by Stephen King
Could this be the magical night it starts to happen???!!!?
Hold de fone! And git yo FREEK on!!!
SO: Naysayers everywhere. It’s too easy. You could damn the chances of every team in the majors and at the end of the year you’d be 29–1. Haven’t the Pats taught him anything? Dare to believe.
Speaking of streaks, d’ja see my Bucs reeled off ten straight before losing to the Marlins last night? So it can happen to anybody.
July 7th
Tonight Mark Belllhorn takes Mark Redman deep in the first for a 1–0 lead. Like Zito, Redman struggles. In the second he gives up a solo shot to Nomar, and then a batch of hits, including a big double by Tek and a two-out RBI single by Johnny, and we’re up 6–0 and on our way to a rare blowout behind Pedro.
July 8th
It’s Game 83, two past the halfway mark, and for the very first time (including spring training) we field our real starting lineup: Schill and Tek; Millar, Pokey, Nomah and Bill Mueller; and Manny, Johnny and Trot, with Big David at DH.
The Schilling-Harden matchup’s in our favor, and goes that way early. Ortiz busts out of his slump with a tater over the Sox bullpen in the first, and Harden throws one at Manny’s head. In the third, Manny retaliates with a three-run opposite-field shot. By the fifth it’s 7–1 and this one looks in the bag.
But the A’s don’t roll over. Schilling’s had a twenty-five-minute wait before the sixth, and they get a pair off him. In the seventh, Timlin gives up a two-out double to Erubiel Durazo and an RBI single to Bobby Crosby, and it’s 7–4. Francoma (as the press has been calling him) leaves him in in the eighth; he gives up another run, and with one out, we have to go to Foulke. He gets Byrnes with a change-up for the second out, but on 0-2, Scott Hatteberg slaps another change off the chalk behind third and it’s a one-run game. Jermaine Dye, 0 for his last 15, skies one to left-center. Johnny goes back toward the corner where the Monster meets the center-field wall and leaps, but it’s off the Monster and bounces across center toward Trot. Hatteberg scores to tie the game. Dye’s into third standing up, and Fenway’s grumbling. Durazo chases strike three to end the inning, but our six-run lead’s history.
Foulke throws a one-two-three ninth. Octavio Dotel looks tough, getting them to the tenth, but the A’s pen has thrown too many innings this series. They go to Justin Lehr, who gave up four runs in a single inning Tuesday. He gets Tek and pinch hitter Mark Bellhorn, but Johnny singles to left. The A’s move their outfield back so nothing gets through. It’s a shrewd move, as Bill Mueller lines one to the left-center gap. Kotsay ranges over from center to cut it off in front of the scoreboard, but bobbles it. Johnny’s going to try to score anyway—at home you make them make the play. The crowd’s up and loud. The relay’s good, Crosby to catcher Damian Miller, but Johnny belly flops and slides a hand across the plate, and David Ortiz is there to call him safe and wrap him in a bear hug. The dugout rushes the field, mobbing Johnny and Bill Mueller, and it’s a sweep. We’re 46-37 and tied with Oakland for the wild card, and on Extra Innings, Eck is pumped. “Oakland’s not going to do it,” he says. “They’re showing me nothing. They’re done. Remember, I was the one that said it.”
July 9th
Although things are heating up on All My Children, I was able to forego Babe’s struggles with the evil JR and JR’s equally evil (and well-heeled) daddy to relish the highlights of last night’s 8–7 Red Sox win over the A’s, completing the Sox sweep and returning Boston to a tie in the wild-card race. More important to me at this stage of the season, one three-game series away from the All-Star break, is the fact that we’ve managed to make up some ground against the Yankees, who have lost five of their last seven.
The papers made much this morning about Oakland’s surge in the late innings of last night’s game (they pounded out 17 hits, most of them against the bullpen and the key ones against Keith Foulke, who blew the save opportunity), but my take on it is more optimistic. Here’s a good Oakland team that gets blown out in the first two contests of a key series, their pitching touched up for 22 runs. Trailing by six runs in the final game, they do what good teams do: fight and scratch and claw their way back into contention, trying to come away with something. But in the bottom of the tenth, Johnny Damon singled to left, then scored when A’s center fielder Mark Kotsay bobbled Bill Mueller’s line shot. It was only the smallest of bobbles—only a step’s worth, surely—but Damon was running for all he was worth and that one extra step (and a hard slide across home) was just enough to win the game. It was a thrilling play, bringing the crowd at Fenway (and yours truly at home) to their feet, cheering. In the end, it was the good twin of the game Boston tried so hard to win against the Yankees and lost in thirteen innings.
So that’s three. That’s your little streak. Tonight we’re back to Arroyo. It’s up to you, Bronson: keep me away from All My Children.
SO: What do you think of the resurgence in Randy Johnson rumors? Could we get him for, say, Arroyo and BK, or is now the time to ship Lowe, before he walks?
And on a lesser note, did you see Ellis Burks had to go back and have surgery on that knee a second time? He’ll be out till September. So, since he has three singles and a homer so far, we’re paying him roughly two hundred thou a hit.
SK: A lot of talk about “blowing” that lead, but what really happened was Oakland struggling desperately to take one of three…and we held ’em off! Now we gotta keep going. As for the Ellis Burks thing…well, this is an old Red Sox trick. Next thing you know, we’ll be bringing the Hawk out of retirement.
Or the Eck.
SO: Why stop with one Hawk? Bring back Andre Dawson too. Speaking of knees.
Tonight it’s Bronson Arroyo versus the Rangers’ Joaquin Benoit at Fenway, yet another sellout crowd. In the dugout, the Sox are goofing with an oversized bobble-head doll of Pedro. The controversy is that Francona’s given him permission to go home to the DR, since he doesn’t pitch until after the break. “I bet a lot of guys would like to go home early,” Jerry grouses, and he’s right.
To start, Arroyo gives up a double to Soriano, but Kevin Millar makes a great snag of a liner at first to turn two and bail his pitcher out.
SK: God, but ole Bronson looked shaky in the first inning, didn’t he?
I’ve seen tonight’s plate umpire before. He played the World Champion Blind Lady in a revival of WAIT UNTIL DARK. Oh well, 1–0 Sox [Johnny scoring on a Manny sac fly in the bottom of the first]. Go Bronson. But shave that goat.
That umpire is a serious Cheez-Dog. Hasn’t given pore ole Bronson one single corner. The A-man won’t live long against a hard-hitting club like this getting calls like that. He’s got 3 Ks through 3 2/3; with the same stuff (and the same ump), Pedro would have 7.
Benoit’s thrown okay as well, but in the fifth Johnny hooks one around the Pesky Pole, and while Benoit gets the next three guys, they all hit the ball hard. In the sixth, he loads the bases with no outs. Tek Ks on three pitches before Bill Mueller hits a sac fly, and here’s Johnny again, poking a wall double to score two more.
SK: Arroyo looks like the real deal tonight, don’t he? At least through 7.
SO: Make that 8. [As I’m typing, Johnny hits one into the Rangers’ pen.] And Johnny is just smoking. 4 for 5 with 2 dingers, 4 RBIs and 3 runs. I don’t know what Papa Jack did before the Oakland series, but it stuck. Come on, D-Rays! (They’re finishing the first half with the Yanks, of course.)
We win 7–0, and it’s a fast game, as quick as Pedro’s two-hitter against the Pods.
SO: And there you have it, a nifty three-hitter, with Curtis the Mechanic throwing a lean and clean ninth.
So, you think we’re really going to try for Randy Jo?
SK: I think we’d be fools not to try for him. Hey, what harm? Throw all the lettuce into the Saladmaster, and let’s have some World Series coleslaw.
We got four, I want some more—
SO: Hey, if John Henry’s buying…
And in a briefly noted roster move, we se
nd nice kid Lenny DiNardo down to Pawtucket and bring up veteran righty Joe Nelson, who didn’t pitch at all last year due to injuries. He’s the twenty-second pitcher we’ve tried in the first half.
July 10th
We’re driving the kids to camp in Ohio, a nine-hour jaunt. As darkness falls, we’re on I-90 west of Erie when Trudy’s cell phone plinks. It’s her father, excited about the game: Manny’s hit two out and we’re up 11–6 in the third. Bellhorn’s made two errors behind Lowe, but atoned with a homer of his own.
Later, during the Oakland-Cleveland game, we hear an update: Sox 14–6 over Texas in the eighth. Tek’s gone deep, and Nomar. Looks like five in a row, our second-longest streak of the season.
July 11th
Coming home, the only game we can pull in on the radio is the Buffalo Bisons and Durham Bulls, and all the way across the Southern Tier we listen to the Indians’ and D-Rays’ minor leaguers (including old Sock Midre Cummings) pay their dues. During a pitching change, the announcers dump the out-of-town scoreboard on us. “Up at Fenway, it was Texas beating the Red Sox six to five.”
“Shit,” I say. Notice that the first stage is anger, not denial—that comes later.
“The Yankees outlasted Tampa Bay—”
“Dammit.” I sag back in my seat, defeated. I really thought they’d pay the Rangers back with a sweep, maybe even pick up a game, but no, we win two out of three from a first-place team and lose ground.
July 12th
The recap in the paper is weirdly cheery, the writer giving us credit for fighting back, as if that proves the character of the team. We were down 5–2 in the bottom of the seventh when Doug Mirabelli hit a two-run shot and then Johnny D soloed to tie it. In the eighth, Foulke gave up a run, then in the ninth, Pokey, pinch-running, got picked off first. Everyone agrees that the ump blew the call, but they also agree that the ball beat him there, it was just a high tag. Shades of Damian Jackson pinch-running against the Yanks last year and getting picked off second. It’s great that we came back, sure, but that makes Foulke’s blown hold that much worse. He’s been shaky lately, one reason why the only games we win seem to be blowouts.
And Manny, listed on Francona’s lineup card, begged off at the last minute, saying his left hamstring felt tight, giving the columnists something to gnaw on.
In the wild-card race we’re still a game up on Oakland, with the Angels and Twins only a half back of them.
The Randy Johnson sweepstakes is on. The D-backs have the worst record in the majors, and Randy Jo’s forty years old and can’t wait for them to retool. The Sox and Yanks are interested, and possibly the Angels. The Unit seems to be having fun with all the attention, saying he can’t decide which chowder he likes best, New England or Manhattan. Really, it’s a no-brainer; Mr. Schill could tell him that. The guys who bring a title to Fenway will be folk heroes. In New York, he’d be just another hired gun. I mean, seriously, who’ll remember Jon Lieber?
Tonight’s the All-Star Home Run Derby, and Manny’s stepped aside to give David Ortiz his spot. El Jefe’s taken batting-practice pitcher Ino Guerrero with him to Houston as his secret weapon, but can’t find his groove. He hits a girder beneath the roof, a titanic shot, but it doesn’t count. He’s got five outs on him before he sticks one into the upper deck and ends up with three, not enough to make the semis. Manny jogs over and sticks a Yankee cap on Ino.
July 13th
Tonight is the All-Star Game, and I find that working on this book has turned me into a kind of ex officio ballplayer in at least one way: because my team isn’t playing, I have almost no interest in which show horse wins the make-believe contest. [27] Like the less stellar ballplayers, I’m just kicking back, watching some VH-1 (also some All My Children reruns on Soapnet) and enjoying my three nights off. Chillin’.
I had intended to write some sort of midseason summary, and find I have little to write. That’s a good thing. Boston ended the first half winning five out of six and putting all trade rumors (except for that sweetly wistfulone that has Randy Johnson in a Red Sox uniform) to rest. Their won-lost record is almost exactly what it was at the break a year ago, when they went into postseason as the AL wild-card team, and indeed they lead the wild-card race this year by a game (over the Oakland Moneyball boys).
But still… the gloom. Why?
Because that Reverend Dimmesdale–Hester Prynne jazz in The Scarlet Letter isn’t just romantic bullshit, that’s why. There is a very real streak of dour pessimism in the New England character, and it runs right down into the bedrock. We buy new cars expecting them to be lemons. We put in new heating systems and expect them not just to go tits-up but to do it stealthily, thereby suffocating the kiddies in their beds (but leaving us, their parents, to grieve and blame ourselves for at least fifty years). We understand we’re never going to win the lottery, we know we’ll get that unpassable and exquisitely painful gallstone on a hunting or snow-mobiling trip far from medical help, and that Robert Frost was fucking-A right when he said that good fences make good neighbors. We expect the snow to turn to freezing rain, rich relatives to die leaving us nothing, and the kids (assuming they escape the Black Furnace Death) to get refused by the college of their choice. And we expect the Red Sox to lose. It’s the curse, all right, but it has nothing to do with the Bambino; it’s the curse of living here, in New England, just up that Christing potholed I-84 deathroad from the goddamn New York Yankees.
With all that at work, it’s hard for the head to convince the heart how good this current Red Sox team is—the front three pitchers are solid, the hitting is fearsome from one to seven (I hate that Youkilis, an on-base machine, is sitting on the bench so much, though), and on a good night the defense is adequate. Terry Francona has shown mediocre managerial skills at best in the first half, but he’s also shown a willingness to learn. Sure, the Yankees are the elephant in the living room; at 55-31, they are the best team in major league baseball (given their incredible payroll, they better be). But let’s brush aside a little of our natural Red Sox/New England gloom here long enough to point that at 48-38, the Red Sox are ten games over .500, and that other than the Yankees, only Texas in the AL and St. Louis in the NL have better records [28] …plus we just beat Texastwo out of three. Now that we have our big guys back and starting to hit the ball, I think we’ll be in it till the very end, be it bitter or sweet. That’s as far as I’m willing to go right now, but I think in mid-July, that’s quite far enough. When I get the glooms, I just tell myself things could be a lot worse.
I could be writing a book about Seattle (32-54), for example. Case closed.
It’s 1–0 AL in the first inning of the All-Star Game, and Clemens is struggling (Jason Schmidt should have started for the NL, but politics is all). With one aboard, he gets two strikes on Manny. Yankee groupie and chucklehead blabbermouth Tim McCarver hasn’t brought up the fact that it was Clemens’s high fastball to Manny in the ALCS last year that sparked the Pedro-Zimmer brawl. He doesn’t have time now, as Clemens misses his location, serving Manny a thigh-high fastball on the inside of the plate, and Manny lines it into the left-field seats for a two-run shot. And while this is only a silly exhibition game, it’s a measure of vindication and revenge. Not a word from McCarver, as if his memory banks have been wiped clean.
Clemens gives up 6 runs in the first, and I wonder if batterymate Mike Piazza is telling the hitters what’s coming. Speaking of revenge.
Later, when the AL lead is 7–4, David Ortiz outdoes his amigo, going upper deck on former Sox prospect Carl Pavano for a two-run job, sealing the win. It’s the first time AL teammates have gone deep since Cleveland’s Al Lopez and Larry Doby in 1954. Not Mantle and Berra or McGwire and Canseco or even Lynn and Rice, but Ramirez and Ortiz. I’m thinking maybe they’ll give Manny and David a joint MVP award, but the game’s being played in Houston (at old Enron Field, with the elder Bush in the front row), and they give it to Texas’s Alfonso Soriano for his three-run shot, which was just padding at the time. Still, I’m proud
that we represented, even with Mr. Schill not throwing. And, as I e-mail Steve, after playing on the road throughout the playoffs last year, we can sure use the home-field advantage.
SK: Yep. Otherwise, I don’t care. What’s the comparison between the Red Sox won/lost record for last year versus this year at the All-Star break?
SO: Last year we were 55-38 at the break and only two games back (compared with 48-38 and 7 back this year). According to the archives on redsox.com, folks were stoked about our surprising offense (and especially impressed with Theo’s pickups like Ortiz, Millar, Todd Walker and Bill Mill, and the explosive debut of just-acquired Gabe Kapler), though still worried about our pen. We may have blown some late-inning heartbreakers, but the swoon waited until after we pulled within a game of the Yanks in late July.
July 15th
The newest Randy Johnson rumor has Theo shipping Nomar to Arizona. It’s too much, even if we don’t think we can re-sign him. The idea’s weird: Nomar reunited with his free-swinging pal Shea.
Meanwhile, due to league rules, Mendoza has to be promoted to the big club or released, so to make room for him, Theo and Terry send Kevin Youkilis down to Pawtucket—unfair. Since Bill Mueller’s been back, there’s no position for him, but it seems a shame not to carry him as a pinch hitter.
