Curse the SEC

I love Tuesdays. In the news world it is usually the most boring day of the week. Now, being as my Monday and Tuesdays are more like Saturdays and Sundays, I had nothing better to do last Tuesday than listen to some good music, clean my room- and discover. The cover.

With voodoo dolls and a "Curse the SEC" proclamation, ESPN magazine's college football preview is asking, "can someone please take down college football's most dominant conference?"

Less than a month till kick off, and this is what finally does it. And by "it" I mean this gets the blood pumping, the adrenaline flowing and I realize ladies and gentleman- it's here. Every reason why I love college football is right here.

After several rants, in my head, on social media and once more in my head, I realized I couldn't be happier that ESPN did this. Curse the SEC? Well, you can certainly try. In fact I wouldn't be a part of the SEC if I didn't chuckle at this. For years the SEC has already faced the brunt of anti-SECism. But now, instead of being confined to just conversations, back of the internet blogs and young 20-something frat guys bickering in bars or Skip Bayless needlessly speaking when he takes a break from Tebow- this sentiment has gone "mainstream" finally gracing the cover of ESPN Magazine. AND- my favorite- it's complete with the statement at the bottom "We're talking to you, Trojans"... 

Gag me now.

ESPN officially does not care about transparency.

Every year, fans and media go off intangibles to try to define a season ahead. But without hesitation, before the first whistle even blew I already bet that USC will not make it to a National Championship this year. Sorry to disappoint, ESPN, or any of the other college football fans who are insulted by my confidence. A confidence that has only a little to do with where I come from and everything to do with going against what Alabama Football's fearless leader believes. (I'm sorry Nick Saban, my distaste for Lane Kiffin was overpowering).

We don't know who will get hurt in the season, we don't know who is going to pull a jackass moment and get caught with drugs [at the time of this writing Tyrone Mathieu had not been dismissed- but it goes to show you], DUI's or heaven forbid another sex scandal. Or for those of you who like the glass half-full mentality, we don't know if a break-out star will just unleash come November. We just don't know.

Right now, all we have is that the SEC still has the top two teams in preseason rankings, but Nick Saban will tell you why that doesn't matter worth a shit.

"All these predictions that you all make, they hijack the game,"he said the morning of UA's 2012 Fan Day.

Yes, Saban was talking to the media and maybe for the love of the lord ESPN is taking notes. Especially when he added, "All anybody worries about in college football is the BCS, who's going to be in the final game. We have a lot of great games.... Michigan is going to be a great game, The Arkansas game, Tennessee game, LSU, Auburn. I could go through every game on our schedule and say how exciting a game this is going to be."

Which brings me to my next point.

Time and time again, despite intangibles, there are things we can count on to impact seasons in their entirety. Defense wins championships, and strength of schedule still significantly matters in a system where hundreds of schools are competing for one prize. If you don't compete against the best, then what makes you feel like you deserve to be the best?

And that's why the SEC still gets the win in my mind. Depth is at one of its greatest strengths at Alabama this year. At LSU? Well, their returners are potent with talent that has already taken them through a strong season last year. And they're hungry.

Alabama has a strong pulse of energy to be defined as anything but complacent, and even after winning a National Championship last year, the tone of the season rests on who-ever steps up in leadership positions and reminds them they are not the team of the past and Tuscaloosa wants to make history in 2013. It also rests on the return of a more mature QB, and an O-line that haunts nightmares. (If I had a nickel for every time I heard, "Good lord Fluker's huge" at Fan day...)
 

There goes some of the reasons people hate SEC fans, and if you're one of those haters, please I beg you just try to finish reading (although I know finishing is hard for some of you). Welp, probably lost a few readers there, but in all seriousness I realize I am a lucky son of a you-know-what to go to school where I go to school, when I go to school. (Roll Tide) I also realize what its like to be on the other side of this argument of passion. I am a Red Sox fan and yes, the Yankees a lot of time are just better. But keep your Alabama, Yankee comparisons to purely win-loss comparison. (Class and respect are things the Yankees don't have and Alabama and the SEC does).

Each conference is full of teams that can boast characteristics making their place to play football, "the best". Ralphie's run on the field is still a source of pride for CU fans- as it should be, and hook em horns (gah it hurts to type) will always be a hand gesture embodying the Texas spirit. There are traditions that make ESPNU's "Never Graduate" hit home at every college campus and the SEC is no different. Yet, every college football fan that comes to an SEC game at Alabama makes the same comment. "I've never seen anything like this." And its usually followed by deeply appreciated moments of silence as the person takes in as much as they can from the scene.

And thats why, when I heard what ESPN Soccernet's Susie Schaaf posted in her blog, I couldn't help but apply it to the SEC.

"Mia san Mia. It's a Bavarian phrase used by Bayern that translates as "We are who we are". It's somewhat akin to the Manc phrase I've seen on banners this year, "Not arrogant. Just better." We are two, insanely proud, universally loved by their fans - and hated by everyone else, clubs with long, storied traditions."

Don't get jealous, get even, and to do that you're going to need a lot more than a pass spread offense with a less than moral-driven coach and a California quarterback.

I'm not saying there won't be a time when the SEC isn't on top. But that time isn't now, and if you ask any serious fan in Dixie, they'll tell you they hope to never see the day when the SEC is overtaken. But the beautiful thing I hope I can speak on behalf of all SEC fans in saying, is when that time does come, if an opponent meets an SEC team on the gridiron, the only way we will accept defeat is to a worthy opponent whose performance is as respectful as ours, both to the game, to the fans and to the legacy of college football which is so proudly protected under southern skies.

Until then, we're not arrogant. Just better, and its literally a fact.

When you produce running backs in a time honored brotherhood whose unspoken traits are consistently; perseverance, physicality, pugnacious fervor to take something head on, and the undeniably SEC will to never be denied....

When your stadium erupts when linebacker's names come across the jumbotron...

When your fans have nothing else to live and breathe for than football- or so it seems every Saturday....

When being a part of your program, even as a fan isn't all glitz but sometimes its a craziness you must accept. When you have fans who show up to a public practice over 72 hours early and camp out for the chance to be first in the stadium for the past five Fan Days...

When your schools never rush the field after a win, because winning is what you came to do and acting like you've never won before says more than the score does... and that's when the southerners say, "Oh bless their heart, they're rushin the field."

When ladies wear dresses, pearls and full make up and curls, and the men wear slacks, polos or even suits to games like its time to go to church. Because football is a religion that doesn't discriminate based on anything but color of jersey and because the respect for this game is more than just cheering, its a tradition that stems from something much bigger than seeing one year in the winner's circle.

You might find my prose dripping with everything that makes the SEC despicable to you. But when your school does all that I just mentioned, then you may know what it means to be in the SEC and what it feels like to have a mantra that is often mistaken for arrogance. To have fans who are often mistaken for elitists. What you are really seeing is a pride that comes from respecting what sacrifice is, and while every team this season comes from adversity, has it's troubles, and makes it's compromises no matter their conference- SEC teams are filling their fall camps with the mentality that nothing is born out of being good, but everything is born in the sacrifice to be great.

Here's what I say to all SEC fans insulted by the lack of professional journalism ESPN showed in their recent magazine cover. Targets on SEC backs are not new and ESPN's love affair with the Trojans isn't either. So why am I so happy about this cover? Because any smart college football fan knows, never piss off an SEC team.

The SEC welcomes the chance every year to be denied. Because in those challenges that threaten to dethrone them, the conference proves time and time again just why they belong on top.

Thanks for the fuel ESPN. Let the season begin, and we'll show you what being a part of the SEC is all about- and it has nothing to do with cursing the opponent and everything to do with a shut-up and play grit that has carried this conference to dominance for six straight years.

Learning a Gentleman’s Sport in a World Full of Hypocrites

By; Sarah Chovnick

When Sarah Chovnick left the University of Alabama she knew a few things for sure; 1.) She loved sports and 2.) “Roll Tide” was the best phrase ever uttered. As a recent graduate she set off on a new journey in a world she was less than used to. But in just a bit, she found the essence of a little game called golf. 

Welcome to another take on Rule 71. 

Tiger, Rory, Phil. Those are the ‘currents’ we all know. Their likeness is trade-worthy in words over the water cooler or coffee machines in the break room. Then there is Jack and Arnold and those of the sort. Everyone with the least bit of sports knowledge knows them, even if some know them for having a similar name to a famous actor or the fact that they trade-marked epic iced tea concoctions.

            For the average Joe who turns on SportsCenter every now and again to see how their home team did in the big game, those are the only ones they need to know. And if you yourself are sitting there thinking, “she is talking about golfers, right?” then you would be correct. I am talking about golf, the gentleman’s sport. 

            But the vast majority of vaguely knowledgeable sports fans would have no idea who Luke Donald or Lee Westwood are. For those of you who are saying, “No, Sarah. And why should I care?”, I say to you they are the number 1 and number 3 ranked golfers in the world, respectably.

I would be lying if I said that as of a month ago I knew any more than these simple truths. If you had asked me, “Sarah, what do you know about golf?” my answer would have been as follows. Tiger was good, then he cheated on his wife and he hasn’t won much since. Rory, that dorky little curly head kid, has a pretty cool accent and I didn’t know who he was until a year ago. And some dude named Bubba, who is, unfortunately, a Georgia Bulldog, just won the coveted green jacket from Augusta. Roll Tide. And that was my answer…even when I applied for a job at the Golf Channel. 

How I ended up doning a NBCUniversal Employee badge is still somewhat of a mystery to me. But I can honestly say my knowledge of the gentleman’s sport has drastically increased in a small amount of time.

Little background information and shameless plug inserted here… Golf Channel is a 24-hour network dedicated solely to, what else, golf. A morning news talk show kicks off the day and a SportsCenter-esque news show titled Golf Central in the evening, padded out by various original programming and tournament coverage. The channel, part of the NBC Sports family, provides up to date information about everything and anything golf related. Okay, schpeil over.

Bottom line, I was as clueless as the next one about the sport. Sports, sure, I knew. Quiz me on anything college football and NFL related and I could school you. But golf, I was out of my element. While I was driving down to Orlando I thought to myself, what have I gotten myself into? Sure I can learn it quickly, but who knows if I will even enjoy it.

Not only have I learned so much more about the sport, and know exactly who Westwood and Donald are- but also who Dustin Johnson is, and, why it was a huge stepping stone for him when he won the FedEx St. Jude Classic in Memphis a handful of weekends after coming off an injury. Then it was onto the U.S. Open, which he failed to excel. I can also tell you that Shanshan Feng won the Wegman’s LPGA Championship as the first female Chinese golfer in history. And I can also tell you that I now fully enjoy the game of golf.

Watching Tiger at the Memorial Tournament in Ohio was not only exciting for spectators of the sport, but those who work in it as well. Not only did he tie Jack Nicklaus for the second most career wins, but he also did so in champion fashion- fully equipped with the made-for-T.V. fist-pump with an excited crowd in the background, happy to cheer on golf’s version of Michael Jordan who was finally back in the winner’s circle.

Golf has this way of roping a viewer in to watching for hours on a sport they aren’t entirely sure of the rules-and maybe that’s the beauty of it. There are no refs to argue with on a blind call or politics over who should really deserve the number one ranking. Golf is about numbers. Money won, strokes made, putts missed, birdies, bogeys, and the occasional eagle. 18, the number of holes played every day. 72, the typical par for a championship golf course. And in case you were ever wondering, 336 is the average amount of dimples on a regulation size golf ball (Thank me later when you win trivia because you know this fun-fact).

Golf is about distance measured between tee and green. It’s about wind, rain, dryness, temperature, and technicality. It’s a concentration sport, not an athletic one. It’s about comebacks and legacies. It’s about unsung hometown heroes that rise above all odds and snag the trophy when they entered Sunday 6 strokes behind. It’s about the game, not about the fame.

And that’s why I have learned to love it.

The Art of Goodbye

Seeing Youk go was watching a piece of nostalgia walking away with that bald head and ballerina batting stance. But let's face it, he's not the first to go. And he's not the last

            Every bride looks beautiful, but she was elegant and angelic. Her dad walked his baby girl down the isle with a face that revealed his secret; that he would break down at any time. A tear finally rolled down his cheek as he kissed her good bye. Hearts broke as she clutched to him for one last embrace, the way things were.

            At the reception I asked him what he thought about it all.

            “Just another day,” he said and looked out to his daughter.

            And it was.

            They would hug again. He would tell her he loved her and she would always be his little girl but in one tear was a moment of purity that said potently, “life is precious and the time is fleeting.”

            On my way home I sat in a quiet airport gate, scrolling through the news that Kevin Youkilis, the Greek God of Walks had been traded.

            “Red Sox acquire INF/OF Brent Lilibridge and RHP Zach Stewart from White Sox in exchange for Youk”

            “After 9 years in Boston, Youk is changing the color of his sox”

            I read the tweets and Facebook statuses over and over. Finally I read, “Kevin Youkilis is honored on field with standing ovation after being removed from game”. Another tweet described how bellows of “Youkkkkk!” soared through the Fenway air. Something it wouldn’t do the same way ever again.

            Sitting on the hot tarmac in Pittsburgh I felt the goosebumps from imagining the sight and sound of what that good bye must have meant miles away in Boston. 

            Before then, as I went through the security checkpoint, two young teenage girls hugged each other discretely on the side of a gift shop. Their shoulders rose and fell with their sobs. Over that unmistakable human sound of weeping, I heard the delicate words, “good bye”.

            How naïve, that they thought a good thing wouldn’t come to an end.

             Even though that was true, strangers turned away because no one was strong enough to deny it was hard not to want to cry right along with them.

            No, there’s no crying in baseball. But at the very moment Youk was saying good bye to the Boston Red Sox, I was at an airport- the very place where the inevitability of life is comings and goings. And even when that’s recognized, you still can’t help but fight back the tears when touches of emotion pops into the patterns of redundancy and you remember just why you’re sad to go.

            Life returns. The girl’s tears stopped halfway through security. Youk will get walks, he will bat and play in a different uniform ( and be 1 and 4 in his first attempt). More will come and more will go. That’s why it’s so important to stop and appreciate the power of goodbye and all it teaches in being grateful for good memories.

            I read another tweet, while I sit paused in the place that is all about good byes. “David Ortiz is now the last remaining member of the 2004 team.”

             2004.
            Now those were some good memories.

           

As a player you might never know how you will be received in Fenway for the first time you're not one of them. But inside, I think you know if you'll be accepted among the greatest crowd of all. 

It's been fun, wish you the best.  

The Greatest Gift

2011 was a tough year for me both inside and out of the baseball diamond. So would you think bad memories of a spring tornado and a fall losing record would taint the greatest love of my life?

This off-season was a test in my search for a new sense of normalcy and as the year anniversary to a public and private disaster comes closer, yes, baseball comes to rescue me again.

            Some of you will read this and say, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, stop bringing it up.” Some of you will shake your head trying to get the awful taste of September memory out of your mouth because you only just got it out.

            So let me save you the torture of the long drawn out blow to your chest: I mention the Red Sox disasterdly September swoon of apocalyptic proportions that history will never forget and neither can we.

            Okay, maybe I dramatized it but only in true Red Sox angst.

            No, the real story here is not Jonathon Papelbon’s departure, its not necessarily about the fried chicken and beer. It’s about appreciating the here and now, something we forget to do until it’s gone. Not everyone has a tornado that teaches us that but that’s why we all have a gift called baseball.

Game 162, 2011

            I remember being in Atlanta, in the fifth inning I smiled up at the MLB scoreboard. The Sox were winning, the Braves were ok and the Rays were down seven runs. That’s when I looked up at that gorgeous full fall moon. 

            Momentum has gathered all it could from 161 games of the past. So, now when it switches, it’s drastic. We humans are always surprised when momentum changes, so thank God baseball is there to show us why it does.

            Baseball gives us so many lessons. 

            Few things are simple, even though sometimes they are disguised as such.

            A simple out- there’s no such thing. That’s why you never count them… but most of the time it’s just too easy to.

            6,5,4 away… 3,2,1 away

            Because what isn’t attainable in baseball remains just that in baseball- oh thank you for being the perfect metaphor for life.

            Each year, baseball’s characters, whether they be organizational entities or individuals that make them, they all go through something. Something heroic, something disastrous, something sad, something joyful, or something so utterly human like winning and losing.

            There are no perfect records in baseball because there are no perfect records in life and yet we still strive for it and that’s what makes us so human, and the game so beautiful. 

    Opening day reminds me that I’m alive. Opportunity is a blank canvas begging to be painted and those pitches in October are so far away, but you know they’ll be there, waiting in that fall moonlight- even if you’ll be watching with a heavy heart watching someone else’s team. At least its still baseball, and I’ll still smile in those crisp October nights, because the culmination took what felt like a lifetime to get there.

            But I won’t lie, I’m not thinking past April for my Sox. No sir. I won’t take the lessons of last September for granted, and so for Boston the pressure is off in that regard. We are literally playing for our dignity this year.

            Oh baseball, thank you for being the perfect metaphor for life.

Game 162, September 28, 2011

            Someone on TV called this day the greatest day of baseball.

            Yeah. Try telling that to the Red Sox fan sitting in Turner Field watching the final seconds of demise tick away effortlessly in the perfect storyline of a speeding train whose inevitability is a fiery crash. It’s that feeling, but in seconds, it’s that in 161 games, it’s that in one pitch, in one rain delay, one out, and one game where one Red Sox fan sits in a different city at a different game watching the league scoreboard lights flash an ‘F’ next to a losing score.

            Final nail in the coffin and I am not sure if I want the F to stand for final or fail, because to me it is both.

            Oh baseball, thank you for being the perfect metaphor to life. And Opening Day, thank you for bringing us back from the dead. 

Shut Up about the Hair Already!

This Super Bowl Sunday, ESPN reporter Ashley Fox tried her best to sound like she knew something about football, and writing- but she failed at both. I won’t put you through the torture of having to read the whole thing but one early comment she made, quite generally and without supporting facts what so ever, was about Eli Manning finally proving he was better than Tom Brady. LORD. Here we go again.

            Stop with the QB whose better! When I look at the greatest quarterbacks of history I don’t just look at one game. In fact I pride my criteria of great athletes to be their consistency and long term effects on a team that respects him and flourishes under him.

            Also, lets preface this by saying, I respect Eli Manning. I respect him for bringing his team to where they are, and for pulling off a season that’s inconsistency forced them to pull off feats. Each quarterback has different weapons both around him and within him. Being a good quarterback is about what you've done and what you continue to do. (Usually consistently Eli) 

            Here’s what Ashley said,

“It all circled back to a relatively innocent comment from the usually innocuous Eli Manning, who in an August radio interview with Michael Kay said he considered himself "in that class" of elite quarterbacks with Tom Brady.

It was blasphemous then. And now?

Well, once and for all, Manning can prove it. End the debate. Silence the critics. Beat the best quarterback of this generation, the one with the three Super Bowl rings and the uber-hot wife and the great hair, in Super Bowl XLVI on Sunday and there will be no question, no caveat, not anymore.”

Whoa, “great hair”?

 I’m a Patriots fan, but I called him the greasy Latino the entire time he tried to channel Fabio through his unbrushed oily mess of hair. That’s cute Ashley, but come on, your insulting your own intelligence. Because you know as well as I do that doesn’t silence the critics, it just wakes them up even more.

            This game can sure help Eli Manning’s case for being one of the best, but it doesn’t automatically trump Tom Brady, because, HELLOOOO, Tom Brady has a head start on that whole passing record, Super Bowl MVP thing. But what would I know, I’m not trying to force irrelevant storylines down sports fans throats like some four letter channel owned by ABC.

Oh and hey, despite everything, happy Super Bowl Sunday everyone! And go Pats! 

I guess it doesn't look too bad

"She Was a Superstar, with the Humility of a Rookie"

“We came here to honor her, because everything she believed in is on this mountain tonight,” Winter X Games commentator, Sal Masekela said on Thursday. “Competition, excellence and progression.”

            I watched Sarah’s Burke’s family with smiles of sadness, accepting the sport that killed their daughter, their sister, their wife.

            When the free skier died at the age of 29 in a skiing accident on the halfpipe in Park City, Utah, headlines questioned if the sport forced people to go too far too fast.

            I’m not a free style skier but I know enough about the culture to know that was a hard blow to read for anyone exploring limits of human accomplishment.

            In Aspen, at Winter X Games 2012, an announcer read, “It’s been said that the brave do not live forever, but the cautious do not live at all.”

            Then, one by one the lights went dark on the halfpipe venue that Sarah Burke was so instrumental in propelling forward, the venue where she got her last big air on earth.

            In black, armed with only the light of white glow sticks, skiers and snowboarders slowly moved on their boards and instruments of sport toward the mourning family that waited at the bottom.

            The mountain area was silent. Almost like rushing water in the distance, the cool ‘shhhh’ of fallen precipitation was the sound their boards made as it crushed and displaced the snow quietly and peacefully.

            It was as if the sport was apologizing and what was even more beautiful is her family was accepting.  

            It was sorry that it asked so much of their daughter, perhaps sorry it had to take her, and even more sorry that it had to keep going.

            Her family seemed to understand. And that is the best tribute to Sarah Burke. Her lasting legacy, no flowers on a headstone but a wordless exchange of respect for someone they both loved, with something she loved.

“I just ski because I really like it. I’m not going out there to win the most money or make a huge difference, I just really love it.”

Doing something you love for the sake of loving it. That's something I hope to learn from her. 

http://espn.go.com/action/xgames/winter/2012/story/_/id/7508077/sarah-burke-tribute-airs-espn

Diary of a Mad Red Sox Fan

Is there any other kind? From the end of August to the end of September, Rule 71 has been dormant. The sports world is flourishing with stories that are soon to come. But one story, of demise, is the story this writer has been aching over for a month, a season- a lifetime. For a glimpse into the Red Sox Nation way of thinking, here is the Diary of A Mad Red Sox Fan.

            Thursday September 1, 2011 I strutted into a sports bar wearing my Red Sox jersey to watch the first game of the college football season. My apparel was met by un-approving people wearing harsh looks, scoffing at my attire that reeked of the “wrong sport”.

            How dare I bring baseball to a place like this, during a time like this?

            Earlier that day as I poured over my TV depicting the quiet pitch by pitch game, other TV’s, in the newsroom where I work, blared with big cheers and big plays that eagerly tackled my baseball peace.

             But I was happy to have college football chaos back because September transition in baseball is just plain stressful.

            To kick off the new month, the Sox did something in pure Sox fashion. Lose game three to the Yankees, in Fenway. Of course.

            When something is given to the Sox on a platter they slap it away while yelling, ‘I don’t need your fucking platter!’ That’s what they do, and Sept. 1, 2011 was no exception to the countless other nights I sat defeated in my Red Sox jersey once again.

            But here I go, as friends would say, always the complainer when it comes to Boston. Relatively speaking the Sox don’t have much to complain about. But settling with “good” is not possible when fan’s expectations rest with perfection. 

            It has been said that it's easier to have nothing than to have everything. Enter the Fenway Faithful, because their everything is Red Sox Baseball.

September 8, 2011

            As it is clearly into September, I battle the biggest bout of writer’s block known to mankind. Fitting because even if I could get out of it, I would only be writing about the success on the college football gridiron. NOT, the submission of first place by the Red Sox.

            Thankfully Tim Wakefield, come hell or high water, (i.e good or terrible writing) is pulling me out of the writing isolation in time so that I can hopefully (fingers crossed) celebrate his 200^th win with him and the organization he has so nobly dedicated his life and career to.

            He of all people know chasing a dream can take time, and this particular dream has taken over a month, dangling at the cusp of 199. Maybe its nice to look up the hill and know you still have a little bit to go to see from the top. Maybe its nice to know that you can get there, but in that knowledge, you can take your time- smell the roses. Or in the case of a knuckleballer you can try all you want and know the proverbial “ball” of fate is never really in your hands. Dealing with defeat and frustration is in their job description if not their DNA and Wakefield is the best of the best of his kind.

            September 10, 2011

            With the drop from first in the rankings, so too comes the drop from first in baseball for number of runs to second. Remember for the Sox; Resiliency is a frustrating necessity to a complete season.

            For the first time, real panic is starting to set in. And trust me it’s a different kind of panic than the 0-6 start we had in April. April is child’s play, September is a whole other game.

           In a weird change of direction my Youtube account recommends a video from 2011's Spring Training. During a press conference in February, a reporter talks about pitcher Josh Beckett and a comment he made, saying there hadn’t been a team with 100 wins in a while and he thinks this team would be the one.

            “Is he getting ahead of himself?” the reporter asked.

General Manager Theo Epstien answered. Even from Fort Myers Florida, Theo foreshadowed our current despair whether he knew it would happen or not, he warned all the same.

            “I think its nice that those players feel good about themselves and their teammates and what we have here, but, let's be honest- we haven’t done anything yet. I mean, all we have is a bunch of guys in this club house here to try to set out and do a job,” he said.

            “We’ve got a lot to prove. We got to prove we’re not a third place team in this division, we’ve got to prove we can stay healthy. We’ve got to prove repeat performances, what guys have done in the past that they can come out and do it again in 2011. We’ve got to prove that we can come together as a team.”

            Epstien counted the things the Red Sox needed to prove on his fingers as he spoke. As his index finger raised to represent his first address- our current standings waved like a red flag in my mind. As his middle finger rose to join the index, visions of third basemen Kevin Youkalis and pitcher Clay Bucholz rang clear in my head. When his third finger and pinky finger joined the rest to reveal the four things the Red Sox needed to prove even way back when, it was clear they needed to prove them now. Yet all I could see was a collage of Papi, Pedrioa, Gonzolez with their heads down, arms resting on the dugout fence- eyes coming up only to look out at the uncertainty of their post season prosperity. 

September 15, 2011

            Tim’s 200^th win and the Sox regaining dominance in their league never happened the day I thought it would.

For Tim, his fate would come on a Tuesday, Sept 13 night- finally, on his eighth try. The cheers supporting his storied career were celebrated in the dismal reality of the organization’s play-off berth.

            Fast forward to the start of the most pivotal series to date, by every ounce of the definition- pivotal.

            What the experts call ‘simple math’. The Sox lead the Wild Card by 4 games. Second place are the Rays. The Rays play the Sox in a four-game series. For each team it is literally do or die.

            I go onto NESN’s website and as they cover the important clash, I also see two stories talking about the Sox’s 2004 win. Readable news is their business but these headlines are not good for the business of baseball for the Red Sox. Nothing can stress more that this isn’t 2004 quite like a look at the current standings. As a die hard fan, sometimes cruel with over the top criticism, I don’t want the memory of 2004 even entering 2011’s October. Why? Because no amount of previous triumph, paper wins or records can help the Sox now. In a season of over 160 games past and future often become large focuses in the game. This series brings priority of the present. Welcome to the here and now.

Take a deep breathe people that almost-playoff air is crisp with anticipation. 

September 27, 2011

I have awoken from my writing slumber because the story of the Red Sox is too poetic to lose. Things look bad. But if the last five months taught me anything, its that just cause something looks bad doesn’t mean you can’t overcome.

            Our problems are personified to pitching, but hitters aren’t without their frustration, catchers without their injuries.

            And when life or a season gets to this point, nothing matters in measuring time but day-to-day, inning-to-inning, pitch-to-pitch, catch-to-catch.

            The Sox are 6-18 in September. Yeah. Oh and they haven’t won two games in a row since August 27th.

            Yesterday (Monday) we lost with Beckett, our best pitcher, on the mound. The always trusty Jacoby dropped a catch in center letting the Orioles score and every Sox fan to have flashbacks of unthinkable times. Just think, a day before on Sunday night, MVP candidate Ellsbury lifted hopes, stopped hearts and reincarnated faith in the swing of his bat in the top of the 14^th to get his 31^st homer of the season with two on base. We beat the Yankees and for a moment being so close to death seemed like a biblical but possible chance to come back to life. 

            The mentality I’ve kept through this all is if any team can make it back from the worst collapse in baseball- it would be the Red Sox. I can be stereotypical and list off a million Disney like and so-typical phrases like, “Keep the faith” or that one simple word we saw so many times years ago. Believe.

            But reality has been a cruel mistress to the Red Sox organization this year. Reality has beaten down the door of the rhetoric of well-orchestrated rosters and players on paper who are unstoppable.

            Spring training was heaven in that regard. But that was a lifetime ago. The start of the season with a 0-6 start was purgatory, stuck at the cusp right before the real worry when expectations painted a much prettier picture than the start we were seeing. Then bats exploded and football scores greeted us from ball parks around the country as something clicked and the Sox were doing what they were supposed to.

            Stop. 

I’m getting lost in the gilded age. 

      I sit with reality- September 27^th and it is telling me a 9 game lead in the wild card was just lost. Lost.

            Down to the wire doesn’t hold a candle to where the sox are now. When it counts the most, confusion, horrible pitching, injuries and an indescribable x-factor are a concoction to the hell we are in now. Players are stunned, fans are stunned. 

            All the while, Yankees fans come out of the woodwork in a time of year the Bronx call, “calling all bandwagoners!” They couldn’t even sell out a Sox/Yankees night game at the end of September. There are few die-hard Yankees fans held to the Boston definition, because Red Sox fans know nothing but. And right now they are all dying hard. 

Hope is but a tiny flicker, but a flame none-the-less.