Pedro's Farewell

By the time 2004 came to a close, it was clear that Pedro was a head case. I can’t say whether he was always that way, and no one noticed or cared, because he was Pedro (Pedro being Pedro); or whether he just couldn’t tolerate the thought of playing second fiddle to Schilling. Schilling had led the AL in wins, and had in one season worked his way to the top of the Sox lineup. Pedro, on the other hand, seemed to be slipping. His numbers were off; his velocity was down; and the Yankees had clearly gotten into his head. By the end of the ALCS, Pedro’s behavior had become so peculiar that it was hard to understand most of what he was doing. Game Six he skipped the trip to New York, supposedly so he could warm up. For what? For his one inning in Game Seven, that self-indulgent trip to the center of Yankee Stadium, where he gave up two runs in a single inning, and let the crowd back into the game, after Lowe had held the Yankees to a single hit over the first six? That was just an exercise in narcissism; Pedro needing to hear everyone chant, “Who’s your daddy?” A long way from the mango tree, but not too far from the loony bin.

This diagnosis was confirmed by Pedro’s performance in Game Three. The first three innings, he wass nothing special. He loaded the bases in the first, and escaped only because Manny threw out Walker at the plate. An inning ending double play, and Pedro got out of the first with no runs. In the third, Suppan’s base running gaff came with runners at second and third and no outs. But after the Suppan double play, Pedro retired the next fourteen. The Cards didn’t get another base runner until the ninth. So we have both sides of Pedro on display in the same game. First we see Pedro insecure : unsure of himself, and unable to get his pitches over, for the first two and two-thirds. Then suddenly he was the confident Pedro of old -- totally in control, dominant, unhittable for the next four and a third. I’m convinced that he left Boston because he needed to be the ace on his pitching staff, and didn’t really care what chance his team had for the post-season. Especially after having gotten his ring. Too bad. Even without his overpowering fastball, Pedro is still a better pitcher than anyone else on our 2005 staff.

Finally, a few numbers from Game Three. The first two runs came with two outs, making it eight in a row scored with two outs. The Sox won their seventh in a row. Pedro retired fourteen in a row. And out of the last 21 Cards to bat in this game, only one, Larry Walker got on base, so to speak. More like he touched the bases as he circled them in the ninth. Really, the series ended in the third, with the Suppan thing. After that, the Cards were on life support. Between the third inning of game three, and the end of game four, the Cards scored a single run. One run. It was all over except for the parade.

Hot Stuff

Matt lent me a DVD entitled, The World According to John Coltrane. It contains much of the same performance footage, which is available on other compilations. The quartet playing for European TV; performances of Impressions and My Favorite Things with Eric Dolphy; but with different interviews. Rashied Ali, Jimmy Heath, Shorter. To jazz fans, there’s no denying Coltrane’s stature. Still, I think Coltrane is perhaps one of the most underappreciated influences on American music, not just jazz, all kinds of music. I’ll defer again to Mike, who can better tell us the technical aspects of what’s going on, but Coltrane changed the way music sounded. Certainly, it’s hard to find any contemporary jazz player whose music doesn’t seem influenced, in one way or another, by Coltrane. But beyond his playing alone, Coltrane changed music – the way he opened up harmonies and rhythms, and even the structure of compositions or performances. He blended eastern sounds into western jazz. Coltrane’s music was, in part, a product of his times, the turbulent years of the late 50s and early 60s, when all kinds of conformities and barriers in society were being broken, and the culture everywhere was stretching its boundaries. So I suppose one can argue that if not Coltrane, someone else would have come along and accomplished the same thing. But the fact it, no one else had nearly the influence Trane did; no one else put so much of his own stamp on the sound of our music.

So here’s a fine example : Jan Garbarek’s new CD, In Praise of Dreams. Garbarek is a Norwegian sax player, who played with Keith Jarrett in the 70s. He has a distinctive sound, clearly influenced by Charles Lloyd , but harder and more metallic, and really quite recognizable. This is a different CD, featuring a violist, and Manu Katche on drums. It has a new agey sound to it, and Garbarek has often recorded stuff that doesn’t really sound like what we think of as jazz. Still, it’s well worth hearing. And whether it’s jazz or not is beside the point. The point here is that this music can trace itself, in no small measure, to John Coltrane. The sax playing; the open ended compositions; and the eastern influences, are all right out of Coltrance circa 1961. Echoes of India, and My Favorite Things can be heard throughout this CD.

Moving on now to another topic of mutual interest, I bought a bottle of Balvenie 21 yesterday. Finished in port casks. First off, it has a surprisingly nice nose for a highland malt. In fact, the nose is a bit fruity, hinting at the sweet undertones imparted by the port finish. The are very interesting soft flavors here. And as one would expect from a 21 year old malt, very smooth, very drinkable. And best of all, a pretty good deal for such an old malt. I managed to get it on sale, so that makes it even more enjoyable. The scotch guys who speak at the tastings always talk of how frugal the scotch folk are, so even though malts are far more pricey than most booze, it’s nice to be able to save a few bucks when splurging. And staying with that theme, last night at Max, I got a nice deal on an after dinner glass of Johnny Blue. Johnny Blue is unquestionably overpriced, notwithstanding its unique flavor. The Walker guys are geniuses to be able to market a blend at $200 a bottle. But setting aside that minor complaint, Blue is nevertheless worth a few bucks extra, both for its uniquely spicy flavor, and its silky smooth texture. Max had Blue listed for $38 a pour – too much. But when the bartender told me she’d let me have it for $20, she had a sale. A perfect conclusion to a fabulous meal. Tony is doing rigatoni Bolognese with the meat in the sauce being osso buco. Unreal. We’d been cooped up in the house for the last two weeks, eating Chen’s takeout and Sushi from Wegman’s, neither of which is anything to complain about, but still, a nice meal, with a fine scotch to end the evening was the right prescription for a night out.

Lastly, I’m up through Game Two of the series, in my detailed review of the 2004 post-season. This game is best remembered for Schilling’s courageous performance: no earned runs in six innings, after the fourth stitch had been removed by Dr. Morgan, allowing Schill first to walk around, and then to push off on the mound. Fans also remember that the sox scored all six runs with two outs. But here are a couple other overlooked details. Bellhorn’s remarkable run continued as he knocked in two runs with a double to the centerfield wall, right next to the Stop and Shop. Embree replaced Schilling and struck out the side in the seventh. Mueller made three errors, but redeemed himself with a big double right before Bellhorn’s hit. However, the MVP of Game Two was Donna Summer. She sang God Bless America, in the seventh, and totally nailed it. It’s been years since she was the Queen of Disco, but the girl can still sing. By the way, the Sox singers put the Cardinals to shame. Games three and four will feature all these country singers, who can barely hold a note. But on a cold night in Fenway, Donna Summer was as hot as the Sox.

Hennessy for the Homeless

Walking downtown today, on my way to lunch, I saw an empty booze bottle on the sidewalk. It was what we used to call a tenth, which stood for tenth of a gallon. About 12 ounces. Flat bottle, one that can fit into a jacket pocket. Out of curiosity, wondering what the locals are finding fashionable, or tasty, I took a look at the label – Hennessy. Cognac.

When I was a kid, and worked in the liquor store, we had regulars who came in for pints. But by and large, they were wine connoisseurs, or what we more colloquially called winos back then. Bums. And their drink of choice typically cost well under a dollar. Wild Irish Rose, Gallo Sherry, both about sixty-five cents a pint. Very affordable stuff, even on a bum’s budget.

Back in those days, very few customers even looked at cognac. There were brandy drinkers, and around holiday time, brandy sales would pick up, as people would pour it on their egg nog. But we sold almost no cognac. A couple bottles a week. Forget that it had a snobbish aura to it. By and large, cognac was too pricey for pretty much all of our customers. And you could probably get a case or two of Wild Irish Rose, or Mad Dog, for the same price as a single bottle of Hennessy, or Remy Martin, or Courvoisier, or any other decent cognac.

Apparently, things have changed. Now Hennessy is affordable for everyone, even citizens on a fixed income, or even no income at all. Bums don’t need to settle for cheap booze, or sweet wine, but can develop a sophisticated palate, and can enjoy fine spirits. Right out of the bottle. Paper bag or no paper bag. Is this a great country, or what? My only question is this: who drinks Wild Irish Rose any more?

A-Fraud

A great man once said, “You don’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows, and you don’t need a rectal thermometer to know who’s an asshole.” And in this particular case, you don’t need to be a hater, to know that A-Rod is a fraud. A fake. A charlatan. Most valuable poser. His seemingly impressive statistics are just the same- he has consistently underperformed when the game is on the line. When did he ever leave his stamp on the post-season? His defining moment was in Game Six of the ALCS, snuffing out the Yankee rally by swatting the ball from Arroyo’s glove. Most overpaid player. This year he reprised that performance by hitting into a double play in the ninth inning of the final game of the ALDS. And which of his teams has ever won a championship? Most venerable pussy. What were they thinking?

Bellhorn Redux

There were two defining moments in the 2004 world series – Bellhorn’s home run in Game One, and Suppan’s base running error in Game Three. Bellhorn closed the door on Game One, after the game had swung back and forth through eight innings. Suppan ended the Cardinals last best chance, but more on that in a later posting.

Steve Tyler set the tone for Game One. The Sox, whose singers consistently outperformed the opposition throughout the post-season, whose post-game music is head and shoulders better than anyone else’s, eschewed the bland and inoffensive performances favored by most franchises, and picked this aging rocker to open the series. Tyler’s anthem was raggedy and frequently off-key, but unquestionably spirited. At the end, despite its musical shortcomings, it got the job done.

Same for the Sox. Big first inning, highlighted by Ortiz fifth homer of the post-season. By the end of three, the Sox were up five runs. But Wake couldn’t hold the lead. And after committing only one error in the entire ALCS, the Sox committed four on this night. The low point, of course, was Manny’s eighth inning; two silly errors on two consecutive at-bats, and the game was tied 9-9. Throughout Sox nation, fans saw the curse lurking in Fenway. The Ghost of whatever; shades of 86. And then, in the bottom of the eighth, batting ninth, the league’s strikeout leader homers for the third time in three straight games. A two-run game winner off the Pesky pole. An exact replay of his home run in the Game Seven ALCS, off the right field foul pole in Yankee stadium. That homer had quieted all the Yankee fans, after Pedro’s weird relief appearance. This one started the Sox on their inexorable quest for their first Series triumph in generations. Honorable mention to Foulke, who got Rolen to pop out, and Edmonds to strike out, both with bases loaded in the eighth; and then kept the door closed in the ninth. Five outs, no earned runs. And totally unfazed by Manny’s two errors.

Little did we know that the Cardinals would never threaten again. That in the remaining three games, no Sox starter would allow an earned run. All we then knew was that Bellhorn, the unlikeliest hero, had again stepped up to the plate. No mixed metaphors here.

The Joy of Seven

Here we are, at last – Game Seven. Only a fool would call this the greatest game in Sox history. In fact, how can it top Games Four and Five, those marathons, with the Sox facing elimination, the bullpen throwing ining after inning of shutout ball, and Papi ending each night with a walkoff? What drama, what excitement was there in Game Seven? Exactly.

Who needs drama, when the Sox are capping off the biggest comeback in postseason history? And although it would have been great to see Fenway rocking from the first inning all the way through the ninth, how sweet was it to see all those pinstriped fans sitting with their heads in their hands? And the few Sox faithful, with the exception of that weird seventh inning, making more noise consistently, especially as the evening wore on, than all the Yankee fans combined.

I loved this game. Ortiz getting things started in the first inning. Damon’s slam in only the second inning. An 8-1 lead, courtesy of Damon’s second blast, this one into the upper deck, after 4. Lowe totally closing the door. One run, on only one hit, through six innings. In fact, he allowed only two fly balls in all that time. Both to Manny, neither hit hard. It was never close. And that’s what was so great. After all those nerve racking nights, after all that anxiety and stress, how great was it just to sit back and enjoy seeing the Yankees get pummeled? In the seventh game no less; with the pennant on the line.

Only two aggravating moments the entire night. In the bottom of the first Sveum sends Damon on Manny’s single to left, when there’s no chance because Damon had to wait up to let the ball through the infield. Worse yet, why send Damon with Ortiz coming to the plate? Then when Ortiz hit the first pitch over Sheffield, into the right field bleachers, I thought, there’s a run wasted. Fortunately, by the bottom of the second, it hardly seemed to matter. And then, with Lowe unhittable, and the fans sitting on their hands, Pedro makes an inscrutable appearance in the seventh, giving up two runs, on three hits, each one hit hard, and lucky to get out of the inning with Cairo hitting the ball all the way to the right field corner for the last out. What was that? Just another chance to Pedro to revel in the attention of 55,000 fans chanting his name? Fortunately that rally was snuffed out in the top of the eighth, when Bellhorn hit one off the right field foul pole. Bellhorn again. The unlikeliest hero.

After that hit, it was just a matter of time. Another run in the ninth; Timlin and Embree shutting things down for the last two innings. And then, Sierra hitting a weak grounder to Pokey and the ALCS was over. The Sox had swept the Yankees, after spotting them that three game lead, three games and eight innings.First pennant in eighteen years. First post-season triumph over the Yanks. Really the series was anticlimactic. What night of Sox baseball will ever be remembered with more affection? With more unabated joy? How many phone calls that night? How many causes for celebration?

Meanwhile, my reminiscence is tempered by the front office bungling of Theo’s contract, and uncertainty about who returns. Stay tuned.

The End of Bellhorn's Hibernation

Conventional wisdom holds that game six was all about Schilling’s bloody sock. And while I’m not here to disturb anyone’s memory of Curt, or his sock, nor to minimize the contribution he made to the Sox all season long, and throughout the post-season, with the exception, of course of game one, I feel compelled to celebrate two other highlights from this game.

In game four, when the Yankees rallied to take the lead, only moments after Ortiz had put the Sox ahead with his first two RBIs, their last run was scored when Bellhorn failed to come up with a ball hit between first and second. He had to dive to his left, and managed to get the glove on the ball, but ended up just knocking it down. No error; an infield hit. But the Yankees led 4-3, and the crowd took up a chant : “Pokey! Pokey! Pokey!” Looking back, it’s hard not to feel for Bellhorn, mired in a slump, leading the universe in strikeouts. And having to hear all of Fenway chanting for him to sit down.

In game five, he started to get hits, but didn’t produce any runs. And then, Game Six. And his first game winning home run of the post-season. Who would have picked Bellhorn from that entire lineup to go four straight nights with crucial hits? Three homers, in three consecutive games, followed by a two-run double. By the time the Sox had left Fenway for good, with the Cardinals down 2-0, no one was calling for Bellhorn’s head anymore. And one more great thing about the guy. As he hit the game winner in the eighth inning of the first game of the series, Fox zooms in on him just as the ball is banging off the Pesky pole. No jumping around; no fist in the air; not even a smile. In fact, if you saw the expression alone you couldn’t tell if he had just hit that World Series game winner, or struck out for the two thousandth time. Anyway, it’s enough to forgive him for taking up pinstripes this past year. Even haters can let that one go

And speaking of haters, the other defining moment of game six was A-Rod, or more accurately, A-Fraud, getting called out in the eighth for slapping the ball out of Arroyo’s mitt. What better way to end that game? Within days, he’ll probably win the AL MVP for this past year, which is a disgrace. Because I don’t care what kind of numbers he put up this year, how was he the most valuable guy for that team? What, the Yankees would have missed the post-season without him? When did this guy ever bring a championship to any of the teams he’s ever played on? Nitwit sportswriters might be unable to tell any better, but every Sox fan knows. It’s the emperor’s new clothes. If you want to see the real A-Rod, go check out game six.

Bruichladdich

Danny and I attended a tasting today, sponsored by Bruichladdich. Islay malts with much less peat, but very flavorful nonetheless. Tasted a ten year old; a fourteen aged in sherry casks, and marketed under some golf theme; the fifteen year old, first edition, aged in both sherry and bourbon; and 3D Moine Mhor, which apparently is Gaelic for big peat. Bruichladdich cooked up this brew for European markets, who seem to crave the strong peaty flavor associated with Islay malts. It tasted too much like Bowmore for me, a bit medicinal.

The fourteen and fifteen, however, were wonderful. Our taste master, Andrew from Glasgow, now one of Bruichladdich’s thirty employees, insists that the scotch is so tasty for a couple reasons. One, because it isn’t chill filtered. That process, which helps keep the whisky from going cloudy, takes many of the oils produced during distillation out of the scotch. But according to Andrew, along with the oils goes a bunch of the taste. Two, Bruichladdich ships water from Islay to the bottling plant in Glasgow, so when they dilute the cask strength whisky, they are pouring Islay, naturally peaty water into the bottle. Very proud of his whisky was old Andrew.

One funny thing about these tastings. They always have you move up the ladder. Start with the tens and twelve’s, and move up to the bigger numbers. Of course, those whiskies taste better. But at the same time, we were wondering if everything didn’t just taste better because we had a couple glasses in us, and were by then really into the whole process. One would think that after drinking their fifteen, first edition, purportedly the master distiller’s favorite whisky, the ten wouldn’t taste quite so good. But who knows? Andrew was definitely right about one thing. The taste of Bruichladdich is distinctive. Here’s another one we need to keep in the cabinet. Soon we’ll need a bigger cabinet.

Bullpen? No bullpen.

Game five – Ortiz and the bullpen, right? Not exactly. Because it’s a misnomer to call that relief pitching the bullpen, when half the relief innings were pitched by starters, not relievers. If they come out of the bullpen to enter the field of play, but are really starters, what is that? Bullpen? No bullpen. Who knows?

What we do know is that the Sox pitching staff went for eight shutout innings. After Pedro sat down, having surrendered four runs, the relievers pitched the equivalent of a shutout. And this one night after they had gone six innings without surrendering a run. Fourteen shutout innings spread over two consecutive nights.

But on closer inspection there was even more. There was a perfect tenth pitched by Arroyo, who had only gotten through two innings a couple nights earlier in game three. And then in the eleventh, Myers and Embree combined to strike out the side. Myers working again on Matsui, who had homered off him in game three, and then drew a four pitch walk in game four. But this night, it took Myers only four pitches to retire Matsui, who never made contact. Embree gave up a single, but followed that with two Ks. Five strikeouts in two innings. Then Wakefield came out of the bullpen and in his three innings, tossed four more strikeouts. So in the final five innings of this game, the Sox relievers recorded nine strikeouts. After Clark’s ground rule double in the ninth, the only time the Yankees threatened was in the thirteenth, courtesy of three passed balls.

Finally after almost six hours of baseball, after more than fifteen hours of play in Fenway stretched over the three nights, Ortiz hit that broken bat single into shallow center, giving Joe Buck the chance to finish off another long night with another great call: “Damon running to the plate, and he can keep on running to New York.”

Looking back, especially through the disappointment of 2005, the year of no bullpen, or almost no bullpen, this pitching performance seems like a distant dream. This past year, when almost no lead was big enough to let us relax and just enjoy the game, any game, except perhaps those two 17-1 blowouts of the Yankees, the best we dared hope for was a single scoreless inning from Timlin. Just one shutout inning was enough to give us heart. Fourteen? Forget about it.

Repentance Revisited

In Of Repentance, Montaigne advises us to be our own moral compass. “To ground the recompense of virtuous actions upon the approbation of others is to take too uncertain and shaky a foundation. Especially in so corrupt and ignorant an age as this, the good opinion of the people is no commendation….” We are told that this advice is especially relevant to those who lead a private life, where our conduct won’t necessarily be viewed closely by others. “Do not hold fast, therefore, to their judgment, hold fast to yours.”

As always, more questions than answers here. First off, is this just another articulation of the precept that man is the measure of all things? And if so, if we are to serve as our own moral compasses, how do we find our way? How do we know if we are, in fact, traveling in the right direction? And what keeps each of us from determining virtue in relation to what is best for each of us, at any given moment? Is there, in fact, any absolute right and wrong? Or are we each left to find our own version of virtue?

Second, why is this more important for those who live a private life? Shouldn’t we be more concerned about the moral guidance of those immersed in public life, so as to insure that they are not merely responding to popular opinion, to the fashion of the day? Arguably, those who lead public lives are more susceptible to the whim of the public, more vulnerable to being swayed by mob rule? Montaigne, having retreated from public life, and wealthy enough not to worry about the need to make a living, can very easily ignore the wishes of the public. Not so for most people.

Aside from all this, Of Repentance makes one wonder whether Montaigne is really just the product of his times. Does he appeal to us today because the twenty-first century resembles closely the sixteenth century, in which Montaigne lived – full of chaos, corruption and bloodshed. Or has the master articulated universal principles, good to guide us through all the ages?

Missing Theo

The plan was to write about game five, which I have been watching again, and again, over the past several days. Celebrating once more the heroic effort of the bullpen, and a second consecutive mythic performance by David Ortiz. But events have upstaged me; Theo has left. So before I can revisit the joys of last October, we have to reckon with this fall’s events.

The new look Sox: no Pedro and no D-Lowe; no Cabrera, who wasn’t exactly old look Sox, but had certainly worked his way into my heart last fall; and also gone is that fabulous 2004 bench, including Pokey; Roberts, and Mientkiewicz. And now with Theo gone, what will happen to Damon, Millar and Mueller? And of course, will Manny be Manny somewhere else? Hard to imagine.

The Boston papers were all over management, faulting ownership for a series of blunders that had led to Theo’s departure. More telling in my mind, however, are the openly negative comments from players, including Ortiz and Schilling. The papers get to pick sides if they like, and it’s often hard to distinguish between fact, what we used to call the truth, and spin. But when someone like Ortiz is unafraid to express publicly his disdain for management, it suggests that things won’t go well when it’s time to renegotiate. Keep in mind that Theo had signed Ortiz to a remarkably modest contract, yet Papi is now defending this guy who arguably cost him millions, by locking him up at a very reasonable cost. If it’s all about money the next time around, I question whether the Sox will be able to pay enough to keep him in Boston. I had thought that Pedro bolted, not over money, but over his desire not to share the spotlight with anyone else. In retrospect, I now wonder if management had a hand in all that.

So our new saying, “Wait till last year,” now has more meaning than ever before. I’m hoping that somehow in 2006, we’ll once again be having post-season dreams. But it may be that 2004 was just that – a dream. Are we back to reality?