Faithful

like this, we don’t deserve to be in any race.

Foulke doesn’t try to nibble like last night. He leads with his fastball to get ahead, then goes exclusively to the change. He strikes out Boone. Strikes out Edgar. Strikes out Bucky Jacobsen for the game.

For an instant, as the ump rings up Jacobsen, I’m excited, but I cool off just as quickly. We barely squeaked this one out, and it should have been a laugher, after an eight-run fourth (David Ortiz with a three-run bomb, then Manny going back-to-back). Same problem as always: no middle relief. Leskanic let two of Lowe’s runners score. In his one inning, Timlin gave up a run. Nelson allowed two runs and only retired one man. Mendoza sat on the bench and watched. Kim was in Columbus with the PawSox. I have no idea where Theo was.

July 21st

SO: Thanks for the tickets for tomorrow and the weekend. This six-game home stand is crucial, after the ugly road trip. A bad time to stumble, since the Yanks are faltering as well. Kevin Brown pitched against the PawSox last night and looked good, so he may be back sooner than we might wish.

SK: Last night’s win was just about as ugly as they get. I’ll take .500 on the road, especially on the West Coast, but we had a chance to come back 4-2, and in much better shape. I’m reading Moneyball now, and it’s really a jaw-dropping book. Lewis asserts, with no reservations whatever, that Art Howe is no more than the ventriloquist’s dummy on Billy Beane’s knee. Which leads me to wonder if that is now true in Boston—i.e., if Terry Francona is the dummy on Theo Epstein’s knee. And, if Epstein is following the Beane paradigm, then our team is in middling good shape assuming Theo is planning trades before the deadline. Beane feels good if he can go into the second half of the season six or less back. Still, I don’t buy into everything the book suggests, either from the standpoint of strategy, and certainly not from the standpoint of business morality.

SO: My main argument with Moneyball is that the modest success of the A’s is based on Mulder, Hudson and Zito, and it’s pretty much a matter of luck that they came up at the same time and fulfilled the scouts’ expectations. So many prospects don’t, but these three did. Otherwise, the no-running, no-fielding, big OBP club has trouble scoring when it doesn’t hit three-run home runs—hey, just like us! Billy Beane’s always crowing about his genius, but look at the Twins, who’ve put together a better, steadier club with even less money. They’ve lost core guys like Eric Milton and A. J. Pierzynski, yet they keep on keepin’ on. And for a solid club that knows how to play the game, I’ll take the smallball Angels any day, even with their terrible starters.

SK: I disagree. They were a certain type of ballplayer, picked for talent and affordability. And in the case of Zito, the scouts hated him. He was Beane’s pick.

All that aside, this year’s Red Sox team is a sick entity right now, and I hate it. I keep going back in my mind to one of those games versus the Angels. We’re down by at least three runs, and maybe five. There are two out, and the Angels pitcher is struck wild. There are two on for us and Pokey at the plate. He puts on a heroic at- bat, finally drawing a walk to load them for Johnny Damon, who swings at the first pitch he sees—the first motherfucking pitch he sees!—and lines out to center. The fielder didn’t even have to take a step. That’s just deer-in-the-head-lights baseball. Something going on around here, what it is ain’t precisely clear…but I’m not lovin’ it.

SO: It’s the twenty-first, meaning Theo’s got ten days to close his deals. I think we’ve got to land a quality arm, probably a starter who lets Arroyo be the middle-relief ace (a huge advantage, since no one out there has a Mendoza-type guy, and Nelson and Anderson are fire-starters). But I’m not holding my breath.

First-pitch hitting is a killer, but Johnny obviously thought the guy was going to groove one to try to get ahead (like Foulke last night—any of those guys swings at that 88 mph double-A-quality fastball and it’s “See ya!”).

SK: I thought of that, but it’s still a bonehead move. One of the things Lewis points out in Moneyball—courtesy of Bill James and the saber-metrics guys—is that batting average goes up seventy-five points if a batter takes the first pitch and that pitch is a ball. He also reminds the reader of Boggs, who always took the first pitch, and Hatteberg, who mostly does.

SO: What hurts is watching all these opportunities go by, and that’s also a product of the OBP thing. Speaking of guys who always took one: Roberto Clemente. The Anti-Nomar. [Nomar is a notorious first-pitch hitter, regardless of the game situation, just as the Great One never swung at a first pitch.]

Do you believe we’re tied for the wild card? Seems impossible, the way we’ve been playing. Almost wish the D-Rays would reel off another eleven straight to shake things up. Somnambulism, baby, that’s where we’re at.

At least tonight I won’t have to stay up till 1:45 to watch us tank.

No, only till the sixth inning, when Tejada breaks a 3–3 tie with a bases-loaded single to left. Pedro, who’s been missing his spots all night, nearly gets out of it, but Johnny’s throw on Javy Lopez’s short sac fly is weak and up the first-base line, and it’s 6–3. Earlier, Johnny misjudged a Tejada liner into a triple, leading to their first three runs, and later, in a whacky play, he relays a David Newhan shot to the wall in center toward Bill Mueller (who started, bizarrely, at second, with Youk at third), but Manny—in another classic Manny move—intercepts it, diving, then relays it to Bellhorn (who started at short), and by the time Mark guns it to Tek, Newhan’s in with the easiest inside-the-park homer you’ll ever see. It’s 8–4 and the Faithful boo. Melvin Mora follows with a single, and Petey’s done. Mendoza throws a third of an inning and gives up two hits, and Malaska has to save him. Then Jimmy “I’m the Boss” Anderson comes on and gives up his usual two runs before recording an out. It’s a 10–4 final, and with the Yanks stomping Toronto, we drop to 8 back.

The only Sock who comes out of this one looking good is Gabe Kapler, who made a tumbling catch in right in the fourth, then hit a three-run shot onto the Monster to tie it at 3. The rest of the team looked like they’d gotten about three hours of sleep, which they did, since their plane got in at three in the morning (shades of Opening Day).

Meanwhile, lots of roster moves right before game time. Pokey to the DL with a pulled rib-cage muscle, Youkilis up from Pawtucket. Joe Nelson down, Malaska up. And to have a backup for Nomar, Theo picked up journeyman shortstop Ricky Gutierrez from the Iowa Cubs. Ladies and gentlemen, your 2004 Iowa Red Sox!

July 22nd

SK: I’m off to Los Angeles. I’m leaving this crucial home stand to your guidance, and probably a good thing. They looked so mizzable last night, didn’t they?

It’s a day-night doubleheader today, and since Wake’s scheduled to start and the Yanks are coming in tomorrow, we can’t shift the rotation to cover the extra game. We don’t announce a starter till late morning: Abe Alvarez, a lefty from double-A Portland (Jimmy “I’m the Boss” Anderson is designated for assignment). #59, Abe’s pipe-cleaner skinny and looks about seventeen. He wears his cap cocked to the side like C. C. Sabathia, but throws soft—fastball topping out at 88, slow curve, change. He has trouble finding the plate in the first and gives up three runs, two on a Monster shot by Tejada, who is just murdering us this series.

It’s hot—sweaty hot, heatstroke hot—and we’re in the sun. Over the course of the game I buy ten bottles of water for Steph and the nephews. We squirt them in our hats and down our collars and at each other. “Hey, frozen lemonade!” “Hey, sports bah!”

Ortiz hits two triples, a kind of miracle, but doesn’t score either time. Melvin Mora lofts a shot toward the