the California Angels. 

Mo as an Angel; not very heavenly.

One of the most beloved athletes in Boston, a man who thrived on the energy at Fenway an embraced the city's long and rich baseball history, was going to a city where the fans showed up in the third inning, left in the seventh, and spent the four in between drinking frozen daiquiris.

I don't think he ever came out and admitted it, but Vaughn likely knows he made a big mistake leaving Yawkey Way. He suffered a severely strained ankle injury falling into the home dugout at Anaheim Stadium in pursuit of a fly ball during the 1999 home opener, and missed all but nine games that year. Two decent seasons followed that fell far below the previous lofty standards that had earned him the mega deal. 

Mo as a Met; not a good match.

A trade to the Mets did not help. After slogging through one-and-one-half dismal campaigns at Shea, hurt by a broken hand and an expanding waistline, Vaughn retired due to chronic knee pain in 1993. Once seemingly a lock for 400 home runs, and possible Hall of Fame inclusion, he was out of the game at age 35 with just 328 homers.

Of course Vaughn could have suffered his ankle and hand injuries in Boston, but it certainly appears he left his good karma and elite production at Fenway. Pedroia wants none of that. 

Petey could have made more money had he waited out the Red Sox for a year until Cano signed -- and then used him as a benchmark for his worth. But Pedroia appears to understand the importance of staying put and building on his legacy. If he stays in Boston through the length of the deal, Pedroia still be calling Fenway home when my 8-year-old daughter is a high school senior. 

Then, perhaps a few years later, there will be another number -- 15 -- hanging in right field:

Room for one more?