conCERNed with the 4th Boson starter

Obama knows division is bad; so who wants to win the division anyway? Wild Card it is, then. It has a nice ring to it. (Pun, as always, intended.)

So, it turns out that choosing the Sox' 4th (and final) starter for the playoffs is a philosophical dilemma. Assuming Colon is out of the running, (also intended), it's between Wakefield and Byrd. Both are perfectly capable of shut outs and getting bombed. Though Wake's numbers are a bit better overall, he has two stinkers lately, and the stats aren't too far apart. So what's left? Symbolism, naturally.

There's the dialectic of physics and luck, on the one hand, and of will. I like to think of pitching, where so much is in the pitchers hands (I'll stop point them out), in terms of the human categories of will, focus, and drive. Hitting, though, is reactive, and is so often physics and luck; trajectory, geometry, physiology, wind...ology. (By the way, for these notions applied to Beckett vs. Sabathia and the 'o7 ALDS, see here.)

Assuming this schema, I can't stand watching Wakefield "pitch." He's all physics and luck; the knuckleball simply exploits laws of physics, it doesn't finesse them. There's little craft (though of course there's skill.) Off it goes, and, as is so often said, once it leaves Wake's hand, even he doesn't know where its going. Because 'he' doesn't have anything to do with it; it's in the universe's hands, now.

By amusing to me contrast, consider what I wrote about Paul Byrd a few weeks ago; in short, that Byrd can continue guiding the ball as it travels to the plate (it's kind of like in Nintendo's RBI Baseball); that's how subtle and sly the craft of the finesse pitcher is. I like to imagine a metaphysical extension of the self in the finesse pitcher; his will extends beyond the confines of his body to continue to finesse the ball as it travels to home, its teleological destination. Wake is detached at the albeit finely filed fingertips, and the ball is as likely to end up at the backstop as anywhere else; no natural home-seeking motion with the indiscriminate blind particle that is the knuckleball.

So I just can't leave the postseason to chance. For some, the postseason is the most meaningful of events. For others, it's too small a sample size. For the postseason to be meaningful, it has to be thought of as definitive, not random, the result of the virtues- perseverance, talent, and all that etc- not either statistical determinism or fluctuation, a blip off the bell curve. People are right to feel a sting at the disproof of the existence of clutch; it's a moral category replaced by measurement. Clutch is meaningful, not metrical.

So even if Wake can throw a gem- which of course he can- it doesn't mean the same to me. I want to see Byrd battle the elements, his physical shortcomings in the form of an 87 mph fastball, the battle against physics and luck for the sake of will and guts, even if those guts get splattered, rather than take the trial and error that maybe proves that there's a Higgs boson and maybe blows up the universe that is Wakefield.

Though I could be a bit biased. I was at the Aaron Boone game, after all.

Logical Fallacy of the Week: Says Me

It won't be until the next generation of Sox fans that the Schopenhauerian pessimism and anxiety that comprised the Sox fan identity before '04 will really be cured.

But as a positive, self-affirming, Stuart Smalley step in the here and now, to combat the scars, I'm simply going to assert that the Sox will win the division, sweep Chicago in the ALDS, beat Anaheim in 6 in the ALCS, and then win another world series title against whoever that quadruple A league throws to us lions.

And I'm going to go all zealot on this one. I'm going to say providing evidence and argument in favor of this conclusion is to concede and sew seeds of secular humanist doubt, and that real faith is just saying something and deciding it's true. Yup, I'm committing the fallacy of assertion here- that I say it, I say, is an argument for its truth.

Of course there are reasons for doubt. The Sox only scored 3 runs against Tampa's, what, number 4 starter? The pen's put the 'argh' in 'inconsistent' all year, and obviously the coin has landed heads for Anaheim in our recent head to head.

But I won't put my critical period pre-rings pre- everyday sellout psychology as a basis for worrying about the future; I'll emphasize Lester's nastiness, his season high 9 ks, his beautiful sequences, like getting a called strike two on a backdoor curve in the 2nd to Navarro, and then dropping the slider in the inside dirt, inducing a meager half swing that died and went to limbo, or a fastball for a called strike on the inside corner to Baldelli leading off the 5th, followed by a cutter further in on the hands, off the plate and on Baldelli, chopping him down as he hacked, and then freezing Rhode Island's Own on a paint job, 93 mph outside corner at the knees.

Yeah, all that instead of the 1-0 fastball Lester grooved to Pena with 2 on and 1 out, as the tying run in the 6th, that Pena just got under and skied to center, or that Perez' scorcher to lead off the 8th was caught at short, that Zobrist missed a dong by about the length of the word 'dong' two batters later, and that Pena's double that knocked Lester out of the game bounced into the stands, saving a run, or that Francona doesn't trust Okacarmen in tight spots and had Lester start the 8th already having thrown 105 pitches, ultimately tossing 119 before going to Papelbon.

No, all that con stuff is for ol' timey Sox fans, and that pro and con stuff in general is for rational people. Funk dat. I don't care about bases of inferences, only bases and outs. Sox all the way. Woo. I believe it, therefore its true.

So there.

Forward, not backward, upward not forward, and always whirling, twirling, towards freedom

The problem with living for the moment is that some moments are boring. And when some such moments contain portents of an imminent and interesting future, I get a little antsy.

I'm bored with Texas. Crappy pitching, violent but shut-down-able hitting. Everyone knows ahead of time how tragedies end (the guy dies), but the unfolding is the good stuff. Beating Texas- with the outcome inevitable- is more like unfolding laundry. You'll look crappy if you don't do it, but, geez, do I have to?

As an impatient Milhouse lamented during Poochie the Dog's meandering, filibustering debut on Itchy and Scratchy, 'when are they going to get to the fireworks factory?'

I love Paul Byrd, who's second in wins to Cliff Lee since the all-star break, with 8 (4 with the Sox); he's always a treat. But I'm ready for the pennant race; bring on Tampa, where each pitch's intensity is concentrated like Tropicana orange juice, and when squeezed, oozes out juicy juicy meaning.

The Sox have closed to within a game and a half, as the Famous Original Rays have lost 5 of 6, coming off a sweep from Toronto. The Rays have lost 8 straight at Fenway; all their wins vs. the Sox this year have come at Le Trop. I'd use a tennis break serve metaphor here, but blech.

The Rays look ripe for the picking, and dizzy and confused. Sunday's hard luck 1-0 loser, Tampa starter Matt Garza, said of the Sox "Right now, we're up top and they're chasing us. If we can keep playing our ball, this thing will turn around." Poor guy doesn't know which way is up; if we're chasing them, they're ahead, not on top (we don't run up.) But if they are on top, he shouldn't want anything to turn around, or else they'll fall on their heads. But it's natural for such an inexperienced team, unused to their position in the midst of a pennant race, to bungle their spatial metaphors.

Here it comes, Tampa, a fight for borders, for territory, for space. You may have drawn the line in the sand, but your expected wins based on +/- is only 80, behind our 87, and even Toronto's 82. Regress to the mean, b*tches!

(If I'm ever a pro wrestler, or a cartoon dog, that'll be my catchphrase.)

Grammatical Denigration of the Week

I have long been distressed that my favorite novelist, Kurt Vonnegut, called semicolons "transvestite hermaphrodites representing absolutely nothing." Others have suggested that real men don't use semicolons.

And according to today's Globe, semicolon use is way down. How is all this relevant to Soxlosophy? Good question. I use semicolons all the time; in my last post, I used 5 semicolons; in the previous post, 3. Right there, in that last sentence, 2 friggin semicolons; only a real man would be ballsy enough to do that!

Listen:

Periods imply abrupt stops, discontinuity; semicolons introduce distinctions yet maintain continuity. Commas separate mere words; semicolons ideas. Sometimes thoughts need to be modified by entire thoughts; thoughts are amplified, not diminished, by such qualification. Independent clauses don't require each other, it's true, but then how they are to be related is left unsaid; distinct ideas can holistically combine via the alchemical link of the semicolon.

The semicolon is suited to baseball. Baseball isn't just one damn thing after another. This. Then that. And then this. The period is such a Humean punctuation mark, severing the connection between clauses. It's also mechanistic, lifeless. And commas are just for breathing, required for life, yes, but of itself a lowest form of living; the vegetable state of punctuation. But the semicolon is the punctuation mark of the robust, meaningful life; anywhere there's narrative structure, nuance and modification, individual thoughts organically integrated into a larger whole, a semicolon is appropriate. It's the punctuation for the story of baseball; it should be in the scorecard. DP 6-4-3; didn't hustle. Sox humiliate New York; Yankees suck. And with apologies to Mr. Updike, he should have said "the other players, and even the umpires on the field, begged him to come out and acknowledge us in some way, but he never had and did not now; Gods do not answer letters."

I imagine that if Gods did answer letters, they'd use a lot of exclamation marks; Gods bark orders. But for those of us who do nuance, not imperatives, we have a plucky little overlooked Dustin Pedroia-esque punctuation mark to help out.

Texas is a AAA Battery; Sox' Energy Outlasts Rangers, 8-4

With the Sox up 8-0 in the 8th inning a day after giving up 17 runs, Orsillo cited "the old adage" that 'momentum is only as good as the next day's starting pitcher', suggesting, in so many words, that Lester's performance corroborated it.

Lester, pitching brilliantly through 7, had stopped the velocity, the forward motion of the Texas lineup. But I think I recall that momentum is mass times velocity. And the Texas' heavy hitters were still massive. And mass, among other things, is involved with (in some way I don't remember) potential energy. The Texas momentum, in an ill defined sense, was still there, latent, dormant, waiting to be unleashed.

So one batter after Don's hitherto accurate pronouncement, Kinsler rocketed a dong over the monster on a 3-2 fastball, making it 8-1, and then Young shot a liner to right on a cutter down and in. After Ellison's high chopper back to the mound yielded an Ellsbury single, Francona went to the ultimate momentum stopper, the immovable force, Mike Timlin (and his 5.23 ERA.)

Even Timlin's two championship rings didn't save him from boos after Bradley's 3 run blast and then Byrd's double employed some of the previous days' inexhaustible supply of latent momentum. Potential energy became kinetic, and the crowd became frantic, anxious, fearing the hidden potent forces that animate the universe might manifest, vengefully and angrily. And Timlin seemed as good a lightning rod as any.

(By the way, Benjamin Franklin was awesome.)

But Youkilis was a badass again, and the Sox offense generated its own force, and picked up another game in the WC race- now up 6- on the suddenly impotent Yankees.

Wishing Upon a Star Pitcher; Sox Really Win 5-1

One of the White Sox announcers- since they're so obnoxious I won't do them the honor of distinguishing them- said, after the Red Sox broke the game open in the 9th, that this game had "turned into one of those nights you wish hadn't happened."

That's false, of course, if the second person pronoun is referring to me. But I wasn't about to let this instance of moral relativism or grammatical ambiguity vanquish the joy of this aesthetically pleasing victory.

Monday's finale of the 4 game series with Chicago had a purity, a good ol' solid baseball game-ness to it. One pitcher- Danks- took a no-hitter into the 7th, expertly moving his fastball in and out, working his slider in on righties, and keeping the changeup away. The other- Beckett- dotted fastballs around the corners of the strike zone without filling in the area, striking out 8 in 8 innings, walking none, and allowing just one extra base hit (a double.) Lest such a game be too picturesque, butts played a key role; Ellsbury's getting hit by a pitch on the butt broke up a perfect game in the top of the 6th, and Crisp fell on his whilst snagging a potential RBI double to end the bottom-pun is there, whether intended or not is immaterial- of the 6th, holding the Sox deficit at just 1-0.

Close, well pitched games tend to turn on a single sequence; after a cutter down and away that Drew missed, the next pitch was a fastball in the same spot, and Drew shot it into the gap in leftcenter for a 2 run double, putting the Sox up 2-1 in the 7th. There's often a point in aesthetically pleasing games where the competitive element creeps back in and this was it; the appreciation of an opponents' game, even while we're losing, is broken by the 'fuck yeah' of a 2 run go ahead double. This tends not to happen in art museums, and is just another reason why baseball is better than everything. Take that, art.

Part of baseball's betterness involves the contingency and luck, the element of absent design that must be admitted on pain of reality. Up 2-1 in the 8th, Cabrera's liner couldn't have been closer to the left field foul line, just missing a lead off double which would have put the tying run into scoring position. Instead, he flew out to left. The kind of thing that one- one- might wish never happened. But one- me- doesn't.

And Jed Lowrie continued to show why the concept of Lugo should no longer be instantiated. With 2 out in the 7th, Drew on second and Lowrie down in the count 0-2, the kid calmly took a changeup away, the pitch (and location) that Danks had masterfully used for the bulk of his K's that evening. Lowrie took another, and then another, running the count full; Lowrie was able to flip the pressure from him to the pitcher, (can pressure be flipped?) who was now responsible to make the perfect pitch, rather than Lowrie having to hit whatever he got. Danks didn't, and Lowrie earned the walk. In his next AB in the 9th, Lowrie turned on an inside fastball on a 2-0 count, driving a 2 run double to left, turning a 2-1 nail biter into a 4-1 nail filer, breaking open the game, revealing it's juicy series-splitting insides.

This had turned into one of those nights you wish hadn't happened, I guess, if you are Julio Lugo. Which you are probably not. But if you are, well, sorry.

Monism Cups

The last time this came up, the problem was duality. Now, dualism's longtime philosophical opponent, monism, seems to be exposing itself.

Thanks again to Marc for the pic.

(And for a guy with a lot of, uh, chest, this Ziegler sure doesn't get scored on too often. Sorry. I couldn't help it.)

Reserve Psychology

The master negotiator Marvin Miller, at the age of 91, still has it.

In his on-going battle with the baseball establishment, the wily former executive director of the MLB Players Association (1966-82) has shown that he still has another card up his sleeve.

The cagey Miller's artful tactics led to the overthrow of baseball's reserve clause and allowed for the advent of free agency in the 1970's, forever changing the game. Yet he continues to be passed over for inclusion in Cooperstown, and it seems that he has finally given up hope of being enshrined among the immortals in the Hall of Fame.

And that's just what Miller wants them to think.

Miller, who according to the Boston Globe "says he will never set foot in the Hall [of Fame] again", and called the Hall "a crock," has requested that his name be kept off future Hall ballots, in perpetuity, thereby ensuring that he never be elected to baseball's hallowed hall.

What brilliance!

Miller's advanced age has clearly not diminished his negotiating skill; if anything, he's only that much more beguiling. After all these years, Miller is finally employing perhaps the most advanced negotiating tactic known to man: reverse psychology. This difficult maneuver comes with its own risks; not since Bugs Bunny outwitted Elmer Fudd has such a maneuver been used with so much at stake.

When asked for comment, Miller's arch rival, former commissioner Bowie Kuhn posthumously said "Ooh, I'll show that wascawy Miller. I'll put him in the Hall so fast it'll make his head spin." Kuhn then rolled over in his grave.

Off-Brand Coco Crispies; Sox Comeback Pays Dividends, Beat Twins 6-5

Monopolies grow lazy, the free marketers say. Fat cats get fatter and lazier without nips at their heels. Sans competition, what prods the post office to deliver the mail any more promptly?, (or U.S. Steel to be any steelier), they wonder. In a competitive market, they say, entrepreneurs take risks. Only the postoffice can afford to play it safe.

Coco Crisp has had to compete for the center field post, and he's become a risk taker. Remy pointed out that with no outs in the 9th, with Papelbon trying to close out a one run game after a thrilling 4 run burst in the bottom of the 8th, better for Crisp to play it safe; allow the blooper to fall in for a single and concede the base, rather than gamble on making an out, when a double- and the tying run in scoring position- is at stake.

But Crisp, weak all year with the bat, wanted to be the hero, to prove himself with the glove in a competitive field, to corner the center field market, when what was needed was a self-assured fat cat.

Or, if not, perhaps the better investment here was the risk-averse strategy.

Papelbon had a similar portfolio; perhaps heeding Idiot Joe Morgan's advice, he didn't get beat going to his second best pitches after numerous fouls off the bat of Punto, nor in any subsequent situation. All heat, from Papelbon, who went with what got him there.

So Casilla found himself looking down the business end of a 95 mph fastball.

Choosing a pitch from the list; Tampa squeezes Sox, 3-1

Connoisseurs are selective, discriminating. They distinguish between the good and bad, the worthy and the base, and select only the finest. What is common and bountiful is vulgar. Only the perfect sample will do.

There are plenty of pitches. Pitches are common. The selective hitter, especially when in a hitters' count, discriminates between the pitch of his liking, and everything else. He knows what is worthy of his swing.

In two crucial at bats in the 6th inning, J.D. Drew and Manny Ramirez opened the wine list, couldn't read French, and pointed randomly.

Two runners on, Sox down 2-1, top of the 6th. Drew up with a 3-1 count. He hacks at a fastball on the inside corner- a pitchers' pitch- shatters the bat, and pops out. Manny, up next with a 2-1 count, chases a high fastball out of the zone, fouls out to first.

Foul indeed. Gauche, even.

The 3 and 4 hitters, on a championship team, down by a run, late in the game to the division leaders, have to show poise and selection. They have to be connoisseurs. When the pitcher is ahead in the count, they take what they can get. But this wasn't one of those times.

The Rays come away with the victory. They came through in the clutch. They chose the right pitches, they attacked the strike zone with fastballs, forcing the Sox to take what they were given.

This is going to be a race.

Everything You've Ever Wanted to Know About Pitching But Were Afraid to Ask

From the Archive: June 9, 2008

Ok, ok.

So a few time units ago, some people either claimed they didn't know much about pitching or prodded me (you know, in the good alien way) to explain stuff, starting from first principles.

So I’ve actually gone ahead and done that- written an expository, pedagogically friendly essay on the basics of pitching. Find the link to the pdf. file below.

And yes, by normal people email standards, its very long. But in all honesty, if you don't know that much about pitching, you might get a lot out of it, and if you do get a lot out of it, you will understand baseball games a lot better, which will make them a lot more fun. So it might be worth a shot.

On the other hand, if you think I’m a pompous long winded grandiloquent jerk, you might not want to read it. Unless you simply want confirmation.

http://www.scribd.com/doc/3576978/An-Introduction-to-Pitching-Goldwater?secret_password=spvq8bj71tulhma4c15

Clemens is sorry for everything he did, except for the everything

From the Archive: May 5, 2007

[Barry said:]
What the hell is Roger Clemens apologizing for? He claims he didn't use steroids or bang the 15 year old. So what did he admit to doing? As far as I can tell, he hasn't admitted to anything specific. So he's just sort of issuing a catch-all apology? Why?

[My response]

Barry, what sort of callous person are you? Don’t you care that Roger is sorry? Don’t you feel how sincere he is, how full of regret and shame and rue roger is? How can you not forgive a man after the deep and profound process of redemption the man has gone through?

It’s like when I got into a fight with Rebecca and hurt her feelings. I needed her to know how badly I felt, so I said, "look, honey, I’m sorry for what I did. Now, I’m not going to say what those things were that I’m apologizing for, and I completely deny having done the very things you are asking me to apologize for, and in fact I’ll sue you for defamation for alleging that I did those things, but can't you see how sorry I am? Good, we're made up. Lets have sex."

Apparently, she's the same sort of jerk as you are.

Jerk.

2008 Season Preview

From the Archive: March 12, 2008

In case anyone doubts my expertise, feast your eyes on the words describing the following representative anecdote.

I was flipping through the channels the other day, and came across a scrambled baseball game. For a brief instant, (as opposed to a lengthy one), the pitcher was visible only from the knees down. He then delivered a pitch to the plate.

'That’s Andy Pettitte!', I said.

'and Pettitte throws low, ball one', said the announcer.

Yes, that's right. I recognized Andy Pettitte just from how his calves look when he pitches. (No Clemens ass jokes please. well, ok, maybe three.)

Granted, I’m a bit of a specialist. More general knowledge, such as how to make money or where relevant body parts are, well, that eludes me.

Be that as it may, nonetheless, and regardless, per your request, here's my four cents (two cents with inflation, of course.)

The Sox rotation is in an enviable position. 4 starters at or below the age of 27. I feel good now, and for the long haul (assuming we can get some migrant workers to make such a long haul.)

Now I’m no doctor, nor do I go to them or do what they advise, but Beckett's back spasms don't seem like that big of a deal. He’s just coming into his prime years, and if last year was any indication, well, that'll be pretty sweet. His command of the two seamer and sinking fastball improved dramatically, he was able to take a couple of mph off his changeup, thereby increasing the differential, and it’s now a more effective pitch. He cut his homeruns in half last year. And, then, of course, was the playoffs. Where he owned like the landed gentry.

Some theorized that Dice-k will have an analogous development to Beckett, presumably on the supposition that Japan is quadruple-A like the National League, and that it takes such a bus league star a year to adjust to the show, where they hit white balls for batting practice, the ballparks are like cathedrals, the hotels all have room service, where the women have long legs and brains, and where even the players' wives are on roids.

However, his last spring start was more of the same- though big k's, far too high pitch counts for anybody's good, unless he gets paid by the pitch, which I don't think he does, except when he does commercials, unless I’m equivocating. But Dice K did have quite a debut last year- 200 IP and as many K's. Good stuff. I think he'll be ok. No reason to think he'll get worse, at least.

I very quickly became a Lester fan at the end of last year, after being quite doubtful for a while. (It was his last minute negative campaigning, and his ability to answer a phone that did the trick, methinks.) First I thought he was Casey Fossum, now he might be Andy Pettitte. (They have such similar calves, after all.) The key for Lester is fastball command. (I hope this isn't a McCarver esque truism, though I fear it be so.) He could probably benefit by taking an mph or two off, and going for movement, especially down in the zone. Even if he did, he'd still be throwing 90, 91, with some sink, and then he could amp it up to 92-94 with the four seamer up in the zone. Not many lefties throw hard enough to get away with that. And offset that with a Pettitte or Al Leiter type cutter in on righties, as he's started to do more successfully, particularly as he did in the last postseasons appearances, and that's an algorithm for victory. He was quite sharp the other day- and remember, before Papelbon emerged as a closer, Lester was the more highly tauted as a starter. He could really turn into a very good pitcher.

I want to love Bucholtz- his stuff is Mussina esque- big palmball like change, with huge separation from his fastball, great overhand curve. (Why am I comparing all these guys to Yankees? its eerie. I mean, I was even just about to say that Justin Mastersons's neck is as sweaty and appealing to disease-ridden flies as Joba Chamberlain's.) But he's a small guy, and clearly has durability issues, so hopefully he can figure out how to throw his fastball at less than maximum effort, like, say, Mussina does. I read this spring that his mechanics are out of whack, (whereas mine were in whack, at least, before I whacked them off...) which can happen if a guy is using too much effort, throwing too hard. But if we can treat him as a 5th starter, skipping a turn now and then, not expecting too much, and he gives us 25, 27 starts this year, he could be a real asset.

I think Colon has a chance to be good. (He has to be- for such a blob looking guy named colon, well, if his pitching starts to stink...) But (I wonder if parentheses tip off a joke (or if parentheses embedded within other parentheses do))... but his stats for the last few years are respectable; his defense independent stats- k, bb, hr- for the last two years are as good, if not better, as is the case of k's/ip, then they were in previous years. I’m not a doctor, but I do like Scrubs, so I'm going to say if he's healthy, he's not yet over the hill. Early reports on him are optimistic, though last I heard about his velocity it was barely up to 90. But he's never been a big strikeout guy, despite his reputation, and has a pretty heavy two seamer, so he can probably live there.

And Wake is Wake. Although this may prove false, if business isn't business anymore, or, more generally speaking, it no longer is what it is.

And who knows about Schilling? I think we were lucky to get 3 wins out of him in the playoffs last year. We got 2 championships out of that shithead. And I’m no doctor, nor do I believe their precious science, but he's a long shot. I don't think we can count on him coming back. But if so, he's a plus. A plus size, a 3 plus 3 more ERA. I kid, I kid. I have to, because the fucker is anti-choice.

At least, I think he is.

As I often say, comedy over truth, or more modestly, attempting comedy over looking something up. I do it with my students all the time.

I’m not entirely excited about the prospect of Julian Tavarez making starts, in the case of injury, but he wasn't always awful last year, and he gave some decent innings, and even though 4 runs in 6 innings is a 6.00 era, (and though I didn't major in math or miracles), that kind of performance keeps a team with a strong offense in the game, with a chance to win. And I do think Kyle Snyder actually has some potential as a spot starter. Anyone with a 47 mph John Burkett curveball and who's been called a poor man's Bronson Arroyo has got to get people excited.

So, uh, I think that's it for this installment of 'analysis of local baseball men do battle on the field of play'.

Sit. Stay. Fight.

From the Archive: August 17, 2007
[Michael Vick and dogfighting]

In the old days, the difference between royalty and subjects was that only the latter were subject to the law. And because royalty was above the law, there was nothing to say 'no' to a royal whim. Athletes and celebrities are treated like royalty, surrounded with fawners and flatterers, and of course that gives them the impression that they too are free to act on any royal whims. That dog beating is such a whim, though, seems like a new one.

I was just watching Shakespeare’s 'Richard 2' today, and when Richard denounces those who left him to support Henry, Richard calls them dogs, for they will be loyal to anybody.

Ok, I just googled the line. Richard II says: "Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man!"

Merriam Webster defines 'fawn' as

1 : to show affection -- used especially of a dog
2 : to court favor by a cringing or flattering manner

So it all comes together. Dogs and such.

Also, ever since ESPN incorporated the blog, Rob Neyer doesn't do real research anymore. He just quotes newspaper articles and writes 2 sentences of commentary. He has stopped going for it, even on fourth and short.

Zinging San Diego

From the Archive: June 24, 2007

I like this team. I watched the San Diego broadcast on the internet, and when the final out was recorded, the broadcaster said something to the effect of 'this weekend, the Pads got a first hand look at why the Boston Red Sox have the best record in major league baseball.'

Damn motherf**king right, I said.

Until now, that was not broadcast on the internet.

This team has a swagger; they know they can win. Though some of the hitters (Papi, Youkillis) get a little cranky with the umps. If they were any bitchier they'd be on E!

I love winning close low scoring games. each pitch's importance is magnified, and each time its executed its just that much more impressive, and fosters an ever-increasing sense of dominance and control of the situation. the other night, the bullpen rocked. Delcarmen was throwing gas, and Okajima and Papelbon shut the Padres down like cops at a high school kegger.

damn motherf**king right.

The sox bullpen this year, as a whole, has an era under 3. the padres are at 2.5, which is absurd, but the next closest after the sox is someone or other, at 3.50. they just come in and shut it down like crooked health inspectors don't.

And Beckett is just nasty. with the tying run on and 2 outs in the 7th, he dialed it up. 94 mph fastball outside corner at the knees for strike one, 95 mph fastball outside corner at the letters for strike two, and he drops a nasty hook at the ankles for the whiff.

Damn motherf**king right.

Papelbon's whiff of kouzmanoff was ridunkulous. three straight fastballs, up and in, three straight whiffs. He gets hitters to wave like they were Queen Elizabeth.

Anyway, i'm just feeling pretty pumped up after this win. many things were in the face of various padres, and my feelings reflect as much. Young hard throwing pitchers who locate with late movement are cool. I know that's pretty controversial, and i'm going out on a limb, but its just the way I feel.

My Herman T. Zweibel Is a Little Rusty- Perhaps Some Smeckler's Powder?

From the Archive: March 21, 2005

A friend of mine who works for the Sox and responds to emails written to Redsox dot com, likes to share his befuddlement caused by certain crazy letters, to which I suggested a reply.

so the friend wrote to me...

“is this fucking guy for real?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From: xxx
Posted At: Mon 3/21/2005 5:00 PM
To: fanfeedback@redsox.mlb.com
Posted To: Fan Feedback
Subject: bos - Other - None - Mo Vaughn

E-mail From: xxx

I was looking through the Red Sox roster and the name Mo Vaughn did not appear. Did I overlook it or is it true that Mo Vaughn is no longer a part of the Boston Red Sox. If so where did he go?
Thanks,
xxx
"

And so i wrote to my friend:

“perhaps you should respond thusly:

xxx-
Unfortunately, a base-ball "roster," which is a list of those eligible to play on the team, can include no more than 25 "base-ball men", or "players." Because there are many "positions" to fill, such rosters can include only so many players at each position. The Boston Americans, colloquially known as the "Pilgrims", the "Somersets", and just recently as the "Red Sox," already have two "first base-men" within their employ, which is typically the maximum number of "first base-men" carried by a ball club to meet the requirements of efficiency. You may be familiar with the concept of efficiency, as it has been popularized in recent demonstrations of that newly invented marvel, the steam engine. Mr. Vaughn, of whom you speak, exclusively mans the first base position, and so was deemed expendable by the club, who feel that the conjoined efforts of Abner Doubleday and Charlemagne is sufficient to satisfy the competitive needs of the ball-club on the field-of-play, and who also prove more "cost-effective" for the owners' coin-purses.

So in response to your second and conditional query, Mr. Vaughn is currently seeking work as a smithy in a gold-rush town on the oregon trail.

Thank you for your telegram, and we hope to see your horse and buggy hitched outside the ball-park sometime during the summer season.

Verily yours,

Ye Olde Towne Teame

75 mph of pure goodness

From the Archive:

June 2004

Step right up! Come on in! Yes, folks, its that time of year…

See everyone’s favorite mustachioed philosopher/pitcher baffle the bats of Boston’s best brooding bumptious batsmen!

See the lanky right-hander crush the competition, amaze the opposition, foil his foes with his freezing, fascinating fatalistic fastball, twirling twelve-to-six curveballs, slippery slashing sliders, slick, slicing sluicing slurves, and chortling changeups!

See the sophomore sensation earn his doctorate in strikeouts as he battles Brighton, maligns Medford, conquers Cambridge, beats Brookline, assails Allston, and strangles and sodomizes Somerville!

Hear the whiffs as foes futilely flail at “Doc” Goldwater’s deceptive deliveries!

Taste the delicious dogs that, uh, you bring from home!

Feel the excitement, that, uh, comes from seeing amateur baseball played in a public park!

Yes, friends, come see exciting Yawkey League action this summer. The Yawkey League has been ranked the 9th best amateur league in the country by the National Semi-Pro Baseball Association. It’s perennial champion, Somerville Alibrandis, has been ranked the 15th best team in the country by the NSPBA.

The annual All-Star game is held at none other than Fenway Park, home of that other baseball team from Beantown! Come stuff the ballot box!

See childhood dreams realized!

So come on down, and watch me play! Tickets are free! In fact, they don’t exist!

You can follow all the action, get schedules, and field directions at yawkeybaseball.com. Look for me and my stats on my team’s page- the Brighton T’s Pub Mariners.

Too lazy for all that? Why not catch a game on the boob tube- Yawkey League games are often televised on Comcast Channel 8 in Boston.

Don’t have cable or a car or legs, you cheap lazy bastard? Find the results in the sports section of the Boston Herald and Boston Globe (we’re right there next to golf, horseracing and the WNBA)

So come find out what Sandy Koufax, Gabe Kapler and me have in common. Already know? Then see me in tight pants, with a funny old-fashioned mustache, trying to beat a bunch of Italians and Irishmen!

What could be more fun? Wait, don’t answer that.