I hustle with my arms full to a TV monitor in time to see Tek jog across the plate. Hes homered to put us on top, 54. To preserve the lead in the seventh, Francona brings in lefty Mark Malaska, who didnt even make the club, but who weve brought up from Pawtucket because we went through the entire pen last night. Malaska is asked to get the goodhitting Catalanotto and then last years 2 and 1 RBI guys, Vernon Wells and Carlos Delgado. And he does, onetwothree. Mystery Malaska! In the Toronto eighth, righty Josh Phelps leads off, so Francona opts to go with Mike Timlin, who only threw twothirds of an inning last night. Timlin Ks Phelps, but then has to face lefty Eric Hinske, who singles, and the switchhitting Hudson, who doubles to the leftcenter gap, tying the game. Timlin gets pinch hitter Simon Bond, but number nine hitter Kevin Cash doubles to the exact same spot, and the crowd boos. Theres nobody warmingagain, the effect of last night. Timlin hits Johnson with a pitch, and people are screaming. Catalanotto lines one over Millars head. Millar turns and does his impression of running, giving a blind wave of his glove. Were luckythe ball hops into the stands for a groundrule double, and Johnson has to go back to third. When Timlin finally gets Wells to pop up for the third out, its 75 Toronto. We do nothing with our half of the eighth. Embree comes on in the ninth and gives up a rocket of a homer to Delgado. Phelps flies deep to right, and then Embree walks Hinske. Francona, I suppose to prove he has a sense of humor (and to test ours), brings in McCarty. You should have brought him in for Timlin! someone yells. McCarty actually doesnt look bad, throwing in the midtohigh eighties and going to his curve. He gets Hudson to ground one to him, moving Hinske over. Two down. When he goes to a full count on Chris Gomez, the crowd rises, cheering the absurdity of it. McCarty reaches back and throws one by Varitek all the way to the backstop, walking Gomez and giving Hinske third. The crowd subsides, and then groans when Cash blasts a double to the triangle in center, scoring both runners. Its 105, and the casual fans head for the exits, while the diehards sneak down to steal their seats. The good news is that theyve changed the numbers on the scoreboard for the YankeesWhite Sox game. Chicagos up 51 in the fifth. In the bottom of the ninth, with one down and Bellhorn up, Brian Daubach comes out and walks over to the ondeck circle. Bellhorn flies out, and the crowd rises for Dauber (Eminems on the PA Guess whos back, back again), hoping hell give us something to cheer about. He grounds weakly to second, and weve lost the home opener. The walk to the car seems long. At least its nice out. We mutter about Timlin, and laugh at how I missed the one great moment of the game. Its still a good day. On the Mass Pike, we pass a car with a bumper sticker that says JOB WAS THE FIRST RED SOX FAN, and its early enough in the year that its still funny. We tune into the PawSox playing Buffalo and catch the final of the Yankee game White Sox 9, Yankees 3. Its the Buffalo station were pulling in, and as we head west into the night and traffic thins, the signal grows stronger. The PawSox are leading 54, and mile after mile we get to catch up with Kevin Youkilis. Today was the first game I missed from beginning to end I even dipped into last nights Late Show, catching the tenth and eleventh of the game versus Baltimore the Sox ended up dropping in thirteen. My younger son Owen called me with an update on this one in the fourth, with the Sox down 41 (Whoa, make that 42, he said in the middle of the call, adding that Manny had hit the hardest line shot heOwenhad ever seen; claimed it even looked like a bullet in slomo). Red Sox ended up losing 105, according to the Fox New England Sports Network ticker, which I for some reason get down here in Florida (ubiquitous Fox!). Man, Stewart! Ill wait for the highlights (lowlights? deadlights?), but that doesnt sound like Moneyball, that sounds like Uglyball. Ill bet you anything that whatshisface, the converted fielder, pitched at least two innings. And the Yankees lost again. The AL East is looking MyTSofTee, at least in the early going. If I can get the game tomorrow, I intendto be there for the whole deal. Its pretty important, I think, that Pedro be able to play the stopper and get us back to .500 early. Cant wait for the standings tomorrow; .500 should be good enough to lead this fools parade. April 10th While we were waiting in the Will Call line, we missed Nomar and Yaz and Dewey and Tommy Brady. Damn you, unwieldy ticketing process! The paper says that Mendoza was moved to the DL, and that Johnny will be out for a few days with a golf ballsized lump on his knee. Yesterday before his first atbat, they played Ironman for him, and here a foul ball takes him out. It also says the plane the Sox were supposed to take from Baltimore after the thirteeninning game had mechanical problems, and with the delays, the team bus didnt get to Fenway until 730 yesterday morning, which might account for their sleepwalking performance. Because we spent all day at the park yesterday, I cant persuade anyone to go to tonights game, even with the PedroRoy Halladay matchup. It frees me to leave early. I rocket across the Mass Pike and get there a full two and a half hours before game time. Im the first one in the lot (now twentyfive bucks, though the attendant assures me they raised the price last August). I score my Will Call tickets and head for Lansdowne, thinking I might shag some home runs. Like a little kid, Im lugging my glove. On Brookline Ave a billboard with a big picture of Nomar asks us to KEEP THE FAITH. Before I turn the corner, I find a scalper leaning against a wall, muttering, Anyone buyin, anyone sellin. I tell him I have one, and we haggle. Even though its hours before game time, its PedroHalladay, and I want at least face value. He lowballs so I walk, but theres a young Korean tourist lurking behind him who steps forward and offers to trade me a Yankee ticket for itthe Patriots Day game, which starts at 11 A.M., way too early for us to get here. I jump on the trade, then turn and sell the 20 bleacher seat to the scalper for well more than the face value of todays ticket, and walk away grinning. Its rare that you scalp a scalper. On Lansdowne the Sausage King and the souvenir guys by Gate E are setting up. A band of college kids wearing long dark wigs and beards walks by; their shirts say DAMONS DISCIPLES. I stake my claim to a pillar by the entrance to the elevated parking lot, leaning against it to hide my glove behind my back, and watch the Monster. Im almost under the Coke bottles, between them and Fisks foul pole, the perfect spot for deadpull hitters. But nothings coming over. Its too early; theyre still running the tour groups through. A father and son join me. Theyve got standing rooms on the Monster and theyre hoping to catch a ball. I wish them luck and post up by Gate E, hoping to be the first one in so I can grab my favorite corner spot down the leftfield line. After a nervous five minutes waiting for them to roll open the corrugatedsteel doors, Im the second one through the turnstiles and the first into the grandstand. The Sox are already batting. As I make my way down to the empty corner, I see Johnny Pesky walking out toward left field with a fungo bat and hail him. Johnny joined the club as a shortstop in 1942. Hes eightyfive and still putting on the uniform. He waves back, a Fenway benediction. Bending over the low wall and reaching with my glove, I can just touch the plastic leftfield foul line (yeah, weird, not chalk but a permanent strip of plastic). I wait for a hot grounder into the corner, pounding my glove. Nothing comes. The Sox finish and the Jays take the field. A liner hooks over us for Section 33Heads up!and bangs into the seats. A few balls off the wall end up in the corner, but these the outfielders toss up or hand to little kids. Out in left, 27 for the Jays has been shagging flies. As he comes in for his turn in the cage, I see he has a ball in his mitt. Hey, twoseven, I holler, and he looks around and tosses it to me. Its Frank Catalanotto, their left fielder and number two hitter, whose triple started them off yesterday. Still nothing down the line. A lot of balls are banging off the Monster or reaching the seats. One arcs down into the front row, where a big guy in a windbreaker catches it barehanded against his chest and gets a hand. Its the dad from Lansdowne. The kids all excited. Later, on his way back out to left, Catalanotto picks up a ball from the grass behind third andamazinglytosses it to me. When he comes off, I ask if hell sign one, and he does. Its the only autograph he gives, and while hes not a star, I feel lucky, singled out. BPs finished, and I wander over to Steves seats behind the Sox ondeck circle. Theyre dream seats, so close that, say, Manny swinging his tapedup piece of rebar intrudes on your view of Ortiz at the plate. Julie, the assistant whos babysitting Steves tickets, might be there, and I need to talk to her. I plant myself in his seat and admire the balls and Catalanottos illegible signature. As game time nears, I wonder if Julies coming. If not, fine. Ill just sit here. Before the game starts, theres already good news on the scoreboard CWS 7 NYY 3 Pedro comes out throwing 8990. Catalanotto singles sharply to center, but thats it in the first. Halladays up at 93, 95. Hes 64 with a patchy beard, and on the mound he looks Randy Johnson tall. Crespo leads off, and Halladay blows two by him, then freezes him with a backdoor curve. Bill Mueller and Ortiz barely get wood on the ball. Looks like its going to be a quick game. Josh Phelps leads off the top of the second with a drive down the rightfield line. It looks like its going to drop, but Kapler digs hard and dives, tumbles in the dust and comes up with it. Its even bigger when the next batter, Hinske, rips a single. Theres some muttering in the seats, but Pedro bears down and gets Hudson, then gets a borderline call on Woodward, and the Faithful stand and cheer him off. When Kapler stands on deck that inning, I call, Great catch, Gabe, and he turns in profile and nods. Im so close I can read the writing on his Tshirt under his white home jersey. Its a new tradition with the club; last year with Grady, the players wore all kinds of inside motivational slogans. Backwards across Gabes shoulders, it says ZAGGIN LAER. When he pops to third to end the inning, the ump inspects the scuffed ball and gives it to the Sox batboy (batman, really, because hes a pro) Andrew. As Andrews coming back toward the circle, I call his name and hold up my glove, and he hits me. Thanks, Andrew. Ortiz is wearing a slogan too. ARE YOU GONNAThats all I can get. Both pitchers settle in. There are no rallies, no tight spots, just solo base runners stranded at first, and lots of strikeouts. In the bottom of the sixth, Crespo leads off with a slow roller to short. He busts it down the line and dives headfirst for the bagsafe. Its a spark. Bill Mueller rolls one to Delgado, who makes the right decision and goes to second to get Crespo. David Ortiz comes up (El Jefe!) and after seeing a few pitches blasts one deep to right that makes us all rise. It carries the wall and caroms off the roof of the Sox bullpen. In the stands were highfiving. David touches the plate, lifts his eyes and points with both hands to God. First pitch, Manny lines one for a single. Maybe Halladays tired. Hes thrown 80 pitches120 Canadian. He blows away Kapler to end the inning. Pedros having a quick top of the seventh when, with two down, he gets behind Hudson 21. Hudsons the number seven hitter, a second baseman and not a big guy, so Pedro goes after him. He cant get his 90 mph fastball past him, and Hudson parks it in the Jays bullpen. Its only 21 for one batter, as Bellhorn leads off the bottom with a slicing Pesky Pole homer. Pedro Ks the first batter in the top of the eighth. Its his last inning, and as he sometimes does, hes going to sign the win by striking out the side. Except after Catalanotto takes a backdoor curve for strike three, here comes Francona from the dugout. Pedro looks around, surprised. He glances out to the bullpen where Foulke is warming, as if he had no idea. Francona chucks Pedro on the shoulder as if to say good job and takes the ball from him. Boooooo! Pedro highfives everyone in conference at the mound, then, as hes walking off, before crossing the firstbase line, touches his heart, kisses his pitching hand and points to God. Huge standing O. At the top of the dugout steps he stops and points to God again, holding the pose a little too long, but hey, thats Pedro. (This is the kind of showboating that gets him booed in other parks, but here, after taking on Halladay, its okay.) Peteys thrown 106 pitches, but I wonder if its more of a power move on Franconas part, taking an early opportunity to show the media and the talkradio fans that this is his club and he can make Pedro do something he doesnt want to do (as opposed to Grady, who couldnt take the ball from him when it was clear he needed to come out). Foulke gets Vernon Wells on a roller, so its a good move, or at least not a bad one. Manager Carlos Tosca decides to close the Mike Scioscia way, bringing in a lefty to get Ortiz, then pulling him for a righty to face Manny. Manny uncharacteristically swings at the first pitch, and greets Aquilino Lopez with a bomb to center that just keeps going. Its hit into the wind but ends up a few rows deep in Section 36, somewhere around 450 feet. 41 Sox. After that, Tosca says the hell with it and leaves Lopez in to finish. As we start the ninth, the crowds singing Sweet Caroline a cappella long after Neil Diamonds finished. Its a party, and when the folks in the front row take off to beat the traffic, I move up and stand at the wall with my hands on the bunting (real cloth, not plastic, as you might expect) as Foulke closes. Its only 930. Its been the fast, clean game youd expect from two Cy Youngs, all the scoring on longballs. The high floats me home. Traffics light, and Im entirely satisfied. Theres nothing to nitpick or secondguess, no needling whatifs. Pedro wasnt dominant, but he was very, very good. Ortiz delivered the big blow, Manny was 3 for 4, Kapler made that great diving catch. Andthis is silly, since its not even Easter yetwith Baltimore whipping up on Tampa Bay, I do believe we own a share of first place. SK Well, well, good game. Petey looked like Petey and Roy Halladay surely looked like he was saying FUCK! SHIT!! after the Ortiz home run in the sixth. On the replay, too. So the Red Sox climb to .500 for the third time in the young season. Now, for the really interesting questionsince most of us watch these things on TV (hell, Im 1000 miles from Fenway, give or take a few), who pays the freight? Mostly Dadoriented companies, as you might guess, but one of the heavyrotation sponsors, McDonalds, features hungry ladies leaving a baby shower and booking straight for Mickey Ds, where they gobble turkey clubs on pita bread. And maybe thats not so strange; I watched tonight with my eightyyearold motherinlaw, who went directly from the BoSox game upstairs to MaineDenver Frozen Four hockey downstairs. Also, for your consideration, the following bigleague sponsors Tweeter (Just sit back and enjoy) Dunkin Donuts (Curt Schilling with a Walkman, learning to speak New England) Foxwoods Casino (The wonder of it all) Geico Insurance (Good news, your rap sucks but I saved a bundle) Xtra Mart (Fuel up on Brewboy coffee) SBC Phone Service (Old farts, please phone home) Friendlys Restaurants (Sorry, Dad, no sports car for you) TD Waterhouse (Know your investment risk) Cool TV (i.e., Watch more Boston Bruins hockey) Funny Bears Drink Pepsi Cola Volvo (Official car of the Boston Red Sox) Camry, the Car of Caring Dads Ricoh Color Printers (Because, face it, black and white sucks) Dunkin Donuts again (Curt again Wicked haaaaaaad) Albert Pujols for DirecTV (Mah bat iss alwaysss talkun to me Seek help, Albert, seek help) AFLAC, the Anthrax Duck Interestingly enough, no beer ads until after 9 P.M., when they come in a sudser, flood. And goodness, are they ever suggesting young men should drink a lot, especially the Coors Light ads. Also, Foxwoods advertises a lot. The strong suggestion of the ads being that the wonder of it all involves pulling a great many chromeplated handles a great many times. I thought youand possibly TVwatching fans everywhereshould know these things. Now, all together AAAAAFFFFLACK! P.S. Did you see Johnnys Cavemen? Are they the perfect Bleacher Creatures or what? SO Speaking of advertising, for the first time the dugouts are plastered with Ford ovalslike the Jays wallpapered with Canadian Tire ads. I saw Damons Disciples before, during and after the game. A shame Johnny didnt play. Crespo hustled (two infield hits) and played center passably. Lets hope Millars days roaming Trots yard are over. April 11th Poor ol Dauber. Because weve been eating up the pen, we need fresh arms, and ship him to Pawtucket to bring up a ghostFrank Castillo, who we dumped last year and then resigned this February. Dauber will have to clear waivers before reporting. The odds are slim that anyone will claim him, but why take the chance if hes really part of the team? Johnny says he saw his disciples as he was coming out of the players lot. They have shirts that said, We have Jesus on our side.  Its Schillings Fenway debut, and Im not going. For the first time in my life Im going to be a noshow, eating a pair of grandstands along with Easter dinner. I tell Steph that Schilling better not throw a nohitter. A perfect game, he says. Instead, its an extrainning nailbiter that takes all day. Mystery Malaska battles again, taking us into the thirteenth. So who do we bring in next, Steph asks, Williamson? We wont have to, I say. Were doing it here. To seal the oath, we highfive around the room. Its Aquilino Lopezs game. He walks Bill Mueller, bringing up David Ortiz. With Manny next, Lopez has to throw to him. He tries to nibble, then gives in and puts one over the plate. Ortiz hits a rainbow that brings us to our feet. Get out! Its headed for deep leftcenter. Its going to make the wall, and now its clear its going to carry it. The ball lands in the second row of the Monster seats, in the aisle between M7 and M8, ricocheting off a fan who scrambles after the magical souvenir. The Sox win 64, and the whole club gathers at home to pound David on the helmet and bounce up and down as a team. Too bad Dauber missed this one. Now I wish Id gonea walkoff jobs rarebut were celebrating here too, hooting and running to the kitchen to mob Trudy as if she hit it. Now it is officially a happy Easter, I say. The temptation is to see this as a defining moment, proof that were in for a wild year. Its a win, thats all, but a very satisfying one. Though its only April, with one swing, emotionally, weve made up for blowing both openers. April 12th In the mail theres a promotional postcard for Steph, a handsomely designed riff on a fight poster that says SHOWDOWN IN BEANTOWN, touting Fridays Yankee game on Foxthe networks first regularseason game in prime time in years. Weve got Monster seats for Sundays Yankee game, and Im hoping to cadge two field boxes from Steve for Fridays showdown. Francona says hes not going to use the off day to give Pedro an extra day of rest, meaning well skip Arroyo and Petey will go in his normal slot Thursday night against the Os (maybe a revenge game for him?). This way, Schilling stays on track for thirtyfive starts rather than thirtythree, and Pedro sees the Yanks down in the Stadium the weekend after next. So Schilling will go this Friday, as hes planned since February. Steph and I figure out well see Wake on Sunday, and then, on Thursday against Tampa Bay, Wake again. (Its a good thing Steph likes Timmay. Last year we went through a goofy stretch where he saw five straight home starts of his.) But thats only if the weather holds. Its spring, Steph reminds me. Were probably going to have some rainouts. April 13th A dark, cold day. It pours all afternoon, and the Sox cancel tonights game early. Theres no reschedule date, and no rush, since Baltimore comes through again in July and September. The rainout itself is depressing, as if a partys been called off, and makes the day that much gloomier. SK It was an insult that they shipped Dauber. The injury was that they shipped him for Frank. SO Funny how Crespos turned into our utility everything. Had a big spring, beating out Shump and Tony Wo, and now hes playing infield and outfield and getting four or five atbats a game, while Daubers rotting in Pawtucket. You cant teach speed. April 14th My 2004 Media Guide arrives, with a picture of DLowe on the cover, celebrating the Game 5 win over Oakland, except the background isnt from that game, but from the wildcard clincher at Fenway, with the fans on their feet and the whole bench bolting from the dugout. Matted in below this are pressconference shots of Schilling, Francona and Foulke holding up their new Sox unis, the symbolism unmistakable, as if adding these three elements together will produce a championship. Just for fun, the text of the guide is printed in blue and red ink this year, 627 pages of stats and oddball facts like last year with the White Sox, Dauber stole home; in college Mark Malaska was a slugging outfielder; Cesar Crespos brother Felipe played for the Giants, and homered twice in the same game in which Cesar hit his first major league homer with the Padres. Among the career highlights and personal trivia, I recognize dozens of lines Ive already heard from Don and Jerry. As if 627 pages arent enough, I hit the local bookstore and pick up Jerry Remys Watching Baseball, just out. As a color analyst, hes usually pretty good with strategy, and Im always willing to learn. Im not disappointed. While a lot of it is basic, he also talks a fair amount about setting the defense according to the batter, the count and the pitch, and how important it is not to give your position away. He also lays out the toughest plays for each position, and the slight advantages base runners can take of pitchers and outfielders. Im psyched to use some of my new knowledge watching the game, but the website says its been cancelled due to inclement weather and unplayable field conditions. Its a letdown, as if I was supposed to play. After Sundays walkoff homer, Im feeling a little withdrawal. April 15th Its raining when I wake up, but by midmorning the suns out, so I think were okay. Even better in the mail are Steves dream seats for tomorrow nights game, along with a parking pass. Look for me on Fox. (Last year, for one nationally televised game, we noticed that Todd Walker was miked, a transmitter tucked in his back pocket. Every time he was on deck, we yelled Rupert Murdoch sucks!) Sundays game is OnField Photo Day. I call up Sox customer service to find out more, but the woman there doesnt know when it starts or what gate you need to go in or where the line will form. In the paper, the Yanks asked UConn mens hoops coach Jim Calhoun if hed throw out the first ball at one of their games. Coach Calhouns a serious Sox fan; after his squad won it all in 99 (beating a Yankeelike Duke team), he threw out the first pitch up at Fenway. No chance, he tells the Yanks. Sixty years of torment is enough. The confusion the Yanks had is natural. The monied southwestern corner of Connecticut drains toward New York, and historically supports the more established Gotham teams. For a couple years, before moving to Jersey, the football Giants played in the Yale Bowl. The northern and eastern edges of the state, butted up against Massachusetts and Rhode Island, are country, decidedly New England. The suburban middle, where I live, is disputed territory. On the Sox website, theres a petition for Connecticut residents to sign, pledging their loyalty based on traditional New England values of hard work and fair play, and denouncing the encroachment of, yes, the evil empire. Ive signed, though what good it does against Georges bounty hunters and clone army, I have no idea. The game goes on as scheduled. Ben Afflecks in the front row beside the Sox dugout (he emceed the Sox Welcome Back luncheon the other day), and I expect hell be there tomorrow against the Yanks. With the rainouts, neither pitchers seen action for a while. Pedro gives up a leadoff home run to Roberts. Hes missing spots, walking people, giving up another run in the second, but Ponson loads the bases and Johnny singles to right, and then Bill Mueller breaks an 0for20 drought with a Pesky Pole wraparound, and were up 52. Its early, but the game seems in hand, and the home folks have shows they want to watch, so we switch over to Survivor and then The Apprentice (dont worry, Steve, were taping Kingdom Hospital), clicking back to NESN every so often. Its 54 Sox in the fourth when we check in, just in time to see Johnny knock in Bellhorn. Ponsons struggling, and Tejada doesnt help him by dropping the transfer on a sure DP. Ortiz grounds to the right side and Pokey scores. 74. When we check in again, its 77 in the top of the fifth and Pedros still in there. What the hell? (Palmeiro hit a threerun shot into the Sox bullpen.) Hes given up 8 hits and 4 walks. Yank him already! Ponsons gone after four, and Malaska comes on for us in the top of the sixth. Its the big finale of The Apprentice, and for two hours we play peekaboo with the relievers Lopez, Williamson, Timlin, Ryan, Foulke, Embree. The Apprentice ends just in time for us to catch the biggest play of the game. Its the bottom of the tenth, bases loaded and two out for Bill Mueller. He lifts one high and deep to leftcenter that looks like itll scrape the Monster. Im up, cheering, thinking this is the gamethat well have a little cushion going into the Yankee seriesbut the wind knocks the ball down. Bigbie is coming over from left, and Matos from center, on a collision course. Bigbie cuts in front, Matos behind, making the grab on the track in front of the scoreboard, and thats the inning. Arroyo starts the top of the eleventh against Tejada. He hangs a curve, and Tejada hits it off the foot of the light tower on the Monster for his first homer of the year. 87 Os. In a long and ugly sequence, they pile on four more. We go onetwothree, and thats the game, a painful, bullpenclearing, fourandahalfhour extrainning loss very much like last weeks in Baltimore. Not the way we wanted to go into tomorrows opener against the Yanks, and not how I wanted to go to bedlate and pissedoff. April 16th The Sox are unveiling a statue of Ted Williams today outside Gate Bthe gate no one uses, way back on Van Ness Street, behind the rightfield concourse. The statues part of an ongoing beautification effort. Weve already widened the sidewalks and planted trees to try to disguise the fact that Van Ness is essentially a gritty little backstreet with more than its share of broken glass. Im surprised theres not a statue of Williams already, the way the Faithful venerate him. During the PedroHalladay game, I chanced across a rolling wooden podium with a bronze plaque inlaid on top honoring Ted; it looked like something from the sixties, coated with antique green milk paint. It was pushed against a wall in the hallway inside Gate A next to the old electric organ no one ever plays. Id never seen it before, and wondered why it was shoved to the side. In Pittsburgh there was a statue of Honus Wagner by the entrance of Forbes Field, and when the Bucs moved to Three Rivers, it moved with them, to be joined by a statue of Clemente, and now, at PNC Park, one of Willie Stargell. I wonder how long it will take the Sox to commission one of Yaz. Because the games on Fox, the start times been pushed back to 805, giving me some extra time to deal with Friday rush hour. All the way up 84 and across the Mass Pike I see a lot of New York and New Jersey plates. When I pull into the lot behind Harvard Med Center a good hour before the gates open, its already halffilled. I head for Lansdowne, but BP hasnt started yet. There are some Yankee fans outside the Cask n Flagon having their pictures takenskinny college girls in pink Yankee Tshirts and hats with a hefty dude in an ARod jersey. I pass a woman wearing a Tshirt that says THIS IS YOUR BRAIN (above a Red Sox logo), THIS IS YOUR BRAIN ON DRUGS (and a Yankees logo). TV crews are wandering around doing standups, shooting Broll of people eating by the Sausage Guy. Above, banner planes and helicopters crisscross. I walk down Lansdowne past the nightclubs, figuring Ill go around the long way and check out the statue. Fuel is playing the Avalon Ballroom; their fans are sitting against the wall to be the first in, and seem disgusted that their good time has been hijacked by a bunch of dumb jocks. When I turn the corner onto Ipswich, I find another line of young people waiting at the entrance of a parking lot. Everyone has an ID on a necklace, as if theyre all part of a tour group. Then I notice the yellow Aramark shirts hidden under their jackets. Its the vendors, queuing up so they can get ready for a big night. Its already cold in the shadows, and I pity the guys trying to move ice cream. I expect the Williams statue to be ringed by fans taking pictures or touching it for luck, the way they do in Pittsburgh with Clemente and Stargell (if you reach up you can balance a lucky penny on Willies elbow), but its just standing there alone while a line waits about thirty feet away for dayofgame tickets. Its uninspired and uninspiring, a tall man stooping to set his oversized cap on a little bronze kids head. Its not that Ted didnt love kids (his work with the Jimmy Fund is a great legacy), its just that I expected something more dynamic for the greatest hitter that ever lived. In Pittsburgh, Clementes just finished his swing and is about to toss the bat away and dig for first; hes on his toes, caught in motion, and theres a paradoxical lightness to the giant structure that conveys Clementes speed and grace. Stargells cocked and waiting for his pitch, his bat held high; you can almost see him waggling the barrel back and forth behind his head. This Williams is static and dull and carries none of The Kids personality. He could be any Norman Rockwell shmoo making nice with the little tyke. I take a couple of pictures anyway, then head back to Gate E to wait for my friend Lowry. Before a big game like this, people are handing out all sorts of crummy free stuff, and I accept a Globe just to have something to read (okay, and for the poster of Nomar). I buy a bag of peanuts and lurk at the corrugated door, and when Lowry comes, were first in line and then the first in and the first to get a ball, tossed to me by David McCarty in left. I snag a grounder by Kapler, and later an errant warmup throw by Yanks coach (and former Pirate prospect) Willie Randolphpicking the neat shorthop out of sheer reflex. ARod comes out to warm, and the fans boo. Some migrate over from other sections just to holler at him while he plays long toss, chucking the ball from the thirdbase line out to deep rightcenter. Hey, lend me a hundred bucks, huh? How you liking third? Hey, ARod, break a leg, and I mean that. We boo Jeter when he steps in to hit. And Giambi (Balco) and Sheffield (Ballllcoooo). The rest of the Yanks are friendly enough. Jose Contreras and Kevin Brown banter with the fans; even hothead Jorge Posada jokes with us. When Mussina comes by and chats and smiles, someone calls, Youre the good Yankee, Mike. Miguel Cairo, one of the last Yankees to bat, smokes a grounder down the line. Its mine.


I catch it offcenter, and it bends the fingers of my mitt back. The ball knocks off the wall and rolls away, out of reach, gone forever. Its a play Ill make 99 times out of 100, even if it was hit hard. Hey, Lowry says, youve got three. Yeah, I say, I know, but its always the one that gets away that you remember. We stop by El Tiantes for an autographed picture, saying hey to Luis and picking up some Cuban sandwiches, then fight the crowd to reach our seats. The choke points right behind home, where the concourse narrows to feed the first ramp to the stands. The crush is worse than Opening Day, and I think theyve got to fix it somehow before something very bad happens. The tide of people separates us. I find Lowry at our seats just as the anthem begins. As always, Im overwhelmed by how good these seats are. One section over, one row in front of us, is the governor of Massachusetts, Mitt Romney. The Yanks send Kenny Lofton, Jeter and ARod to face Wake in the first. The boos grow louder with each atbat, peaking with ARod, who gets a standing excoriationsomething only Clemens has managed over the years. GayRod, some wags are chanting. When Tims first pitch is a strike, the crowd explodes, as if weve won. Johnny opens with a hopper to first that hits Giambi in the middle and gets through him for an E. Balco! Vazquez has Bill Mueller 02, but gets impatient, aiming a fastball that Billy cranks into the Sox bullpen, and were up 20. Manny hits a slicing liner down the rightfield line that disappears from view. The ump signals fair, then twirls one finger in the air for a homer. Somehow the Yanks are able to relay the ball intheyre arguing that it never went out. We dont get a replay. (Later, I hear that the ball hit the top of the wall and caromed back in off Sheffield, so it wasnt a homer.) With two down and Ellis Burks on second, Doug Mirabelli grounds one to Jeter. Its an easy play, but Jeter comes up and lets it through the fivehole and into left, and with two outs Burks scores easily. Posada gets one back with a solo homer in the second. In the fourth, Mirabelliwho, like Wake, is only making his second starttakes Vazquez deep on the first pitch. 51. A great moment in the sixth when the Yanks try a double steal (or is it a blown hitandrun?). Sheffield doesnt make contact, and ARods meat at third. The crowd taunts him into the dugout. Its 62 with two out in the eighth when Giambi lofts a fly to Manny in left. Good inning, I holler to Doug Mirabelli, heading off, and then I see the ball glance off Mannys glove and bounce in the grass. He Charlie Browned it! I look around to verify that this has actually happened. No one else can believe it either. Things get a little shaky when Sheffield and Posada both work walks to load the bases. A home run here and the games tied, a neighbor says. I know where this is coming from, but come on, were up 62 with four outs to go. Have some faith. Embree gets Matsui, and the Yanks never threaten again, and when Jeter makes the last out and the PA plays Dirty Water, all the different TV crews hustle to set up their tall directors chairs for the postgame shows. April 17th Steve and I have been going back and forth about the Yankees place in our cosmos. Ive been trying to argue that theyve only gotten in our way a few times across our overall history. In the fifties and sixties (besides the Impossible Dream year), we were so bad that it didnt matter. 78s a fluke, and people forget that after our big fold in August we came back and won our last eight to gain the tie for the division. The WinfieldMattingly Yanks never gave us any problems; were, in fact, massive chokers, consistently finishing second to Toronto, Baltimore and us. In 86 we stood in our own way (or Calvin Schiraldi did). In 99, we were lucky to get by Cleveland, and last year we pulled a rabbit out of our hat to beat Oakland, and were playing on the road the whole time. Plus we took enough out of the Yanks that they had nothing left for the Marlins. We were their stumbling block, beating them twice at the Stadium, putting their weaknesses on display. All the Marlins had to do was mop them up. SK Your rationalizations cant stand up to the killer graphics Fox put up on the screen last night. Ill get the facts for my little YankeesSox piece (and no, it hasnt always been the Yankees, just the Dent home run, the Boston Massacre, and last yearplus the BostonYankees alltime numbers, which are all New York). But while weve been starving, New York has been feasting. How many consecutive years have they gone to the postseason now? Twelve? Come on, ya gotta hate em! Fear em and hate em! SO You forgetmy roots are in Pittsburgh, and Mazs homer is our Excalibur. We not only slew the beast, we broke their damn hearts, and the Sox can do it too. Shoot, if we really wanted to win one, we could go the 97 Marlins route, or the 2001 DBacks. Were almost there but not quite. But thats not an honorable way. Thats why all the Steinbrenner titles dont count. The last time the Yanks really won anything was 1962. SK Mazs homer is our Excalibur. Mine too. I LOVED that series. Remember that Baltimore chop that hit Tony Kubek in the Adams apple? Of course you do, you devil, you. SO As Bob Prince used to say, We had em all the way! SK The game last night was the perfect antidote (except for Scott Williamson in the eighthPRETTY SCARY, HALLOWEEN MARY). A measure of payback for TimMAY Wakefield after the heartbreaking home run to Aaron Boone. One game down, eighteen to go. One luxury of having two bona fide aces is the constant possibility of a marquee matchup. Last Saturday it was PedroHalladay, this Saturday its SchillingMussina. With the watering down of pitching talent around the league, these games are rare, and Id be at Fenway except that I have to tape an interview for Canadian TV. Moose is rocky from the start, and Schillings solid. Bill Mueller goes deep, and Manny. Its 41 in the seventh when Schillings 121st pitch freezes Jeter for the first outand suddenly here comes Francona from the dugout. Like Pedro against Toronto, Schilling looks around, surprised someone is warming. He turns his head and swears, but gives up the ball and gets a big hand. A few minutes later the camera shows him in the dugout, going over his charts. Another power move by Francona? Or just notice that he wont be like Grady? I think its no coincidence that he pulled both aces at home during highprofile wins. Johnny doubles in an insurance run in the eighth, and the Yanks get a cheapie in the ninth, but this ones over. Schilling beats Moose and weve taken the first two. On Extra Innings, Tom Caron says, So the worst we can do is split. Why think of the worst, especially right now? Weve got DLowe going against Contreras tomorrow. Its this kind of fatalismfrom the Soxs own network!that drives me crazy. You never hear this kind of hedging from the Yankees YESmen. April 18th We get going early so we can be the first ones on the Monster, but as were driving up I read in the Sunday paper that theres no BP today. While it doesnt mention it anywhere, and even the Sox ticket office and the guys who let us in through Gate C arent sure where were supposed to go, its OnField Photo Day. We take a right toward the stairs up to the Monster and notice the garage door to centers open. We fall in behind a staff member escorting two kids and then were on the warning track in the bright sunshine. A yellow rope cordons off the grass, but we can walk all the way around to the dugout, where Schilling is sitting, being interviewed by a writer. The PA tells us the plan. The Sox will come out and walk all the way around so we can take photos. Each player has a handler to make sure they dont sign autographs. Still, Ive got to try. No, Ill get in trouble, Bill Mueller says, like a little kid. The guys are nice, shaking hands and posing. I get Steph with hitting coach Ron Papa Jack Jackson and Keith Foulke. Trudys being crowded and cant get clean shots, so she moves out to the warning track in right where its empty. Johnny Peskys sitting in the dugout with Andrew, and I toss him a ball to sign. I notice Manny on the other end of the dugout, signing, and make my way over there, scissoring over the wall and then highstepping over the railings between sections. The mob around him is packed tight, but I finally get through and have him sign my ball. The Monster seats are a dreama counter for your stuff, a swiveling barstool and room behind it to stand or lean against the wall. Were in the second row. In the first row, there are new signs that read WARNING FOR YOUR SAFETY PLEASE DO NOT REACH OVER WALL. The one drawback is that were a long way from the plate. Its a little breezy, but when the wind is blowing right you can smell the burgers grilling. The suns out, Lowrys with us, and when Kevin Millar doubles into the corner in the first, scoring Bill Mueller, the day seems ideal. The pitching matchups in our favor, or should be. Contreras is their fourth starter, and a weak link. The worry is that Lowe, working on ten days rest, will be too strong and leave the ball up. In the third thats exactly what happens. After he walks ARod, he gives up a single to Giambi, a double to Sheffield, a single to Matsui and a double to Posadaall of them down the line in left. Lowe strikes out Travis Lee, but Enrique Wilson singles to right, scoring Matsui to make it 41. Jeter grounds out, scoring Posada, then Bernie Williams doubles down the leftfield line. Thats it for Lowe 223 innings, 8 hits, 7 runs. The Sox get two back in the bottom of the inning, chasing Contreras. We should have more except for a blown call. With two on and two out, Tek slaps one down the firstbase line that Travis Lee has to dive to spear. Reliever and exSock Paul Quantrill beats Tek to the bag, but Lee has trouble getting the ball out of his glove, and by the time the throw arrives, Quantrills well past the base. The ump punches Tek out to end the inning, bringing Francona from the dugout to argue, though by then its pointless. Also during this inning, the Yanks haul out their Cuban National Team tactics, slowing down the pace of the game in the middle of our rally to quiet the crowd and throw off the hitters timing. Posada visits the mound. They send the trainer out in midcount, as if the pitcher has some injury. He doesnt, but because the trainer accompanies Torre, the visit doesnt count as a visit by the manager. They send the pitching coach. They change pitchers. They have an infield conference. They send the pitching coach again in midcount. The pitcher himself wanders behind the mound to stall. They change pitchers again. Technically its only semilegal, a judgment call with the leagues new rules requiring umps to pick up the pace of the game. A good crew chief wouldnt put up with this nonsense. It stays 73. Theres not much action, and the crowds grumpy and distracted. From time to time the bleachers rise and roar, signaling a fight. The cops haul some Yankee fans away, and everyone cheers, Yankees suck! Yankees suck! In the seventh, Tom Gordon comes in to some moderate boos, but its hard to get too excited, down by four runs. The sole highlight of the late innings is an awkward sliding catch by Sheffield along the rightfield line. The crowd salutes him with the old Atlanta tomahawk chop, with the finger attached. We lose 73. It was basically a oneinning game, over after the third. The loss cant ruin the daywalking on the field, seeing the guys, sitting on the Monsterbut it makes for a quiet ride home. And tomorrows their matchup Kevin Brown against Bronson Arroyo. Okay, now whos the fatalist? SK Not quite sgood tday, and with KBrown tomorrow, the Yanks look good for the split, curse them. SO It was a dull game, even up on the Monster. The wind was blowing in hard, and knocked down two balls from Manny that would have been gone any other day. Saw the new Williams statue by Gate Bpure schmaltz. He deserves better. SK Yep. Putting his hat on the little kiddies head. Cute. And, out of the side of his mouth Now get outta my way, you little ratbastard. SO Hey, imagine what Steinbrenners statuell be doing. SK Cast in bronze with his wallet out. The RivalryApril 18th The Yankees have never beaten the Red Sox in the World Series; with both teams in the American League, that, of course, is impossible. Nevertheless, the Yankees (who are playing the Red Sox in the third game of their first fourgame set of 2004 as I write this) have become the Soxs principal rival over the last fifty or sixty years, and as someone who has written a great many scary stories during his career, I almost have to write about them. For Red Sox fans, the Yankees are the thing under the bed, the boogeyman in the closet. When they come to us, we expect bad luck on horseback; when we go to them, we expect, in our hearts, not to return alive. The rivalry has captured hearts in both Boston and New York, with fans crosspollinating freely (and sometimes fistily) at the games. On April 16th, the New York Posts front page showed a pinstriped Darth Vader with a Yankees logo on his helmet and a bat on his shoulder. It quoted Red Sox president Larry Lucchino, who in 2002 called the Yankees the Evil Empire, and trumpeted MAY THE CURSE BE WITH YOU. On the Fox Game of the Week that night (of course it was the Game of the Week, are you kidding), the announcers displayed a souvenir Tshirt proclaiming SHOWDOWN IN BEANTOWN. That one must have been officially sanctioned by Red Sox management. In the bleachers, the ones reading JETER SUCKS are much more popular. I understand theres one featuring ARod with an even more obscene sentiment, but I havent seen that one yet (Im sure I will). And how many fightin fans have been ejected by the security people over the years? I have no idea, but as Ole Casey used to say, You could look it up. When there are fights, the first blows are usually thrown by Red Sox fans; the jeers and epithets chiefly come from Sox fans, too. Maybe Billy Herman, who managed the club from 1964 to 1966 (not stellar years), explained it best For Red Sox fans, there are only two seasons August and winter. Losing makes us sadexcept when it doesnt. Then itmakes us pissed. The attitude of your average pinstripe fan, on the other handunless and until directly attackedtends to be one of indulgent, slightly patronizing good nature. Arguing with a Yankee fan is like arguing with a real estate agent who voted for Ronald Reagan. I date the SoxYanks rivalry of the Modern Age from October 3rd, 1948, a day on which the Red Sox actually beat the Yankees, 105. Whats wrong with that, you say? Well, it got us into a onegame playoff game with the Cleveland Indians, one we lost, 83. Thats Heartbreak Number One. Fastforward past 1951 (Mickey Mantle makes his major league debut versus the Red Sox, Yanks win 40), and 195253 (the Red Sox lose thirteen in a row to the Yankees), and 1956 (Ted Williams fined for spitting at Boston fans after misplaying a Mickey Mantle fly ball, an incident Williams will never live down). Let us forget 1960, when the Yankees set the record for team home runs (192)against Boston. And let us by all means wince past Roger Mariss 61st home run, which came against Tracy Stallardwho pitched for Boston. No, lets move directly to 1978. Nothing compares, says Dan Shaughnessy in The Curse of the Bambino. The mind calcifies. This was the apocalyptic, cataclysmic fold by which all others must be measured. Yeah, and it was pretty bad, too. On July 20th of that year, the Red Sox led the Yankees by fourteen games.Then came the infamous Boston Massacre, in which the Red Sox were sweptnot at Yankee Stadium but at Fenwayby the Bombers in a fourgame series. The Sox ended the season in a flatfooted tie with the Yankees, and lost the playoff game on Monsieur Dents PunchandBucky home run, the pop fly heard round the world. Thats Heartbreak Number Two. In 1999, the Red Sox went into postseason as the wildcard team and once again faced the Yankees. The Yanks won both of the first two games in the Stadium, both by one run; they qualify as Heartbreaks Number ThreeA and ThreeB. (Game 1 of this series, you may remember, wasthe one in which Chuck Knoblauch dropped a throw from Scott Brosius; the ump then ruled hed dropped the ball while transferring it from his glove to his hand.) The third game, the first played at Fenway in the 99 series, offered some small measure of revenge. In that game, Sox batters pummeled first Roger Clemens and then a parade of relievers, Pedro Martinez fanned twelve, and the Red Sox won, 131. It was the most lopsided loss in the Yankees postseason history, but in the end it made no difference; you cant carry any of those runs over to later games, can you? In the following game, the Red Sox were victimized by another bad call, this time by Tim Tschida,and the Red Sox ended up losing, 92. The Yankees won the final game, 61. Thats Heartbreak Number ThreeC. Whenever the eye of Red Sox management falls on a likely player, it seems that the Eye of Steinbrenner (like the Eye of Sauron in his tower) has also fallen there. It was very likely frustration as much as anything else that prompted Larry Lucchinos Evil Empire comment following the signing of Jose Contrerasin 2002; there was even more frustration following the signing of Alex Rodriguez. ARod was willing to come to Boston; it was the Players Union that balked, citing a 15 million shortfall in Bostons offer and claiming it would set a disastrous precedent (bullshitballplayers are even more egregiously overpaid than bestselling novelists). The fans understand the truth George Steinbrenners your basic fatcat owner. His pockets are deeper because his fan base is deeper. Current capacity at Fenway is about 35,000; at Yankee Stadium, its 58,000. And thats only the tip of the iceberg. The differences carry over to all the ancillary goodies, from Tshirts to the big casino, TV telecast rights. Hummmm, babyand while youre at it, gimme that cable deal, sweetheart. But enough dallying. Weve reached Heartbreak Number Four, the one Ive been putting off but can put off no longer. Worse than the Boston Massacre? Yes. Worse than the ground ball through Bill Buckners wickets? Yes. Worse, even, than the Bucky Dent cheap home run? Yes, because more recent. The wound is fresher; still bleeding, in fact. Part of me just wants to say, If you dont know what happened, look it up or go rent avideotape somewhere. It hurts to even think about it, let alone write about it. Because, I think, we did more than come back; we were ahead. We were five outs away from beating the hated, feared Yankees (in their own house!) in the American League Championship Series and going back to the World Series for the first time since 1986. We had our fingers around that puppy, and it justslippedaway. The smart money had the Yankees winning that series, but the Red Sox took the first and fourth games behind Tim Wakefield, who simply bamboozled the Yankee hitters with his knuckleballand who would issue the Final Heartbreak in the eleventh inning of Game 7. In between was the famous Game 3 rhubarbmore bad blood between two teams that have had it in for each other for what seems like a thousand years. The trouble started when Pedro Martinez hit Karim Garcia in the back (narrowly missing his head). After Garcia was forced at second (taking Red Sox second baseman Todd Walker out with an ugly spikesup slide), Yankee catcher Jorge Posada yelled at Martinez from the dugout. Martinez reputedly responded in charming fashion. Ill hit your head, too, smartass! cried he. In frame number four, Roger Clemensnever a gentlemanthrew at Manny Ramirez, who responded by telling the Rocket he could go fuck himself. Roger responded by telling Manny that no, Manny could go fuck him self. A real meeting of the minds, you see. The benches erupted. Don Zimmer, the aging Yankee coach,ended up rolling around on the ground, courtesy of Pedro Martinez. Later, Zim made a tearful apologybehavior which cost fellow New Englander Edmund Muskie his shot at the presidency, but maybe thats neither here nor there. In any case, the Yankees won the game. They also won Game 5 behind David (Bostonians Are Psycho) Wells. The 2003 ALCS returned to Yankee Stadium with the Bronx Bombers needing only one more win to go on to the World Series. But the Sox won ugly in Game 6, 96. So, Game 7. The Red Sox got off to a 40 lead behind Pedro, the ace of the staff. Jason Giambi then hit a pair of solo home runs for the Yanks; David Ortiz hit one for the Sox. It was 52 Red Sox in the eighth inning. Mayor Rudy Giuliani thought the Red Sox were finally going towin it.Martinez got the first batter (Nick Johnson) he faced in that inning, and the Red Sox were five outs away from the World Series. For we Red Sox fans, that was the 2003 equivalent of Picketts Charge as close as we ever got. Jeter (Jeter the Horrible, to Sox fans) doubled to right. Bernie Williams singled, driving in Jeter. Matsui hit a groundrule double after Grady conferred with the tiring but game Martinez and decided to leave him in (hell, it had worked once or twice during the regular season). And still left him in to face Posada, who dumped one over second base to tie the game. The Red Sox manager finally came with the hookbut Red Sox Nation would pretty much agree it was too Little, too late. In the bottom of the eleventh inning, Mayor Giuliani told his wife and daughter, Youre going to see your first walkoff home run.The batter was Aaron Boone, and he made the mayor a prophet. Tim Wakefield, the man who was arguably the most responsible for getting the Red Sox as far as they were able to go, served up the fatal pitch, but had nothing to hang his head about. The real damage was done with one out in the eighth. And is there a reason to drag all this history into a book about the 2004 Red Sox? There sure is. More than one, actually. First, baseball is a game of history, and those who dont learn from it are condemned to get drubbed by it. Second, even in a much improved American League East, the Yankees and Red Sox still seem, at this point in the young season, like the two dominant teams.The tradition and history will hang over each of these matches like grandstand shadows over the infield at 5 P.M. The Red Sox half of the tradition, unfortunately, is one of losing the big games. The history half is one of snatching defeat from the jaws of victory, as on the night of October 17th, 2003. Looking the other way, into the future (into the outfield, where the shadows have not yet reached, if you will), is the simple fact that the landscape of the American League East has changed since 2003; even two weeks into the season, that seems apparent. The lowly Tampa Bay Devil Rays (thepreviously lowly DRays) are at .500, and the previously lowly Baltimore Orioles are in first place. Those things will very likely change, but I think its likely that the Blue Jays, also improved, wont finish thirty games below .500, as they would if they continued along at their current pace. What all this means to the SoxYanks rivalry is that one team is apt to be called when the postseason bell rings, but probably not both. And that makes the knees of every Red Sox fan tremble, no matter what they may tell you, no matter what sentiments they wear on their Tshirts, no matter what vile canards they may call down upon Yankee outfielders from the Monster seats high above. There is no calculus here; the math is simple. We all hate what we fear, and sensible Red Sox fans fear the Yankees. Now, on the eighteenth of April, the Red Sox lead the nineteengame regularseason series two games to one. A great many other games will be played with a great many other clubs before the dust settles and the 2004 season is in the record booksbut in my heart, I believe the American League East will come down to Them, or to Us. And because we fear what we hate, in my heart I always dread it when they come to us. The only thing I dread more is when we must go to them. I suppose it would be different if I could play, but of course I cant; Im helpless, doomed to only watch. To believe in the Curse of the Bambino even though I dont believe in it. And to think of the late Stephen Jay Gould, who somehow rooted for both teams (maybe in the end that was what killed him, not the cancer), and who once said, The deepest possible anguish[is] running a long hard course again and again to the very end, and then selfdestructing one inch from the finish line. PostscriptApril 19th This is Patriots Day, which is a holiday only in Maine, where it chiefly means no mail delivery, and Massachusetts, where it means the Boston Marathon and an 11 A.M. Red Sox game at Fenway. Today the Red Sox spotted the Yankees leads of 30 and 41, but Bronson Arroyo settled down and pitched a good game, in ESPN SportsCenter argot, and the Red Sox won it by a final score of 54.Im happy to report that ARodswoes continue; he went 1 for 17 in the fourgame series (heehee), the one hit was a meaningless single, and he made a throwing error in todays tilt that basically cost the Yankees the game. So now were 31 with the Yanks, and can get back to the more normal business of playing baseball. Whew. April 20th I read in the paper that in his first home game Dauber hit two homers, leading the PawSox to a 32 victory over Rochester. And to replace Frank Castillo, the Red Sox have activated lefty Lenny DiNardo, giving us four lefties in the pen for the first time I can remember. Must be setting up for this weekends series in the Bronx, that short porch in right. I hope these PawSox can get it done. Id start resting Embree now. The crowd in the Skydome tonight is around 6,000, despite the PedroHalladay rematch. The Maple Leafs are playing the Ottawa Senators in Game 7 of their playoff series, and at one point Eric Frede, NESNs new maninthestands, says there are more people in the concourse watching hockey than there are in the seats. Oh, Canada. Pedro throws well and we win easily, but theres a little bad blood in the ninth when reliever Terry Adams goes up and in on Manny. Manny ducks away, tossing his helmet aside, and stands squared with the mound, arms out, calling, What do you want? Earlier, reliever Valerio de los Santos knocked Ortiz on his ass with a pitch aimed at his face, so its not an overreaction on Mannys part, as Jerry claims. When their noname pitchers throw at your big three and four guys, its on. The benches clear, and while there are no punches thrown, its a signal that were not going to take that shit. Expect newbie Lenny DiNardo to dust someone like Delgado tomorrow, or Timlin to plunk Wells or Phelps. SK Petey looked a lot better than Doc, didnt he? Are the Yankees playing tonight? I tried to get em on the satellite, and they were playing some weepy old Thurman Munson short instead of the ChiSox. Red Sox win, Martinez goes 21. Time for Tom Caron and Bob Tewksbury, aka The Talking Board. SO Rain delay. The Yanks scored 7 in the first, so maybe thatll get erased. Tewks! Youll notice he changed his hair from that 50s style to something from the midtolate 70s. And where the hell is Bob Rodgers? Do they have him in a cage under Car Talk Plaza? SK I think Ill Google the sumbitch. SO Google away, dude, but I think Carmen Sandiego is working him over in a dank room with a DieHard and some piano wire. Long live TC and the new maninthestands who looks like Ross Perots love child. SK According to the Globe (March 2nd, 2004), Rodgers left Fort Myers to coach a WhitmanHanson boys basketball game in the MIAA Tournament. He left a recorded SportsDesk segment but did not get permission to do this. Both NESN and Red Sox management werent happy, and although the public word is that Bobby the Serial Killer has left NESN to pursue other opportunities (Sean McGrail), the fact is they canned his ass. According to Globe writer Bill Griffith, Red Sox management has sent a message that there are new sheriffs in town. In a totally unrelated development, you should know that exRed Soxer Mo Vaughn is going to be the Grand Marshal of the fifteenth annual Hot Dog Safari on May 16th, at Suffolk Downs. Its being billed The Hit Dog and the Hot Dog. How the mighty have fallen. By the way, Stew, Google also reports that a Bob Rodgers is reffing college soccer in the Boston area, but that may not be the same one. SO So hes just out there somewhere, like Michael Myers. SK Dude! Thats it! Or Jason, only with a wimpmask, sorta. April 21st A package arrives from the Souvenir Store (which is in fact Twins Enterprises now; the Sox have made it their official store) with the glossy 2004 yearbook, a blue windbreaker made in Korea and a Tshirt made in Uzbekistan. Now Im outfitted for the summer. The yearbook must have been put to bed in late March, because there, sharing the same page, are Shump and Tony Wo. UPS brings another present, a rough cut of a future episode of Kingdom Hospital called Butterfingers. The story line is familiar to Sox fans Earl Candleton, the first baseman for the longsuffering New England Robins, drops a popup that would have won them the 87 World Series. From then on hes hounded by fans who call him Butterfingers and pelt him with balls. He descends into alcoholism, living in a fleabag of a mission in Lewiston. When the Robins go to Game 7 of the Series, with the game on the line in the bottom of the ninth, Earl holds a revolver to his temple. If the Robins win, he lives; if they fold, he dies. Of course, they fold and he pulls the trigger and drops into a cobwebby purgatory as the doctors and kinder spirits of Kingdom Hospital try to save him. (The FX havent been matted in yet, so there are scenes where a grip follows the waif ghost Mary around with the head of the benevolent beast Antubis on a stick.) In the end, the spirits, with the help of Peter, the artist in a carcrashinduced coma, allow Earl to go back to that moment in 87 and make the catch, changing himself and the world. The two Down syndrome dishwashers who serve as oracles have the last word Baseballs not always a sad game. Sometimes the good guys win. Tonight the matchup is Wake versus Ted Lilly, who beat us on Opening Day. Wakes sharp and Doug Mirabelli, happy to be starting, wallops two homers to give us a 30 lead, but the Jays chip away. SK 32 in the sixth. This is turning into a nailbiter. Damn, I hate seeing all those .250 hitters in the lineup. Thank God for Douglas Miracle Mirabelli. Speaking of hockey, did you see his shot off the glass? SO Doug also came through bigtime Friday night against the Yanks. Amazing that he can be this hot when he sits four days between starts. And Teks hot too. But Pokey, oh my, hes just struggling. Its still 32 in the eighth when Tosca brings in Valerio de los Santos once more to face David Ortiz. Last night de los Santos put David on his ass; tonight he hangs a breaking ball that David stings down the rightfield line. It bounces fair and caroms off the stands right to the right fielder Reed Johnson, and David has to sprint for second. Hes a big man, and looks silly running way up on his toes, arms pumping. He slides headfirst, bouncing off the dirt, and hes in there. We shouldnt laugh but cant help it. Part of it is how sweet his revenge is. De los Santos is scowling as Tosca comes to take the ball from him. David hustles over to third on a long sac fly by Manny (only a great leaping catch against the wall by Johnson saves extra bases), then, on a wild pitch, scoots for home, sliding feetfirst this time, safe, adding an earned run to de los Santoss stats (the camera finds him brooding in the dugout). We win 42. After the postgame show, Steve and I are still debating hope and fatalism. SO I think its neat how our attitudes are so different. After 86, last year didnt feel that drastic to me.


I mean, sure, it hurt, but Id been through worse, and we werent even supposed to get that far (we were at least three players away), so I thought everything after Trots shot was gravy and just dug the ride. This year I have higher hopes because of Schilling and Foulke. And heres some history the Angels, prior to 2001, were alltime chokers. Remember? No, you cant, at least not emotionally, because their win has forever changed the way we see the club and its past. Its a line you cross, and when the Sox cross it, our hindsight will be softened, and all these close calls will lose their power to wound us. Like the Pats, well no longer be hapless. Ask the old hardluck UConn Huskies of Jim Calhoun, the 1980 Phillies, the last two Elway Bronco squads, etc., etc. So goodbye, Tony Eason, goodbye, Donnie Moore. SK Donnie Moore. Now theres a horror story. Ive been thinking about this, and Ive decided that the age difference makes a difference here. What is it, fourteen years between us? Which means I remember Williams and you dont. I remember Maz leaping joyously around the bases when he hit that home run and youve only seen the kinescopes. Im not trying to pull rank or make you feel like a kid, Im just trying to get a focus on how we can approach this so differently. Maybe Ive got it. Ive been suffering fourteen more years. Why, thats almost a generation! SO I see it as partly geographicalthat winning Pittsburgh experiencebut part of its also that I waited for both the Oakland Raiders and New York Rangers to finally win their championships after years and years of their great (and heavily favored) teams choking, and for two truly hapless clubs, the Pats and Penguins, to win theirs (only to have lightning strike not once but twice). All four of these teams put a shitload of history behind them with one big cleansing win, and thats what the Sox will do too. SK But dont you see? Your very argument proves what a striking anomaly the Red Sox are. All the clubs youve mentionedin all the various sportsin this and in previous emails have won it all at least once in the last eighty or so years. Do I need to finish this thought? I mean, hello? One of these things is not like the others  One of these things just doesnt belong  One of these things is not like the others  Tell me while I sing this song. SO By the same token, all of these teams were in our strikingly anomalous position (which we share with the Cubs, White Sox, Brewers, Mariners, Astros, Rangers, DRays, Padres, Expos, Rockies, not to mention dozens of NFL clubs (the St. LouisArizona Cards have never won one, or the Saints, or the Bills, the Minny Vikes, etc., etc.), dozens of NBA and NHL franchises, whole boatloads of NCAA Division I schools, etc.) up until t  0, when all their troubled histories were redeemed by the one resource the world can count on time. Its inevitable. Maybe not in our lifetimes, but that just means our faith has to be strong. Which is one reason why I dug Butterfingers so muchhow you framed Earl Candletons life (and error) in terms of salvation or damnation. Take Me Out to the BallgameShall We Gather at the River. HailMarymotherofgraceI thought I was in Hell. You really made us feel for the guy, so when the dishwashing kids came out after youd used the old rewind to redeem 11 and said, Sometimes the good guys win, damned if I didnt get a little teary for Billy Buck and for all of us. And Billy Buck, you know we dont blame you. It was that lousy Schiraldi. SK I think Schiraldi might have been in some form of analysis or therapy following that seasonIm almost sure of this. And he was my daughters first crusha young man, and fair. SO He shoulda gone into analysis before the Angels series. And McNamara should have had his head examined for using him in both. I guess some young girls just dig troubled guys. SK Brewers, Mariners, Astros, Rangers, DRays, Padres, Expos, Rockies. Johnnycomelatelies. But Pokey, oh my, hes just struggling. Yeah, but hes a PR Mastuh! SO Ill cop to the Rocks and Rays being latecomers, but the Pods and Spos are looking at 30 years of futility, the Stros at 40, and the Rangers (as the Senators) have to go back to 1924 for their sole crown (compared to our five during that era). Yknow, I just flatout LIKE Pokey, despite him hitting .182 (67 points higher than Ellis Burks). Hes got a major league glove, and we havent seen much of that over the years. SK So do Iyou just cant NOT like him, can you? And hes been steadyEddie with the glove. April 22nd The Yanks won, but the Os lost, so guess whos all alone in first? So far Doug Mirabelli has 3 homers in 9 atbats. He sees his success as a product of his extra preparation. Playing once every five days, I can put all my focus into that pitcher and watch video or whatever for four days and try to get a little edge for myself to feel confident going in there. Which at least partially explains why over his career hes a .270 hitter as a Sock and .213 as a Giant and Ranger. The matchup tonight is in our favor againSchillingBatistaand the game goes as planned early on. Ortiz hits a tworun shot in the first and we hang on through six, when Toronto goes to their pen. Franconas said that hell close with Williamson instead of Foulke, whos thrown three straight days now, and maybe hes worried about conserving the pen for this weekend in New York, because he leaves Schilling in too long in the seventh, and the Jays tie the game with four straight hits. Take him out! were screaming at the set. In the eighth, Schilling comes back out. We just look at each other. Would Francona have done this at Fenway? Mystery Malaskas the only one warming as the Jays load the bases. Schillings pitch counts above 120, and hes consistently leaving the ball up. Number nine hitter Chris Gomez makes the decision for Francona, hooking a grand slam over the leftfield fence, and Toronto wins their first home game, 73. Put this one on the list of games we should have won. When Schill struggles in the seventh, go to a stopper like Embree, then use any of your setup guys in the eighth and close with Williamson. Whats the point of carrying extra arms if you dont use them? At least the Yankees lost. The ChiSox got to Moose early and hung on, 43. Its slight consolation. Im so disgusted I dont even watch the postgame, just turn the channel, as if I can make the loss go away. SO Captain, Im detecting high levels of Gradium. SK Boy, you got that right. April 23rd The Os beat the DRays, so theyre in first again. The Courants all excited about the SoxYanks rivalry. Because Hartfords halfway between the two cities, the paper has a beat writer for both teams. The Yankee guys a total homer, while the Red Sox guy, as befits the tradition, is a skeptic. Both dwell on Aaron Boone and Game 7, as if thats the only thing that happened last year. Were headed down to New York to spend the weekend with Trudys parents before they leave from the West Side piers for the transatlantic cruise theyve always talked about. Trudys sister and her boys will be there. Well go to a few museums, take in a show, wander around Chinatown, but one thing we wont be doing is going to the games. Tonight its Red SoxYankees, Round 2, Game 1. So far the advantage goes to the Red Soxtheyre up 60 in the fifth inning, courtesy of home runs by Millar, Bellhorn, and a threerun job by Bill Mueller. Do I need to bother with all this ingame detail? Probably not; ONan will have it. In fact Im starting to suspect that ONan is going to finish the season with roughly seven hundred pages of manuscript. That man takes his baseball seriously. The question Ive been asking myself is whether or not I need to bother with a diary at all. I can hear my mother asking me, Do you have to jump in the lake just because Stewart ONan does? No, Ma. And certainly I dont expect to be scrivening away at this on every game day, but it seems to me that I do have to add something from time to time. Call it a kind of balance. Stewarts the brains of the operation, no doubt. He knows where all the fielders are playing at any given time, and wholl be covering second, Bellhorn or Reese (Garciaparra soon, if God is good), in any given situation. Im more of a fromthegut guy. Also a superstitious guy. I dont necessarily know where the fielders are, but I do know enough to hit the MUTE button on the remote control when the opposing teams up, because everyone knows its unlucky to listen to the announcers when the opposing teams at bat. They always score when fans do that. You should know that Ill be doing the MUTE thing for the Sox all season long, so relax. Ill also be turning my cap around when were a run or two down in the late innings, and charting pitches when the opposing guy is really goodits a helluva jinx. I got Moose Mussina that way, and expect to get Victor Zambrano (Devil Rays ace, currently 31) in the same fashion when he pitches against us. And okay, quite often when the Red Sox are only up by a run or so in the late innings, I simply turn the idiot box off for a few minutes. Every superstitious fan knows that not watching for a while can also be good mojo, but basically I do it because Im too scared to watch. Especially if there are men from the opposing team on base. I made it through Nightof the Living Dead and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, but baseballespecially stretchrun baseballshreds my nerves. Now, though, its 60 Red Sox in the fifth, and Derek Lowe doesnt look too bad (dont worry, I knocked on wood when I said it). Oh yeahand when Alex Rodriguez grounded out weakly, pitcher to first, in the fourth, the disgruntled fans in Yankee Stadium actually booed their preseason darling. Music to my ears. Im also an emotional guy, at least when it comes to The Game. Theres really nothing like baseball, especially when you dont have to freeze your ass off on a cold, rainy night in the Bronx. And a postscript. Today the New York Post had fun comparing Johnny Damon, with his new beard and extralong hair, to a CroMagnon caveman. Johnny just scored Bostons seventh run of the night. We take the Cross Bronx, driving by the Yankee Stadium exit right around game time. I dont turn on the radio. Ill let this one be a surpriselike opening a present or a door (the lady or the tiger?). Theres so much chatter in New York, I figure Ill pick up bits of the game on the street, like a pulse underriding the city. Our first hint is in the hotel barwhere I notice Steph is bravely wearing his Wake shirt. As we pass the bar, a TV tells us its 60, but Im not sure in whose favor. I see Billy Mueller make a nice offbalance throw to close an inning, and Lowe making a fist, so Im hopeful. Were sitting so far in the dark back of the lounge that we cant see the TV, but when we come back out, its 60 Sox and Donovan Osbornes in for the Yanks. We make some noise, attracting the attention of a drunk Mets fan. Red Sox, huh? All I gotta say is Bill Buckner, okay? Bill, Buckner. I hope you guys have a better year this year, I say. Downstairs, the doormans shaking his head at how bad the Yanks have been so far. Theyll be all right, he says. George will pay. A billboard for an investment firm in Times Square says BRAVE AS A RED SOX FAN IN THE BRONX. But all around me Im seeing people in Sox caps and shirts laughing and giving each other the thumbsupsomething Ive never experienced before in New York. Were finishing dinner when Trudys sister and her boys arrive with a new score 102. The two were on a homer by Matsui, their only clutch guy. We stop at a liquor store on the way back to the hotel for some champagne, and I cant resist asking the guy behind the counter in a Yanks hat whos winning the game. As I write this, its 112 in the eighth, and the only reason it isnt 110 is because Derek got a little tired there. I think were gonna go up on em 41, which would be very swede. Knock on wood. Uhoh, whos Lenny DiNardo? Still worrying even with one out. Red Sox win, 112and Eckersleys on Extra Innings! Whee! Down in the city I dont get Eck, but at one in the morning I do get WCBS replaying the entire game, so here I am, halfbuzzed and headachy from champagne, watching a game thats already long over in a darkened hotel room while everyone else sleeps, just for the sheer pleasure of seeing how we did it. Bill Mueller with a threerun shot, and, basically, they didnt throw a quality pitcher at us all night. Looks like Torre wrote this one off, knowing hes got the matchup tomorrow and hoping Vazquez can get Sundays game to the pen. April 24th In the hotel, as Im getting on the elevator to go down to Times Square, a woman in a Sox hat and shirt gets outobviously going to todays game. And in the Guggenheim, as I wind my way down, I pass two boys in Sox hats, and their dad wearing a cherry red COWBOY UP Tshirt. In the taxi on the way to Chinatown, the radios on low, but I can still hear that the Sox are up 21. Go ahead, Bronson (named, yes, after Charles Bronson). Hours later, back at the hotel, two deckedout Jets fans get on the elevator. Id completely forgotten that todays the NFL draft. Ive been seeing lots of Pats hats, but I just expect that now. Its almost five when we get back to the room. The game should be over, so I pop on the TV for the score. Its in extra innings, 22, and Foulkes on. There are two down in the eleventh and Sheffields on first. Im supposed to get dressed for dinner and the theater tonight, then jump a cab out to the airport to pick up Caitlin, and times tight, but I sit on the edge of the bed with the boys and watch Tek gun down Sheff trying to get in scoring position for Bernie, with a nice slap tag by Crespo at second. In the top of the twelfth, Manny doubles to the base of the wall in rightcenter. Tek fights off three or four outside pitches from Quantrill before he gets one he can pull to the right side, moving Manny over with a ground out. Quantrill just nicks Millars shirtfront with a pitch, and the double plays in order, but Bellhorn drives one medium deep to center, and Bernie, with his weak arm, has been playing in and has to go back to get it. Manny scores easily, 32 Sox. Timlin comes on to close, but weve got to go. We call up from the lobby because weve forgotten Caitlins flight information, and there are two outs, nobody on and a 12 count on Jeter, and then, in the cab, we hear that the Yanks have just lost to the Sox. This is the kind of demoralizing game weve already lost two of to Baltimore, and its sweet to win one, especially in someone elses house. Its even sweeter because were in New York, as if the citys ours now. The local news at eleven has found a way to soften the blow. They open the sports with a long segment on the Giants trading for 1 pick Eli Manning, then show ARod making a nice backhand and getting Millar, then ARod homering, before showing Bellhorns sac fly and the final score. The homer was the only hit Bronson Arroyo gave up in six innings, but youd never know that. Holy moly, the BoSox did it again. It took them twelve innings today, but they beat the Yankees 32. Keith Foulke got the win in relief (vultured the win is the term baseball players use for this type of win, I believe; Timlin pitched the bottom of the twelfth and got the save). If it were possible to feel sorry for the Yankees, who are now four full games out of first placealthough whether behind us or Baltimore I dont at this moment knowI would feel almost sorry for them. Life being what it is, I dont feel a bit sorry. Derek Jeterknown in my household as Great Satan Jeteris now 0 for his last thousand or so. The fans dont boo him, though. Jeter seems truly beyond the boobirds. But the Yankees, manI mean, how long can you go on saying, Dont worry, its only April? Another six days, actually. Meanwhile, were throwing Pedro at them tomorrow, and going for the sweep. Were only five wins away from taking the seriesthats the series for the year. Man, I cant believe this. Somethings gotta go wrong. Unless dead or insane, I will be writing about tomorrows game. April 25th Its the last game of Round 2, with the BoSox going for the sweep over the Yankees. In the top of the first inning, the young Yankee pitcher, Javier Vazquez, looked terrificdetermined to be the stopper. Ortiz touched him for a single, but that was it. Now Pedro Martinez is on the mound for us, and the real question is which Pedro is going to show up the moundwise sharpie who pitched in Toronto last time, or the mediocre ragarm who started the season against Baltimore at Camden Yards (and then left the park early, sparking a minor media flurry). Hes 32 to Jeter to start with; Jeter, 0 for his last 21, strikes out to make that 0 for his last 22. Its the worst streak of Jeters career, and given that sort of funk, tells us very little about the state of Pedro. But even as I write the words, there goes Bernie Williams, 3 to 1. That looks a little better, and has silenced the massive chant (another sellout today at the Stadium) of Pedro sucks. And Kevin Millar just made an incredible sliding catch on ARod to finish the first no runs and no runners for the Yankees. The Yanks are, I should add, something of an anomaly the only team against which I actively root (it was true for a while of Cleveland in the early nineties, but no more). And it seems to me that the Yankees almost have to have this third game, not to keep from falling five games off the pace early (although five really is quite a few, at any point in the season), but because its the hated Red Sox and they are at home. In the third inning, the story still seems to be young Vazquez, who gets six of the first nine outs by way of the K. Then, in the top of the fourth, Mark Bellhorn, batting today in the twohole, walks (because thats what Mark Bellhorn does). After Ortiz strikes out lookingnumber seven for VazquezManny Ramirez comes up. After getting ahead of Manny 02, Vazquez attempts to waste a curveball. He wastes it out over the plate, andsee ya. Over the Yankee bullpen and into the Bleacher Zone. Were up 20 in the middle innings. Bottom of the fifth, Yankees threatening with runners on second and third, two out and Jeter (0 for 23) at the plate. Takes called strike one, outside corner; chases a fastball way up and out of the zone for strike two. Pedro sets, fires, teases Jeter outside, 12. Pedros ready to go again but Jeter steps out, commanding right hand up to the ump in the old familiar gesture. Now hes back in, and Pedro immediately strikes him outlooking with high, hard cheese. Jeter is 0 for 24, and the Yankees once more fail with two in scoring position (before Jeter, Enrique Wilson, who usually beats Pedro like a drum, popped out to Pokey). Sweet! In the sixth, ARod doubles with one out and goes to third on a Giambi groundout (Cesar Crespo in short right fieldan almost comical overshiftmakes the play on Giambi). Rodriguez, at least, has begun to come around (his average has crept up to something like .252), but it does the Yankees no good; Gary Sheffield fouls out to Varitek, and its still 20 Sox, going into the lates. Pedros done after seven his game to win, the bullpens to lose. The bullpen hasnt given up a run in twentysome innings, but now Williamsons on, and hes a scary guy. Heres Jeter again. He tries to bunt; no joy. Fouls one away, and its 02, a place Derek has gotten all too familiar with just lately. Lets see how Williamson plays this. He throws a low fastball, a true waste pitch, but Jeter goes fishing and strikes out. This time the crowd does boo, and even the resolutely upbeat Yankee announcers finally take notice. Like booing Santa Claus, one of them remarks reprovingly. Its the bottom of the ninth and last call for the Yankees. Heres Alex Rodriguez, and its still Williamson to face himno Keith Foulke, a little surprising. Williamson runs the count full on ARod, who has 7 of the last 22 Yankee hits; so much for that slump. Rodriguez, after fouling off one 32 pitch, grounds out, third to first. Now Jason Giambi grounds to Pokey Reese. Two out. Heres Gary Sheffield, who has one of the Yankees four hits today. This time he strikes out, and suddenlyincrediblythe Red Sox have taken six of seven from the AL champs. The camera sneaks a look into their dugout, and the look on Jeters face is one of pure amazement. And its justified; this is the first time the Red Sox have beaten the Yankees six out of the first seven since 1913. Sweet! SK I saw all the games and got six pages on the sweep in my newly inaugurated Sox diarygloatgloat. What it boils down to for the Yankees is that if they dont start playing pretty soon, its gonna get late early and be litesout in August. Remember when I said I liked them for third place? SO Gloating is such an ugly word for this creamy and delicious feeling. I think the Yanks swoon will just make George bust out the wallet earlier for a starter or two. Liebers still a ways away from filling the five slot, and Contreras looks terrible. Using Vazquez on three days resteven though he threw wellis a desperate move on ol Joes part. And after the day off tomorrow, theyve got to face the As three big aces. Whos going to throw that Thursday gameVazquez on three days again? Theyre screwed. We trusted Bronson with the ball twice against them and he came through. And BKs not far from being ready. Your thirdplace pick looks entirely possible. As expected, were getting quality starts and our pens much better, and those Os are pounding the ball. The Yanks right now are suffering from the revenge of Pettitte, Clemboy and Boomer. April 26th Tonights the premiere of the Red Sox movie Still, We Believe. Alyssa, my former student, has lined up a press pass for me, and while Ive put together a short list of questions and fitted fresh batteries in the minicassette recorder, Ive still got mixed feelings about crossing the line between fan and journalist. We get to the Loews on the Common right on time, check in at the press table and claim a spot behind the velvet rope next to the red carpet. Ive never had a press pass before, and I have no idea what secret powers it gives me. Outside, WEEI is doing a live feed from the street. Its raining and cold out, and the crowds thin. As more people filter in, were boxed and jostled by TV cameras. NESNs well represented, ESPN2, NECN, all the Boston channels. Nothings happening, but theres some serious jockeying for position. Johnny Damon and Kevin Millar are definites, but those are the only two names mentioned. Im hoping for Eck, maybe Yaz, Tim Wakefield, Pokey Reese. Wally the Green Monster shows up in a tux, mugging for the cameras. Hey Wally, who are you wearing? The fans featured in the film arrive, and the cameramen blind them with their lights, the sports anchors do their standups. Im not really interested in the fanstars. I know Ill get their stories from the movie anyway. Tom Caron stops at the press table, and Dan Shaughnessy. Big Sam Horn signs a ball for mesomething a real journalist would never ever ask him to doand theres Tom Werner and John Henry and Larry Lucchino, and Luis Tiant. Everyone but the players. Outside, rented searchlights twirl across the night sky. Its nearly showtime when Kevin Millar arrives in a vintage Western print shirt, jeans and shiny black cowboy boots. He smiles as he shakes hands and signs, doing standup after standup as he inches down the red carpet. I bypass the clot of reporters and set up at an open spot a little farther down. I catch him just as hes bouncing out. Hes trailed by a guy my age dressed head to toe in Sox paraphernalia, with his huge, naked beer gut bulging out and painted with the Red Sox logo and STILL WE BELIEVE. WEEI has judged him the most outrageous fan and given him a ticket to the show. He shakes Millars hand, pleased to meet him. Kevin, I sayand he talks to me just because Ive got this recorder; it has power, like a gunwhat were you like as a fan, when you were younger? Like this guy. Youre kind of the official fan of the Sox with the Cowboy Up, but who was your team? Dodgers. Grew up in Los Angeles. Dodgers were my team. Favorite player? Steve Garvey. You wear the jersey? Never had a jersey, but I was a big fan of the Dodgers. Id go to a lot of games. Listen a lot on the radio? Vin Scully. Ever get the autographs? Went and got the autographs, did it all. Are you still a fan now? Can you be a fan now that youre a player? No doubt about it. Are you still a Dodger fan? Still a Dodger fan, still a fan of baseball. You check their box score every morning? No, I dont check em, but I pull for em when I see em. So you hope to see em this fall? Thatd be nice. And thats it, I thank him and hes gone to the next mike, the next camera. Ive definitely crossed the line with my impersonation of a journalist, but, as a fan, its my duty to take advantage of whatever access I can get, for the sheer thrill of it. Johnny Damons not here yet, but theyre going to start the movie, so we crowd into the theater with Kevin Millar and the owners and everyone else. Down front, a radio team introduces all the Sox VIPs, who stand in turn to receive their applause. When they call Johnny Damons name, Big Sam stands up as a joke. Finally the filmmaker, Paul Doyle, thanks everyone who helped and says, The fans are the Red Sox, a sentiment which seems true even before he presents his evidence. When I was talking to a real journalist earlier, I mentioned that Ive only been a Sox fan for twentyfive years, so Im new. I was here before Clemens, and Ill be here long after Pedro. Ive got a nocut contract. Steves in the filmbriefly, a shot of him chatting with John Henry before the illfated season opener in Tampa Bay. That was the one Chad Fox blew, and while the movie doesnt have the time to tell the rest of the story, after we dumped Fox he went on, along with former Sox closer Ugie Urbina, to defeat the Yanks and become a World Champion. In trying to squeeze the whole season (and eight very different fans lives) into two hours, the film cant connect all the dots. What strikes me most are all the Sox from last years squad who are gone Shea Hillenbrand, Todd Walker, Brandon Lyon, Damian Jackson, John Burkett, Jeff Suppan, Scott Sauerbeck and of course manager Grady Little, who, since were in a room with the people who fired him, gets laughed at more than I find necessary. We witness Theo informing our number one prospect Freddy Sanchez that hes being traded to Pittsburgh (for Suppan and Sauerbeck, neither of whom panned out). The main tension and source of comedy in the movie is the tugofwar between hope and pessimism. Angry Bill, a diehard whos become a fixture on local callin shows, vows that hell never believe in the Sox again, and sees disaster everywhereuntil we take the As. Fireman Steve Craven is more laidback. Well get em tomorrow, he says, and caps the film, after the disaster of Game 7, with his observation that all the losing will make finally winning it all that much sweeter, dont you think? Its a fun film, but theres so much missing. Wheres Bill James and his ridiculous bullpenbycommittee idea? Wheres BK giving us the finger? Wheres Rogers last win in Fenway? Wheres Todd Walkers 2out, 2strike shot against Baltimore? Even the intricacies of the playoff games are glossed over, so while it gets some of the emotion of being a Sox fan, it still just skims the surface, and being a Sox fan is about total immersion. The afterparty at Felt is crowded and loud, but theres free Sam Adams, good hors doeuvres, and, for the brave, Fenway Franks served out of actual vendors steamers. Beside us, Luis Tiant is chowing down. I want to talk to Larry Lucchino, maybe interview him about growing up a Pirates fan in Pittsburgh, but hes lost in the crowd, and then when I see him, hes on his way out. Weve got to get going too. Tomorrows a school day, its raining like hell and weve got a long drive. On the way home, Trudy says she was disappointed that only Kevin Millar showed. I am too, but big props to Mr. Millar, who did it all cheerfully. In his business a night offs a cherished rarity. I know I get on him for his lack of speed in the outfield, but, as with that difficult assignment, tonight he stepped up when no one else did. April 27th Ellis Burkss knee is hurting him, and his .133 batting average is hurting us, so hes on the DL and the Daubers coming up from Pawtucket. In ten games there, he hit .350 with 5 homers and 11 RBIs, including a walkoff shot. In baseball, youve got to keep plugginguntil forever, I guess. Is there any wonder why we love this guy? A strange front must be moving over New England, because its been sunny all day here, but up in Boston its pouring. To cheer us up during the rain delay, NESN shows clips of Nomar and BK working out at Fenway earlier today. Nomars in shorts, taking grounders at halfspeed and then talking with Mia Hamm over the low wall along third. BKs also in shorts, playing catch in the outfield grass; you think of him as this whip of a kid, but his thighs are massive and cut like early Arnold. Don and Jerry make it sound like hell be our number five guy and Arroyo will go to the pen. A good hour and a half after game time, the Sox call it. April 28th The teams so excited about BKs rehab that hes going to skip his last minor league start and pitch the first game of tomorrows daynight doubleheader. Schilling will still go tonight, and Lowe tomorrow night, meaning Wake is sacrificing his start, something hes done throughout his long tenure with us, unselfish of him, and extremely valuable, giving his manager more flexibility. Though hes running and taking infield, the team says Nomars still at least two weeks away. April 29th After a rainout on the 27th, Schilling (and the bullpen) tossed another gem last night, beating Tampa Bay, 60. Tampa Bay only got a single runner as far as third base, and while I like the DRays (I sometimes think of the Red Sox as my baseball wife and NotSoSweet Lou Piniellas Devil Rays as my baseball mistress), I have to admit they are reverting to type after a hopeful start. But of course the Red Soxs 136 start is also part of a pattern I have observed over the years; call it BoSox Happy Hoop Days. The way it works is simple enough the Red Sox have a tendency to tear up the American League until the NBA playoffs wrap up; after that, more often than not they sputter. And leave us face it, a twogame lead over Baltimore and a fourgame lead over the Yankees, while better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick, really aint all that much. Of course it beats being behind, but I think Ill wait until after July Fourth to decide whether or not Schilling and Company are for real. Footnote A on todays entry Our Mr. Kim, he of the restless middle finger, is back from soreshoulder woes (and a stint in Pawtucket) today. Hes supposed to be limited to seventyfive pitches, after which Tim Wakefield will come in to relieve. Damn! Its a daynight doubleheader, and I was kind of hoping Timmy would pull a Wilbur Wood and start both games (nor am I joking). Footnote B on todays entry Although Derek Jeters hitless streak has now reached 0 for 32, tying a Yankee record (the immortal Jimmy Wynn, in 1977), the Bombers beat the Oakland As for the second straight night. Theyve only picked up half a game on Boston (because of that rainout), but the wins suggest that Bostons weekend sweep in the Bronx mayhave had more to do with Red Sox pitching, defense, and the bat of Manny Ramirez than it did with any Yankee funk. It may be too early to declare the Red Sox the class of the AL East, but it may not be too early to at least suspect that this year they out class the New York Yankees. I check the standings to see how many games up we are on the Os (2) and discover weve got the best record in baseball. I think thats got to be wrong, since we opened 34, but no, only the Twins and the pitchingrich Marlins are anywhere near us.