Lester Returns Home, Claims Territory, Inhabitants

Jon Lester crowds righthanded hitters. He gets all up in their grills, or their kitchens, or wherever they prepare foodstuffs.

His cutter is relentless, and territorial. Lester lays claim not just to the inside part of the plate, but inside off the plate, even spilling into the righthanders' batters' box. There's nowhere to go. Lester's cutter invades hitters' personal space.

Just watching him makes my studio apartment feel smaller. Lester's a close talker, and he's saying 'broken bat.'

Personal space is about boundaries, and exclusion. If matter is impenetrable, two things can't exist in the same place and time. But Lester's cutter gets in there. And something's got to give. Those maple bats sure look penetrable.

In going 7 1/3 scoreless, Lester was dominant, and efficient. Only 3 three-ball counts, and no walks. A hitter's count implies possession, but tonight hitters had no title, no claim, no land, no property. The batters box provided no sanctuary. Lester owned, moved in, and planted his flag in the righthanders' batter's box.

Lester won his 8th, lowering his ERA to 3.20, good for 7th in the league. The Sox looked at home against a second-division Mariners club, shutting them out 4-0. The Sox' struggles on the road this year are well known. Regaining their imperialistic tendencies- claiming soil foreign to Fenway and annexing exotic batters' boxes- would go a long way towards capturing glory and treasure.

Small Ball Doesn't Work; Sox Swept in Anaheim, 5-3

Losing to the Angels is like losing to a guy who spins his foosball players; you concede they hit the ball, and that they scored more, but you're just not sure how much credit they should get.

Much is made of the Angels' aggressive small ball style, but I don't like it. They swing at everything, and so I don't know that it isn't random when they do hit the ball. They look to me like a team with a lower on-base percentage than batting average.

The Sox are disciplined; patience, which suggests passivity, isn't the right word. The Angels, though talented, are wild and uncontrolled. They are Nuke LaLoosh to the Sox's Crash.

It's obvious that the organizations have different values. The Angels have only 1 player with an OBP above .350 (Chone Figgins at .379), and only 3 qualifiers above .310. Egregiously, they have 7 players with at least 90 AB's below .315 in OBP, including qualifiers Mathews Jr and Anderson, and Jeff Mathis way down at .288.

Compare the Sox, with 8 players above .350 in OBP, including Casey (129 AB's) at.418, and qualifiers Drew .410, Ramirez .396, and Youkilis .382. The Sox have just 3 players with at least 90 AB's below .315 in OBP, and two are catchers.

National media types are inclined to call the Sox a "moneyball team", and Beane is famously cited as saying his shit doesn't work in the playoffs. But the Sox have trounced the Angels, 6 games to 0, over the last two A.L. Division Series (in '04 and '07. You should know this.) It's the Angels' shit that doesn't work in the postseason, because they are the far inferior offensive team- the Sox have outscored the Angels by 74 runs this season- and they're only even in pitching (with the Sox staff ERA at 3.84, the starters 3.77, and the Angels staff at 3.81, the starters 3.74)

The Angels win with pitching, not with small ball. And perhaps with Luck; the Angels' run differential is a mere +33, to the Sox' +87.

The philosopher Dan Dennett talks of "elbow room" for free will in a deterministic universe. Maybe, just maybe, says the ghost of Joe Morgan past, small ball creates some "elbow room" in the deterministic universe of wins as a function of random run distribution (i.e. the expected record based on +/-.)

Maybe. But a team with such a low OBP playing to the score only works with great pitching, and those goddam foosball spinners are f'ing lucky and should learn to play the real way.

Free to Exist You and Me

"David Ortiz can’t just be. He has to be David Ortiz," suggests the Herald's Rob Bradford. I am slightly amused that we sort of know what he means, despite it appearing that he is contrasting David Ortiz with existence, which doesn't really make sense.

It's a bit Platonic, Bradford's statement, encoding, as it does, the difference between mere existence and a higher plane, giving a hint of Plato's contrast of the actual with the Ideal.

For on the one hand, we have David Ortiz, existent. Thing in the universe. Occupant of a portion of space-time. Detectable with the senses. On the other hand, we have David Ortiz, David Ortiz. Great thing. Ideal Designated Hitter. Big Papi. Team Leader. Object of incredulity and awe.

So really, there's no pressure on Big Papi at all. All David Ortiz has to do during the pennant race is not exist, but transcend existence into the realm where his true self -David Ortiz- lies; that is, for Bradford, it's not enough simply that David Ortiz- that thing that answers to the name 'David Ortiz'- exists, but that the David Ortiz that exists also exists as David Ortiz.

What I love best about philosophy is the clarity it affords.

The Golden Mean Team; The All-Time Average Red Sox

For Aristotle, virtue lay between two extremes. Take social conduct for example. One extreme is being a kiss-ass, the other extreme is being an asshole. In between lies friendliness.

This is the doctrine of the Golden Mean, the Middle Path, the Warm Porridge.

Towards celebrating Aristotle's idea, and because this year's All-Star break is excessively long, I've compiled the Golden Mean Team: the Most Average Red Sox Team of All Time (well, just going back to 1986, actually.)

These are not your All-Time Great Sox, with Williams in left, Boggs at third and Fisk behind the dish. And these are not the comically poor Sox, with whoever the hell they had in the 1920's, way before this.

No, this is the The Golden Mean Team, the most middling, mediocre, lump of average Red Sox players imaginable by someone with 50th percentile creativity.

So, a bit about method.

OPS+ is OPS (on-base percentage plus slugging percentage) adjusted for ballpark and league, with 100 defined as league average. ERA+ is basically the same for ERA, again with 100 defined as league average.

I figured the most average Red Sox team would be composed of players whose seasons were as close to 100 in OPS+ or ERA+ as possible.

I've named a starter for each position, a 5 man starting rotation, and a closer.

In the case of ties- to be expected when dealing with such mediocrity- I went with the player whose career OPS+ or ERA+ was closest to 100.

So now, without making a federal case about it, here are the few, the moderately happy few, whose run of the mill contributions make up the Golden Mean Team, the All-Time (well, since 1986) Average, the Mediocre, the you-win-some-you-lose-some Boston Red Sox.

Position/Name/Year/Season OPS+ or ERA+/ (Career OPS+ or ERA+)

• C Scott Hatteberg, 1997: 103 (101)
• 1B Carlos Quintana, 1990: 103 (93)
• 2B Marty Barrett, 1986: 100 (86)
• SS John Valentin, 1996: 104 (109)
• 3B Scott Cooper, 1992: 100 (90)

• LF Troy Oleary, 1998: 99 (97)
• CF Carl Everett, 2001: 97 (107)
• RF Darren Bragg, 1999: 99 (85)
• DH Dante Bichette, 2001: 103 (106)

The cleanup hitter could hit 9th on this team. And vice versa.

Starting Rotation

1. John Burkett, 2002: 101 (99)
2. Hideo Nomo, 2001: 101 (97)
3. Bruce Hurst, 1987: 103 (104)
4. Tim Wakefield, 2004: 100 (108)
5. Mike Boddicker, 1989: 103 (108)

Closer:

1. Bob Stanely, 1986: 96 (118)

Somewhat honorable but fairly indifferent mention goes to the entire 2005 Red Sox starting rotation. Without doing any more research, I'm guessing this is the most mediocre starting rotation of all time.

Wakefield at 109, Bronson Arroyo: 100 (106), Matt Clement: 99 (96), David Wells: 102 (108), and Wade Milller: 92 (110)

So there you have it, the Boston Salieris. These guys get awards for attendance. A living room full of participation trophies. They have 2.4 kids. They put the meh in mediocre. Between the ages of 40 and 70 they may experience erectile dysfunction.

I'll stop there. That joke's OPS+ is 100. If that.

What Kind of Universe is This, Anway?; All-Star Cosmology

I thought perhaps the moral universe might save Dan Uggla.

In an All-Star game, one can be forgiven for thinking the stars might be aligned just so.

Uggla whiffed in the 8th. With runners on first and third in the top of the 10th, he bounced into an inning ending double play. In the bottom of the 10th, he perpetrated two errors, loading the bases with nobody out.

But Cook got out of the jam. So in the top of the 12th, the beleaguered Uggla tread to the plate, bases loaded, one out.

Perhaps the moral universe might have seen fit to reverse Uggla's fortunes. Instead, he got the filthiest jelly legging cartoony curveball I've ever seen, courtesy of Joakim Soria. It was 67 mph of pure you've-got-to-be-shitting-me. Uggla poked at it like he wasn't sure it was dead. Strike 3.

Uggla ended up 0-4 with 3 Ks and 3 errors, an All-Star game record. If it smells like a goat, and chews like a goat...

But I should have known the universe contained pockets of injustice and I'll-be-damned on this night; Tim McCarver, the butcher of Oxford, actually had a good line.

When that adorable and sophisticated Bronx crowd chanted "overrated" at Papelbon in the 8th inning, he responded by overpowering the aforementioned Uggla. McCarver quipped (yes, McCarver actually quipped) that with that K, "Papelbon is saying 'if you think I'm overrated, get a bat.'"

F yeah, McCarver. F yeah.

It was that kind of night. Strange things are afoot at the Circle K.

On the other hand, a Red Sox player won MVP in the last All-Star game at Yankee stadium. Ortiz is coming back, and the Sox are in first place at the break. So all is right in the universe, after all. Uggla will have to take care of himself.

Logical Fallacy of the Week: Introduction

As I'm sure you're well aware, baseball folks make erroneous statements and draw invalid inferences and derive conclusions from nothingness and arbitrarity. All the time. And as someone in the thinking business, I feel duty-bound to point out such things when I notice them.

So, in what might become an irregular regular feature of Soxlosophy, I've decided to introduce the "logical fallacy of the week," a feature that in all likelihood will not be updated every week.

But it's a better name than "logical fallacy of the unspecified time-unit."

Now, strictly speaking, many errors in reasoning which I'll discuss (and by discuss I mean 'ridicule') are not logical fallacies at all, so the name's inaccurate on both fronts. But "the sloppy informal cognitions and ambiguous and misleading assertions of baseball folks of the unspecified time unit" is actually a worse name than 'Pujols' or 'Asdrubal Cabrera'.

For the trial run, I thought I'd start with a valid syllogism like 'modus ponens'- you know, the one that goes

(All) Yankees suck

A-Rod is a Yankee

therefore, A-Rod sucks

and work up some fallacies from there. But I changed my mind.

For what better place to start on the butchering of thought and language as we know it than with Fox's A-team, Joe Buck and Tim McCarver?

So lets take a trip down memory lane to last week's Fox national broadcast of the Sox vs. the Yankees, and with Tim McCarver in a moment, this is Joe Buck.

Buck has this habit of putting the predicate of the sentence in the place normally reserved for the subject, namely the beginning. So, for instance, last week Buck said "overpowered was Varitek by Veras", and "on deck is Ramirez".

And though one might think such Yoda-speak is cute, the habit of saying everything backwards led to the following vacuous statement, our very first "Logical fallacy of the week."

Buck said of Sox starter Justin Masterson after Masterson left the game, "he can only be the loser if he gets a decision."

Spot the f- up? Well, can Masterson be the loser if he doesn't get a decision? Buck seems to be laboring under the mistaken impression that he's saying something, namely "if Masterson gets a decision, he will be the losing pitcher." But he didn't say that. I had to guess that's what he meant. Because what Buck actually said was equivalent to "in order to be the losing pitcher, Masterson must get a decision." Thank God I watch Fox, or else I might not know that getting a no-decision precludes a pitcher from being the losing pitcher.

Thank you, Joe Buck. Thank you.

And then there's McCarver.

McCarver's analysis following a sacrifice fly was that the ball went "high enough and far enough" to drive in the run.

Apparently, there is a height the ball must reach before the runner can successfuly tag up. I did not know that.

But there's more. In light of A-Rod tying Mickey Mantle's career home run mark of 536, McCarver went on to wax sentimental about the Mick. Near to wiping away a reverential tear, Timmy McC said the Mick was "anything but slow, and anything but weak."

Wait, is McCarver saying Mickey Mantle was a communist? Or that Mickey Mantle was addicted to Robitussin? Apparently, according to McCarver, Mickey Mantle was every single attribute there is except slow and weak. And because 'communist' and 'addicted to Robotissin' are attributes, after all, and they are not the same as 'slow' and 'weak,' it sounds like McC thinks that these, among all others, are things that Mickey Mantle was.

The Mick sure was a lot of things to a lot of people.

But if McCarver meant something else, he should have said something else.

Of course, that probably would have been wrong too.

This is Mel Allen. See you next time-unit for another installment of "logical fallacy of the week." In Baseball.

No Bones; Sox crumple, lose to O's 7-3

Clay Buchholz entered the game with an ERA+ of 78, and he lived up to the billing, allowing 4 runs in 5 innings as the Sox dropped a snoozer to the Orioles, 7-3.

Much has been made of the attempt for Clay to increase his command of the fastball, but tonight that big overhand curveball that makes scouts drool was all seasoning and no meat. He consistently left the curve high and inside on righthanded hitters and away from lefties, which belies an early release point and perhaps some here-you-take-it anxiety.

Perhaps to hide the criminal neglect of his talent, Buchholz flashed his potential like a fake badge, striking out 5 in the 3rd and 4th innings. In the 4th he whiffed Luke Scott on an archetypal changeup, down and away, a pitch that added to the sum total of beauty in the world.

But true baseball beauty comes in patterns and repetition. The mechanical aspect of pitching in command is the discipline to duplicate previous motions; Clay was not pitching so much as his body was throwing, and save that one stretch, was not in control of anything. With 5 walks and 107 pitches in 5 innings, he fought a losing battle.

The game as a whole had no bones; and before the last gasp failed rally in the 9th, the Fenway crowd was unusually silent. Sox hitters uncharacteristically took a rather blase approach to mediocre Orioles starter Brian Burres, who somehow made it into the 7th inning with a low pitch count despite walking 3. Instead of the grinding approach characteristic of the Sox that erodes top starters and pulverizes the middling, the Sox seemed to think that with minimal effort on their part, the bats would hit Burres' underwhelming stuff for them. But sluggish is not slugging, and the Sox failed to capitalize on the Yanks and Tampa losses.

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.

Look But Don't Touch

In the bottom of the 5th inning of today's series finale against the Twins, Manny missed a home run by inches, and a fan's too too grabby hands by even less.

Keeping your hands to yourself is something we learn early in life. And generally speaking, people are pretty good at it. But not for not wanting to touch; there are, after all, many smooth and soft and bumpy things out there, just begging to be touched.

But, typically, there are penalties for touching what's not yours to touch. Upon seeing an attractive woman on the street, you can't grab her just because you feel like it, and you can't walk into a museum and run your hands over the art just because you feel like it.

If you did, the penalty would be severe, and rightfully so. As adults, we have to control what we want (or better yet, we should learn not to want certain things; you may want to poop in your pants when you're two, but hopefully not anymore.) And who do you think you are, anyway, diminishing that woman's dignity, or ruining that painting so that countless others cannot enjoy it?

And yes, grabbing a ball in play is definitely the same kind of thing. You shouldn't want to do it at all, and it drives me nuts when it does happen, to the point of advocating draconian (if not Franconian) punishment.

Consider the following. When a fan reaches into the playing field, he's implicitly saying a number of things, each entirely indefensible.

First, he's saying 'I hereby claim ownership of this ball, this ball which I didn't make, buy, or even ever see before two seconds ago, and which nobody offered to give me.'

(A rejection of the Lockean principle that ownership derives from "mixing one's labor" with an object.)

Second, he's saying 'even though the fate of this ball is the intense emotional concern of millions of people, I am going to take it so that only I can enjoy it.'

(A rejection of the utilitarian principle of the greatest good for the greatest number.)

Third, he is saying 'I am claiming this ball as mine at the only moment of its existence that's ever mattered, at that very moment at which all its previous existing moments were aimed.'

(A rejection of natural law ethics, which holds the interruption of teleology to be immoral.)

I think saying these things makes you an asshole.

And there's no stealing a loaf of bread to feed the starving family mitigating factor here. Unless it's a milestone homer, when removed from its context as a ball in play, all it is is a dirty ball. And clean balls aren't expensive. By taking it from the field, just like smudging a painting in a museum, you're making it worth even less.

And for what? So you can look like a jerk on TV, publicly declaring your selfishness? So you can regale your grandkids about the day you interrupted what millions of people were doing for no good reason other than that you felt grabby?

In short, you reach into the field of play to grab a ball, you're saying that having that particular small round leathery thing is more important than the happiness of millions of people.

I think it's pretty obvious what we should do with people like that.

Hunting Game on Lansdowne; Manny Leads Comeback Party, Bags Twins 6-5 (cont'd)

A good win feels good.

That's my profound statement of the day.

Winning is awesome.

That's my second profound statement (and why I get paid the big philosophy bucks.)

After dropping 6 straight one-run games, you'd figure the coin would flip the other way (i.e. theyze was dueze), and now the Sox have won 2 straight by the smallest of margins.

But these can be the biggest of victories, and citing the law of averages just doesn't capture how fun it is to come back and win.

Winning is fun. (Now I'm a Pedroia-esque 3-3)

And with Manny taking charge with go-ahead and tying RBIs in the 8th inning of consecutive games, he's finally shoving back against the bullying slump that comped him a great seat from which to watch his teammates try to do his job.

With morale high after cutting the deficit to 5-3 in the 8th, and with Pedroia on 2nd, Manny tagged the first pitch from Guerrier like he wanted to study its behavior.

But I don't think this one's coming back.

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.

Adjusted Legendary+; Schilling, Mussina and the Hall of Fame

Two caveats before we begin.

First, I'm not entirely sure this kind of thing is kosher, but this post is an expanded version of a comment I left on this Joy of Sox post. But as a footnote using-academic who's also busted people for plagiarism, I figure I can get away with it on the strength of self-anointed authority alone. (They call this bootstrapping, I think.)

Second, though this one's based on new fangled sciencey numbers, I do end on a philosophimical note.

So with only some further ado, there's been talk of Schilling's and Mike Mussina's Hall of Fame candidacy recently. (The comment I posted was in response to a discussion of the latter's.)

Judging Hall of Fame candidacy requires comparing pitchers from different eras, and ERA+ is a one-stop metric that shows how good a pitcher is relative to the league (and thus era) in which he pitched.

More precisely, and to quote Joy of Sox from the same post,

"ERA+ is the ratio of the league's ERA, adjusted to the pitcher's ballpark, to that of the pitcher. 100 is league average. Top-shelf starters will finish their seasons with ERA+s around 140."

For completeness, here's the all-time career list. For relevance, perhaps gerrymandered, here's a condensed list. Pedro Martinez, at 157, is far and away the best all time. Roger Clemens, that cheating douche, is at 143. Johan Santana 141. Sandy Koufax, 131.

Tom Seaver, a Hall of Famer, is at 127, which is the same ERA+ as Curt Schilling and John Smoltz. Jim Palmer, a HoF'er, is at 126.

Juan Marichal, who's in the Hall, has a 123 career ERA+. Mike Mussina has a 122, which is better than HoF'ers Don Drysdale's 121 and Warren Spahn's 118.

In the comments of his post, Joy of Sox suggested that Mussina's comparables are Schilling and Marichal.

So, that's the backstory.

According to my calculations, and by 'calculations' I mean 'copying from columns I see',

Mussina's 6 best full seasons for ERA+ are 163 (in the strike year of '94), 157, 145, 142, 137, and 134 (and no more above 130.) But he's also had 6 seasons at 109 or lower, including 3 out of the last 4 under 100 (not including this current bounce-back year.)

Juan Marichal's 5 best seasons of ERA+ were 169, 168, 167, 144, and 132, (and no more over 130), and had only 4 seasons of lower than 113 (not counting his last two seasons, which totalled 60 innings), though 3 were under 100 (98, 97. 95)

As a starter, Curt Schilling has 4 seasons in the 150's, 2 in the 140's, and 3 more in the 130's. In seasons with at least 90 IP, he's had just 1 season under 100- 99 in '93- and just one other under 120.

It looks to me that Marichal's peak was better than Mussina's in the same amount of time, and Schilling has been better for a longer period of time than Mussina.

Burt Blyleven has just missed the cut for the Hall many times, and is the recent archetype of the borderline Hall candidate. His career ERA+ is 118, but a quick glance at Burt Blyleven's ERA+ numbers show him to be the better comparison to Mussina. Blyleven recorded 6 seasons over 130 (158, 151, 144, 142, 140, 134), but 7 under 110.

I don't know where exactly the cut off should be, but it might very well be around Blylevan and Mussina. And as of now, Blyleven has 1000 more K's than Mussina. Mussina might reach 3,000 k's (he's around 2700), and he might get pretty close to 300 wins, which obviously would help his candidacy.

At its best, the Hall might represent the dialectical synthesis of statistics and legend, of quantity and perception.

And I think the numbers show Mussina to fit a certain perceptual type; not quite the ace, never the very best pitcher, not the The Man you want on the mound in the big game, but instead a very good pitcher for a long time.

Schilling, on the other hand, has the regular season numbers to match his well-documented postseason heroics; for an entire decade, he was one of the very top pitchers in the game, and when healthy, never mediocre. I think Schilling is in.

One way to look at the debate is whether certain milestone numbers are both necessary and sufficient for Hall entry, or whether such numbers are only necessary, but insufficient without the stuff that legends are made of.

In other words, there's a symbolic debate here; is the Hall exclusively for the very best, those few players of each generation who attained the revered status as The Man, the kind of guy the old timers tell tall tales about, or is it also for those players who performed well-above league averages for a long period of time, but never reached the heroic levels that encourage the formation of legends in addition to statistical analysis?

I don't know. I just work here.

That Old Familiar Feeling; Sox Comeback Falls Short, Lose to Yanks 2-1

Entering the 9th down 2-0 to the Yankees, against a Hall of Fame closer, scoring 1 and loading the bases with NOBODY out and stranding them there?

Now that's a classic Red Sox loss. And by 'classic', I mean a good ol' fashioned pre-2004 rip-your-heart-out-edge-of-total-victory archetypal Red Sox catastrophe.

I forgot what that felt like.

These days, it's all take the long view this, we'll come around come October that.

But this was a throwback, even without the old uni's. It has a familiar trajectory. The Sox are outplayed. 2nd best seems assured. The upcoming loss is accepted with a numb melancholy. But then a big hit, an opponent stumbles, and the numbness starts to wane. Hope emerges. Another hit. Hope becomes expectation. And just when the Sox couldn't be better positioned to win, when miraculous victory becomes not just possible but probable, they collapse, and fail.

I would have been fine, taking the long view, waiting for October, losing 2-0 on a random July afternoon. You can't expect to win 4 straight in the Bronx. But that's post- "Queer Eye" Red Sox talking. That's the 'of course we'll win 3 in a row down 3-1 in the ALCS- We're the Sox!' But they forfeited the long view by fighting back. They trigger all those old memories of being One Strike Away, of coming so close, just to fall short. They played the Red Sox. Classic Cubs is losing 2-0. Classic Sox is doing just what they did; coming back, having the bases loaded and NOBODY out, with the tieing run on 3rd, and not scoring. 3 times. To lose. To the Yankees.

This being a classic Red Sox loss, it triggered that long dormant bitter and reactionary psychology that I thought had been cured with victory and Zoloft. Instead of the ol' 'you fail 7 out of 10 times in this game and you're great' line, or falling back on lame non-explanatory cliches like 'you can't expect to win 4 straight in the Bronx', I'm screaming for Crisp's head, wanting to bench Varitek and cut Lugo.

Because, as everybodywho's ever seen baseball before knows, ANYBODY would be better than those guys. ANYBODY.

That's classic Sox talking. That's calling up WEEI and saying 'trade him for a bucket of balls'. That's the anger and the depression and the desperation, the losers' complex. That's not the attitude of a team that is just out of the division lead despite lacking their most powerful hitter for over a month, or the attitude of dropping a game on the road with the number 5 starter matched up against the opponent's ace.

Man, I haven't screamed that someone should be cut since, oh i don't know, Chad Fox or Rudy Seanez. Or Curtis Leskanic the shirtless mechanic.

I even hate it when I lose to the Yankees in a video game. I guess I'm just not totally over them yet. Minds aren't that malleable. Scars don't always heal. You can forget them, but they're there. Sometimes it takes until the next generation. Scars aren't heritable, I don't think.

Unless, of course, these are your father's Red Sox.

Pulp Pulp Pulp; Sox swept at the Trop, 7-6

Foul balls are not do-overs. There are no do-overs. Time goes forward. Thermodynamics and such.

After Varitek fouled off a hit-and-run attempt with 1 out in the 9th, trailing by a run, Lowell on first, Tito tried again.

But a hit-and-run that is fouled off is not a case of the play neither working nor not working. The law of excluded middle is not violated; there is no third option. Logic is immutable. Don't fuck with it. A ball fouled off on a hit and run is a failed hit and run. Though no out is recorded, the play happened. It existed. Adjustments will be made.

That, and Varitek misses pitches like they're his long-distance girlfriend.

Perhaps Tito Jr. was desperate for control; he had seen his hurlers throw almost 50 pitches in Tampa's 6 run 7th inning, a mere 20 for strikes. The Sox had left 10 men on base. Perhaps he felt he had to step in there and do something. But there are no do-overs, and sometimes it's best to do nothing. Or pinch hit Casey for a struggling Captain. Where's Damian Jackson to pinch run when you need him?

3 losses to Tampa, by a total of 4 runs. Not necessarily projectible; a Lugo slide here, Hansen throwing a strike there, all within the realm of possibility (it would seem), and the outcome is different. But you can't go back, there are no do-overs.

Also, I have to dust off an old one. Varitek hits like he has 20 in blackjack.

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.

Lord of the Orange Groves

Wade Boggs would be rolling over in his grave.

If he were dead.

How else to express the betrayal by his beloved Tampa Bay Famous Original Rays?

In first place. Widening their lead, even. They're spitting on Bogg's legacy. And Fred McGriff's. And Brent Abernathy's. How could they?

People love an underdog. Speak truth to power. The meek shall inherit something or other.

I used to tease a friend of mine who would always root for the underdog by saying he had to switch allegiances with every lead change.

Nietzsche saw 'master morality' as the identification of strength and goodness; virility and virtue are one. Slave morality is the inverse; power is oppression and subjugation. To automatically root for the underdog is to identify weakness with goodness. It's a sort of slave morality.

Tampa's a good team. They are strong. James Shields has great 12-1 movement on his fastball (tailing back into a righthanded hitter.) Javier Lopez should not have thrown a fastball strike to the righthanded Gomes on an 0-2 count with the sacks full of Rays, but they earned it. The Sox are no longer the underdog. That aspect of the narrative has played out.

What we have here is a rivalry. When Gerald Williams charged Pedro, I was indignant. How dare a commoner? I took umbrage. That was a peasant revolt. He should have known his role. But now, well, the 3rd estate is moving up in the world. The Rays are contenders.

Sox fans who were in it for the underdog story, the plucky rag tag fighters against the Evil Empire, might have a hard time making the transition to playing the bully, the establishment, the $140 million juggernaut, squashing the upstart Rays and their impossible dream.

Not me. Last I checked, the point was winning. That master/slave thing is for losers anyway.