Category: baseball

TRADING MANNY TO BOSTON is the best idea ever. This exchange, buried in The Sports Guy’s mailbag:

Q: The Sox should just tell Manny he got traded to Boston. He won’t know the difference.
– Mike H, Noxen, N.H.

SG: I love this idea. They could go all out with this: Call him up, tell him he’s been traded to Boston, have him pack up all of his stuff, fly him in circles in the team jet for five hours, then drop him off in Cambridge and tell him he’s on the West Coast. He might fall for it. By the time the season starts, it will be too late for him to complain. I really think this could work.

I HATE THE VIRTUAL WAITING ROOM, the inevitable and interminable purgatory that is a condition of every Red Sox online ticket sale. Every December, the Red Sox make tickets available for a handful of next season’s games (ostensibly just in time for holiday gift giving). So every December, I spend a day sitting in front of the computer, living my life in-between 30-second automated browser refreshes that read:

Welcome to the Boston Red Sox Virtual Waiting Room!

PLEASE BE ADVISED THAT PATRONS ARE SELECTED FROM THIS VIRTUAL WAITING ROOM ON A RANDOM BASIS FOR THE OPPORTUNITY TO PURCHASE TICKETS.

We are experiencing very high demand. As a result, all requests for seats cannot be served simultaneously. Please be patient, and your browser will be refreshed in: [30 . . . 29 . . . 28 . . . 27 . . . 26 . . . seconds]

When we refresh your browser, we will determine your status in the waiting room and, if appropriate, give you an opportunity to request seats. DO NOT REFRESH THIS WINDOW. We appreciate your patience.

Tremendous interest for Boston Red Sox tickets may produce lengthy wait times. While waiting, please be sure to read the following important information and check for general availability status below. . . .

Which is what I’m doing right now. And what I’ve been doing since 10:00am this morning. Waiting. And then, every 30 seconds, checking to see if my wait’s over. And then I go back to waiting. And checking. And waiting. Every 30 seconds the message in the browser window refreshes, revealing the same message that was displayed during the previous 30 seconds.

But at the end of one of these half-minute nuggets, the Virtual Waiting Room will suddenly disappear, and I’ll immediately find myself staring at a seating chart, plunged into an intense state of panic as I try to assess which seats are left to which games against which teams and on which days. The system allows you mere minutes to secure all your tickets before your time’s up, and you can practically feel the good seats disappearing right in front of your eyes. It’s the same feeling I imagined as a kid winning one of those 60-second shopping sprees at Toys ‘R’ Us — except now there’s a $4 processing fee for each toy I grab and there are a hundred thousand other kids competing for the best toys right alongside me.

Keep in mind, we’re talking about games in April and May, so it’s already an act of faith to commit in advance the hundreds of dollars that the eight ticket per person limit represents. Yet the worst part isn’t that all of this investment is based on a system that feels so fragile — linger too long or click the wrong button in haste and risk banishment back into the Virtual Waiting Room. And the worst part isn’t that a lot of the weird purchasing restrictions and protocols are designed to discourage scalpers — and in fact do absolutely nothing to discourage scalpers — but instead make the process extra tricky for the rest of us. The worst part isn’t even that you get to do this twice a year, once today and then some other day when the tickets for the rest of the season become available. The worst part is that, all things considered, this is probably as good a system for online ticket buying as we can expect. Go Sox.

IF MATSUI IS GODZILLA, then shouldn’t Daisuke be Godzuki? According to the Wikipedia entry on Hanna-Barbera’s “The Godzilla Power Hour”:

Also included in the series was a cute diminutive Godzilla counterpart, Godzooky, who could summon the monster himself if necessary.

Makes sense to me, allowing that the monster Daisuke summons is the powerful and possibly mythical gyroball (not his pinstriped brethren, Matsui-san).

Anyway, regardless of whether it’s necessary to call Daisuke Matsuzaka anything but Daisuke Matsuzaka, or whether we should be wary of reinforcing cartoonish cultural stereotypes, I say Godzuki as a nickname is still way better than “Dice-K”. Where did the Globe come up with that? It’s not remotely fun to say, nor does it convey the awesome might of a strange radioactive monster from a foreign land, which if nothing else, is at least intimidating. Dice K sounds like a second rate hip-hop artist, if you ask me.

UPDATE: Apparently, Daisuke is pronounced “Dice-K,” so, uh, that’s where the Globe came up with the nickname – it’s his actual name (sorta). But it’s still kinda lame. I much prefer the one he threw out there during his press conference:

His Translator: His nickname is the Monster in Japan. Now he’ll become the Red Monster. . . . [he’s] very happy and excited to be on the Boston Red Sox.

THE MYSTERIES OF THE GYROBALL are illuminated by the Slate’s Explainer, including the pitch’s shared traits with the equally enigmatic googly:

Whether it has a sharp break or a big dip, some major leaguers and pitching coaches have dismissed the gyro as merely a variation on the cut fastball. The gyro has also been compared to a cricket pitch called the googly, which is also thrown with sidespin.

It’s unclear whether Matsuzaka actually throws a gyroball. He’s been evasive in interviews, saying that he might have thrown the pitch “sometimes accidentally.” Carroll believes he saw Matsuzaka throw a few gyroballs during this year’s World Baseball Classic. According to Himeno, at least two other Japanese pitchers use the pitch.

Hope the pitcher – and the pitch – are worth it.

IT’S NOT YET WINTER, but ticket prices are frozen and it’s chillier than normal at Fenway. Limping out of last season and looking ahead to the third season since that happy day, it’s clear that little of the magic lingers. Along with having to endure a parade of turncoat idiots, missed aces, front office shenanigans, oppressive media regimes, squandered promise, and unfulfilled potential, we’ve also had to witness the St. Louis Cardinals win a World Series, which managed to stir up some kind of vague, deeply repressed disappointment – an unsettling flashback from a twisted, parallel dimension.

So when the Sox announce that an unprecedented number of ticket prices will remain unchanged for 2007, it’s not just a team acknowledging that a day at the ballpark shouldn’t require a second mortgage. It’s also a franchise beginning to recognize the limits of the goodwill they earned from a grateful fan base. (Note: I refuse to refer to the fans as “Red Sox Nation” since the organization has managed to mutate that once noble term into a marketing ick-fest, as well.)

But then again, whenever ownership needs to bolster fan sympathies – and open fan wallets – there’s always plan B. Or more accurately, plan NY. In the Boston Globe article, Larry Lucchino says, “Our challenge is to protect those lower prices for fans and families on a tight budget while still improving revenue. We still must compete with those with much deeper pockets, and we still must continue to make improvements to Fenway Park.” He simultaneously acknowledges the financial limits of “regular” fans while also invoking our hatred for the Yankees as if it was a money-making incantation: “Abacadabra! If you still want to beat the Yankees, then sit your butt in those seats, stuff another Fenway Frank in your mouth and don’t complain about how much it all costs.”

In the end, the decision to freeze a majority of the ticket prices is a small gesture. (After all, the “lower prices” Lucchino says he wants to “protect” still help make Fenway the most expensive ballpark in all of Major League Baseball.) And clearly, the overall vibe on Yawkey Way is still one of desperation. This upcoming season could be the first in this ownership’s reign where interest in the hometown team actually drops off. No more victory tours for The Trophy. Even fewer familiar faces to remind us of past glories.

Is this the last shot for the once infallible management to bring back the magic? Is this the year when the fans who were swept up by the euphoria of 2004 finally begin to stray? (Of course, the lingering anxiety for me is the possibility of discovering that my own interest could wane, as well. No one likes to feel passion fade away. . . . )

Sure, leaves are still falling, football’s in full swing, and Mirabelli’s on his sofa testing free agency in preparation for his next emergency police escort. But the stove is stoked with coals and you can already smell the grass at Fort Myers — it’s just that the odor is a little different this time around. And all we can do is save our pennies for a seat at the park and see what fortunes the spring brings.

A POX ON THE SOX or some kind of epidemic has surely stricken the hometown team. Not only did Jon Lester get back problems from a fender bender on Storrow, but now he’s been diagnosed with lymphona. Plus, apparently Papelpon’s arm fell off last night. Tek has a bad knee. Trot has strained biceps. Gonzo has a strained oblique. Papi has heart palpitations. Manny has a bum knee, too. Wily Mo has a messed up wrist. Wakefield has a stress fracture in his rib cage. Schilling’s missing his next start with a muscle strain. Beckett just kind of sucks. And then once Wells got healthy and proved to be effective, we dealt him away. It just turned September, but the white flag is already waving over Fenway.

NOMAR WILL ALWAYS BE NOMAH even if he is playing in blue instead of red:

One of Garciaparra’s ex-teammates in Boston said the Dodgers and Yankees made the same offer, but Garciaparra chose LA because, ”He always considers himself a Red Sox. That’s one thing people don’t understand about Nomar. He would have never signed with the Yankees because he always thought of himself as a Red Sox player.”

It’s a character trait that reminds us why we don’t miss Johnny D. as much as we thought we would. Then again, who knows what would have happened had the Yanks offered Nomar $14 million more to play in pinstripes, as they did with Damon? (I still like to think Nomie would have done the right thing.)

JUDAS COMES BACK TO FENWAY AND IT ISN’T PRETTY. Johnny Damon tipped his hat even as the faithful booed. It probably shows he’s a classy guy – which certainly counts for something, but not so much that it could stop the jeering. Joe Torre can’t understand it: Johnny gave Boston four great years and a championship title. Are we really so ungrateful? But it’s not just because Damon’s a traitor or because he chose money over loyalty (five years for $52 million to play for the Yankees, instead of $40 million to spend eternity as a Boston legend). No, I think we boo because if we didn’t, then we’d be making a mockery of the rivalry itself. Johnny’s defection stings. But his belief that we’d welcome him back to Fenway wearing pinstripes is an even bigger insult. We loved him and we cheered him because he helped us beat the hated Yankees in the greatest comeback ever. If we also cheered him in his return as the enemy, then it’s as if we never really loved him in the first place. Or to put it another way: If the rivalry doesn’t matter, then why are we even watching?

WEIRD. I THINK I AGREE WITH DAN SHAUGHNESSY. Apparently, New Englanders can no longer watch the Sox once a week for free on UPN. Basically, if you don’t pony up for cable, you don’t get to watch the Sox. Or more specifically, if you don’t pony up for NESN, which the Sox own, you don’t get to watch the Sox. Not very neighborly of the hometown team.

By the way, the New York Times owns part of the Red Sox and the Boston Globe. Corporations call this “synergy.” Shaughnessy calls it “the cartel.” I call it “the suck.” Who the heck are you supposed to trust when the newspaper of your hometeam’s biggest rival co-owns the hometown newspaper, as well as a significant percentage of the hometeam itself, which also belongs to a group of owners who own the only channel that will broadcast the hometown team’s games (except for the handful of Fox broadcasts). Well, at least people who can’t afford the ol’ cable TV can still listen to the games on WEEI, which ain’t entirely a bad thing.

UPDATE: I guess I jumped the gun on WEEI. Apparently, WEEI’s contract with the Sox is up for re-negotiation next season.

HOPEFULLY, MANNY BEING MANNY is a phenomenon we get to enjoy close-up for many, many seasons to come. The Sport’s Guy’s email exchange with Curt Schilling reminds me why idiot savant baseball can be way more fun than regular baseball:

SIMMONS: My favorite “Manny being Manny” moment happened in the final game of the regular season — he had just crushed a home run, the cameras caught you guys sitting next to one another in the dugout, he was talking excitedly about what pitch he had hit, and somewhere along the way, you just started staring at him in disbelief, as though he had just said something like, “I knew it was going to be a slider because I started craving a pork sandwich, and that always means a slider’s coming!” And you just kept staring at him, and then he walked away to another part of the dugout, and you started shaking your head in shock like, “Wow, I will never, ever, ever figure that guy out.” How many of those Manny encounters happen per season?

SCHILLING: Three to four per day.