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Yesterday, I Cried

Yesterday I walked around campus is a slight daze, a goofy grin permanently plastered to my face. People looked at me strangely, but I couldn't bring myself to care: Nomar was home, and he still loved us.



I told my friends about his one-day deal with the Red Sox during lunch, and they looked at me blankly. When I told them I had cried with joy during his press conference, they just rolled their eyes; I clearly need to befriend more baseball fans.



Nomar Garciaparra was - and is - someone special to the people of New England, and to me, yesterday felt like the unexpected return of a childhood friend. Of course, that's because I was a child when Nomar made his Sox debut, and barely a teenager when he was so abruptly traded away. I suspect that sports fans felt differently about his gesture depending on their age: perhaps it felt like a reunion with a high school sweetheart, or the return of an estranged child.

It just looks so right...

Regardless of the specifics, thousands of people all over New England rejoiced yesterday: the golden boy of the late 1990's/early 2000's had come home. For those fans who might be newer to the fold, let me explain: Nomar was like Dustin Pedroia's grit, Kevin Youkilis's defensive prowess and power, and Jacoby Ellsbury's good looks and flair, all rolled into one spectacular home grown package. Boston (understandably) loved him, and though his relationship with the media was always shaky, he appreciated the fans.



That was perhaps my favorite aspect of the press conference yesterday, the fact that not only did Garciaparra remember our devotion, he treasured it:





Red Sock Nation, I mean that is the perfect word to describe it because they're everywhere. And everywhere I go I get so many people coming to me and tell me, 'Thank you. Thank you for what you've done. Thank you for being a part of it. We miss you. We still love you.' We do all that, and it's so genuine and mutual and I think, hopefully, from all my actions throughout my career, in that uniform, and hopefully my actions today, and tell them what it means to me, and that the feelings are mutual, and how I feel about them as well.



As much lip service as the rabid New England fanbase gets from new players, Nomar really gets us. Though he wasn't actually on the field for the 2004 championship, he played a big part in its coming, and he truly understood what so many players and commentators failed to grasp:



It's winning the World Series for these people. These people that have bled, cried, cheered over the years. Winning the World Series in Boston is more than an individual player winning the World Series. It was winning the World Series for these people, for the Red Sock Nation.



Despite the fact that his relationship with the front office was strained, and his communications with the media were rather rocky, Nomar put everything on the line for the fans, every day. Though injuries would limit him toward the end of his time in Boston, and even more so in the other cities in which he played, Nomar Garciaparra loved his fans.



So, yes, I cried yesterday. And then? I couldn't stop smiling, because #5 was home.

Yes, please.

"New double-play duo fond of getting down, dirty"

Keep it classy, redsox.com... Keep it classy.

On another note, check out this WEEI blog about Pedroia's stats... Some pretty impressive stuff.

Love, Always

I was four years old when Nomar Garciaparra was drafted by the Red Sox in the first round of the 1994 draft. I was six when Nomar first played at Fenway Park, and my attention was admittedly elsewhere. When he was shipped off to Chicago, I was fourteen, and more central in my life. It hurt to see him go, even with all the shenanigans going on behind the scenes. When Nomar finally returned to Fenway Park last season, I was nineteen. Seeing the fans reception and Nomar's reaction brought tears to my eyes.


Earlier this offseason, I saw Garciaparra doing a guest spot on ESPN's Baseball Tonight, and I laughed at the irony. During his years as a player - especially in Boston - Nomar had a notoriously rocky relationship with the media, and here he was acting as one of them. Don't get me wrong, the camera loves Nomar, and he will make an excellent analyst (maybe he can cover their baseball broadcasts so the commentary won't be so inane).

As I'm typing this, Nomar is giving a farewell press conference with the Red Sox logo in the background, as it should be. He is giving his due to the fans, and thanking Theo and the ownership group for giving him the opportunity to retire as a Boston Red Sox.

More on this later. I want to watch.

Golden Boy: Fan Frustration

In the past, I've had readers ask me multiple times why I "hated" Jacoby Ellsbury and his fans, and I want to clear the air.

Before I get too far into this, let me say one thing: I think that Jacoby Ellsbury is a fantastically gifted athlete, and I'm very happy that he plays for the Boston Red Sox. That said, I think the level of devotion he is shown by portions of the fan base borders on excessive.


You might now be tempted to reference my obsessive love for a certain second baseman, and I would point to the numbers. Pedey is a superior player (thus far) to Ells, based on nearly every metric except stolen bases; Dustin has ROY and MVP awards, two All-Star selections, and a Gold Glove and Silver Slugger [and yes, I know these honors are relatively subjective].

I think what really gets under people's skin is that I call Ellsbury "Golden Boy," which is sort of a backhanded and sarcastic compliment, and that I refer to some of his fans as "fangirls" and "fanboys." Let me be clear: not all of Ellsbury's fans are what I would term "fangirls/boys," and I know for a fact that there are many of you out there who value him entirely (or at least mostly ;) ) for what he brings to the field.


However, there are far too many Ellsbury fans that value him solely for his looks, and I always seem to run into a large proportion of them [inevitably intoxicated and confused] when I go to Fenway Park. I've heard too much nonsense from people in #46 jerseys [and I take a vindictave pleasure in knowing they'll have to buy new #2 jerseys], including such gems as "Was that a touchdown?" "What quarter is it?" and the best from the shameful list "Is he, like, doing a, what's-it-called, no-hitter?" [The last was in the seventh PERFECT inning of Jon Lester dominance last June... Lester gave up a double on the next batter, and the girl didn't understand why the entire section was glaring at her.]

Last August John Canzano of Oregonlive.com did a feature on the nature of Ellsbury's fans, including the following snippet, which pretty much sums up my feelings on the subject:

Oh, there are Internet Web sites dedicated to Ellsbury's statistics, and his career highlights, and noting him as one of only three Native American players on MLB rosters. But also, there are Web sites frequented by obsessed female fans dedicated to speculation and criticism about who [girlfriend Kelsey] Hawkins is and what she's doing in Ellsbury's life. One site even researched her time in the Boston Marathon, which she ran for charity along with the Red Sox wives, and mocked it.

Wrote one message-board poster named Melanie: "Well, I would just like to say that I'm happy for Jacoby. However, I know deep down inside that he and I are meant to be together, and he'll wait for me until the time is right."

Oh. My. God. As much as I'd like to think that this woman is an aberration, I've seen enough of these sites to understand that though she is not in the majority, she is most definitely part of a strong and vocal minority.

I completely understand that Ellsbury is a good-looking man - it makes perfect sense that he would have admirers, and I further concede that this is not his fault. However, if he has so many fans [all loyal to the point of insanity], he doesn't need me to buy his shirt and be obsessed about him in general. I root for Ellsbury just as hard as I root for every member of the Red Sox, and I'll continue to do so, but if one more person spills their beer on me while craning their neck to catch a glimpse of his butt, I'm going to scream.

And for those of you that think I am judging you: look in the mirror. If you don't act like 'Melanie' up there, and you know what on-base percentage is, I'm definitely not belittling you; in fact, I applaud your ability to put up with the shenanigans around your favorite player. Just because you are an Ellsbury FAN does not make you a "fangirl/fanboy."

Sox-cars

Seeing as Hollywood's biggest awards who is on this evening, I thought Off the Monster would give out some awards of its own. So, without further review, here are the winners:

Best Actor in a Drama:
Daisuke Matsuzaka: In a continuation of the saga we've endured since he arrived, Matsuzaka has suffered a back injury of sorts, and is a few weeks behind the other pitchers. The drama really centers around the resolution of last year's situation: which Daisuke will we see? Do we get the 18 game winner of 2008, the washout of last season, or something in between? The suspense is killing me.

Best Supporting Actor:Jason Varitek: Though the Sox Captain is currently out of town dealing with a family issue, he has been dutifully assisting his successor, Victor Martinez, ever since pitching coach John Farrell assigned them to work together in camp. A lesser man might storm and rage at the manager, or take things out on the other players, but not Varitek. While I doubt he's thrilled to be supplanted, he hasn't said anything in public, and that's important.

Best Emerging Bromance:
Dustin Pedroia and Marco Scutaro: Apparently the two are hard at work building up a rapport, though that's hardly difficult when Pedey is involved. I fully expect them to have matching t-shirts/facial hair/gerbils by the time Opening Day comes around.

Best Soundtrack:Tug Hulett (left in photo): After hitting a pinch-hit 3-run homerun in the seventh inning of a game against the Twins, the fans began to chant his name: "Tug! Tug! Tug!" When asked for comment, Hulett just said he wished to thank his mother for giving him a chantable name. I'm going to assume he would also thank his mother at an awards show.

Best Visual Effects:
Jose Iglesias: The Cuban defector is flashing the leather as promised, and according to coaches and teammates, has no shortage of enthusiasm. He's also had some good plays with the bat, although he'll start the year in the minors (probably Portland) to work some more on offense.

Best Foreign Film:
John Lackey: This one is a bit of a stretch, but let's be serious: to most of New England, Anaheim might as well be a foreign country. However, the new Sox pitcher is perfroming admirably, "sailing through" his outings thus far. When asked if he felt slighted by being third in the rotation, he seemed honest when he said it was fine with him: “If the roles were reversed, and I would have stayed in Anaheim and those guys had come over there, I would expect to still be going first. I think those guys have earned the right. They’ve won a lot of games for Tito, and to go in front of me, I’m alright with that.”

Best Picture:So freakin' adorable.

Random Rant: Dipping

This evening, while I was conducting a review session for the class I'm TAing, four of the boys (all members of the baseball team) were dipping. For those who might be unfamiliar with the term, dipping is slang for chewing tobacco.

Now, I went to what could charitably be termed as a "hockey school" in high school, so there was plenty of that around, despite the fact that it was illegal for many of the students. However, I've never really understood its appeal.

I also know that athletes, hockey players and baseball players especially, dip all the time. Sadly, my favorite player is one of the worst offenders: nearly every picture of Dustin Pedroia reveals that telltale lump beneath his bottom lip.


Dipping is, to say the least, an unattractive habit, and while many of his peers eschew tobacco for bubble gum, Pedroia plows on in the tradition of so many big-leaguers before him: after all, what's an old time baseball movie without spitting in the dugout?

And what's the fun of chewing gum if you can't surreptitiously place it on the head of a teammate?

I know it takes someone crazy like me to notice these sorts of things, but Pedroia rarely gets shown in the dugout. Part of this, of course, is his tendency to swear vehemently whenever he makes an out - and even the most novice of lip readers can see the F-bomb the way Pedey drops it. However, television stations try their best to cut down on the screen time of tobacco, and it's costing me precious Pedroia time. So please, Dustin, for the sake of your fans, lay off the dip?