Showing posts with label misquotations. Show all posts
Showing posts with label misquotations. Show all posts

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

Peace in the A.L. East

When the Soviet Union fell, the United States was left without a rival; it stood alone as the world's sole superpower. With alternative forms of government seemingly vanquished, some even proclaimed the end of history. But history has a way of returning. China, Iran and a reemergent Russia strut on the world stage. Now, some will have us prepare for a post-american world.

The Red Sox ended history too, vanquishing the Yankees in '04, and then finally finishing ahead of the Evil Empire in the A.L. East in '07. In '08, with a Bronx regime in transition, an aging ballclub and a pre-industrial crop of rookies, the sagging Yankees fell off the postseason map, off the edge of the globe, even. And with young stars the Sox seemed poised to enjoy the fruits of the end of history as the sole remaining A.L. East superpower.

That didn't last long. The Rays, all of a sudden, have the bomb. The balance of power has shifted. (And just as America owes a trillion to China, the Sox' luxury tax revenues help fund the emergent Rays; our profligacy has aided our enemies.) No one can be elected anything in America without asserting America's perpetual supremacy, and no Sox fan can concede too much to any opponent's acumen. But dominance is never guaranteed, it is not a given. The Sox were beaten, their title defense penetrated by a guerrilla Tampa club.

Tampa may have landed a blow, but the Sox are set up to continue their run of dominance. After 2 world series titles, 4 ALCS appearances, and 5 postseasons in 6 years, the Sox' current rotation has a 24 year old ace in Lester, and two 28 year olds in Beckett and Matsuzaka. A 23 year old Masterson, 26 year old Delcarmen, and a 27 year old Papelbon fill out the staff. On the field, Pedroia is 25, Lowrie 24, Ellsbury 25. Crisp, Youkilis, and Bay are between 28 and 30. This team has a foundation for years to come. They are hypermodernizing, taking the new scientific approach to scouting and development, investing in the raw talent of rookies that is green technology.

But the Rays are even younger. James Shields is their oldest starting pitcher, and he's 26. Garza and Kazmir are 24, Sonnanstine and Edwin Jackson 25. David Price is 23. They are not going anywhere.

The Sox, of course, can win any arms race with their superior financial resources. Their diversified wealth and geographical advantage dwarfs the banana republic that is the orange groves of St. Pete. But the Rays have locked up their talent, and will compete for years. There is a new world order.

It is the Yankees, the Europe of the A.L. east, that will lag behind. Stuck in their old world ways, slow to adapting to the changing demographic reality, shamed over past atrocities (or they should be), they will lose out to the modernizing forces and superior organization of their playoff-contending neighbors.

Hopefully.

Of course, it was foolish to think history could end, that some stasis other than complete destruction could be achieved. Victory is always short lived; there are always further battles. I often object to McCain's calls for "victory" in Iraq because war is not a sport, and the game never ends. Winning settles nothing. America won world war 1 and established the conditions that fomented world war 2. To win we all must hang up the spikes and go home. War has no rules, no final buzzer, no bottom of the 9th. Winning is not clearly defined.

But perhaps baseball isn't so different after all. We won in '04, and I distinctly recalling thinking baseball should just stop. The narrative was complete, now I can die in peace. But it doesn't stop. There are always new battles, new struggles. There is victory, but there is never total victory.

Today I watched the movie Babe, about the sheepherding pig. Spoiler: the farmer says 'that'll do, pig, that'll do,' after a job well done. It is reassuring, a job well done. Now it can end. The world is safe, finally, at long last, peace. But the Sox must battle on. '08 was just the prologue, the beginning of this next chapter of the rivalry with the Tampa Bay Rays. An ALCS just won't do. Sadly, though, even a championship won't do. They even made a sequel of Babe.

But of course each victory is an end in itself, and there are moments when time does stop, when victory is now and now is all there is. But losses get stretched out in time, and losing is always a hard blow, no matter the consolations or other joys in which we might now indulge. I, for one, can now actually return to writing my dissertation, which has been patiently waiting. And watch more G-rated animal fable movies.

Or at least I won't have any more excuses for not doing either.

Though I started this blog in midseason, I think I posted enough for this to qualify as my official rookie year. I enjoyed it, and I want to thank you all so much for reading. I'm not sure how much I'll write this off-season; I guess it will depend on how philosophical the Sox' free agent signings are. But don't hesitate to check back in. I hope everyone has a nice offseason, be well, and spring training is just 4 months away.

And as Socrates once said: "I like baseball."

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

On Identity Lost- for tourists.

From the Archive:

October 10, 2004:

But what if the sox win the World Series? Won’t you lose your identity, your cachet? What happens to the Jews when the messiah comes- do they become Christian?

Bullshit. That identity, cachet crap is all for tourists. No sox fan revels in failure and disappointment. That’s just a marketing angle for outsiders, for foreigners looking in and trying to figure out what all the fuss is about. We want to win, dammit. And we want it now.

Consider an example. 'Hey there Berlin, why do you want that wall coming down? You’re the only city that is half communist and half capitalist, you are the very center of the cold war, a fault line in the greatest power struggle the world has ever known. Wouldn’t you lose that identity and cachet if they took the wall down?'

So of course the answer is fuck no, take the fucking wall down, and fuck you, we're winning this son of a bitch. You and your media cronies who want to drum up marketable interest and cast the sox and their fans as having these sellable characteristics like a fucking brochure to tour Berlin can all go fuck themselves.

We’re going to fuck y'all up, we're going to do it hard and fast, we're going to put that piece up your ass and pull the trigger until it goes click. You can have your media fantasy of the cursed losers. I want a winning fucking ball club, the kind that takes names.

And yeah, it wouldn't be meaningful without the past being exactly what it was. That’s why (among a zillion other reasons) I’m not a Yankees fan, just like tearing down the wall wouldn’t be meaningful if it didn't represent what it represents. But that doesn't mean we don't want that fucking wall down right fucking now, and that doesn't win we don't want to fucking win it all, right now.
We’re tearing down the wall of sox oppression and discrimination, and we'll be prosecuting war criminals and creating a black market and unstable currencies as we do so, and no one can stop us, because we're the fucking best.

If you smell... what the sox... are cookin’!

Sunday, June 15, 2008

2003 ALDS pre-Game 5


From the Archive:

October 06, 2003:
Before Game 5, ALDS, series tied 2-2 (in Game 4, David Ortiz hits the winning double, for his first hit of the series, off of eventual 2004 Sox Closer Keith Foulke.)


It’s Yom Kippor, or in English, the day of Kippor. (To the translation I give a C+). And I am fasting.

Why?, you ask. No, not for the big man upstairs, but I think it'll help the sox. I am atoning and suffering. And I shall be rewarded. I am a martyr.

Fuck yeah. I am one with this team. Me and a bunch of rednecks wear the same shirt, dammit. Ortiz has the best 1 for 17 ever. His batting average is .clutch, his slugging percentage is love and redemption.

Trot thanked the lord. Onward Christian soldier.

Some of these metaphors got to work out. It’s like that commercial with the workers on the bed with their boots.

I’m hungry and not making sense.

Tonight’s the night, and in the words of William Shakespeare,"bring on the yanks, those stupid ass licking fuckers!!