Cursed To First - Sox and Pats forever.

Bend it like Beckett

Once again, Josh Beckett was a creature of nasty majesty during yesterday's day game with the Twins. He's now put together back-to-back starts of the take-no-prisoners quality we've needed at the top of our rotation, but that he hasn't quite been able to deliver before now.

Yesterday also saw the return of "Ornery Bastard" Josh Beckett. He has generally toned down his fist-pumping, screaming and swearing since first putting on a Boston uniform, but yesterday some questionable ball / strike calls on the outside pitch had him boiling by the bottom of the seventh inning. When he's on, he needs to paint the corners, and he was getting the inside paint all night. But outside was a different story - at best, the calls seemed inconsistent. I didn't see any strong evidence that Beckett's opponent was getting preferential treatment there, but I'm not sure that was even a factor in Beckett's mind.

Meanwhile, yesterday's home plate umpire, Todd Tichenor, who has called 81 games since his MLB debut in 2007 - and just 17 behind the plate - was coming into that bottom of the seventh fresh from a traumatic run-in with Twins catcher Mike Redmond. Tichenor had called Jeff Bailey safe on a bang-bang play at home; it was a play close enough that, even from slow-motion replays, which call you'll make really depends on which team you're rooting for. I can see how it could be construed that Bailey got his hand on the plate ahead of the tag, but if so, it was a split-second before the tag and not something I'd swear to in court.

Redmond, meanwhile, had a strong dissenting opinon after Tichenor's verdict, and immediately tore off his mask, hunkered down into Tichenor's face and began to scream, his face growing red. In how many other jobs is having a nearly six-foot, 200-pound major league athlete screaming into your face an occupational hazard? The young umpire was clearly rattled long before Josh Beckett decided to give him another ration of grief.

So when Beckett threw a borderline pitch on the outside corner to Brendan Harris, and Tichenor didn't call it, lit match met tinder in the form of a hollered curse from Beckett on the mound. The echoey Metrodome amplified the sounds of the field - from what I could make out on TiVo, it seemed like a GD from Beckett, rather than his more typical MF. He gloved the return throw from Varitek with a furious snap of his glove, but overall, it wasn't quite as obscene a display as it could've been.

But like I said, Tichenor was rattled to begin with. It was even harder to make out what Tichenor said back, if anything, to Beckett, but his body language immediately stiffened as he looked in Beckett's direction, and that's when Varitek jumped up, the better to fall on the grenade. Varitek, speaking directly into the wild-eyed umpire's face, appeared to be pointing at something, but it's hard to tell at what. The umpire tossed Varitek just before Francona could get there, hobbling along at full speed on his creaky knees, to try to intervene.

What followed was a strangely comical scene in which Tichenor whirled a full 360 degrees in ejecting Francona, and the older manager stood several feet away and just watched the grandiose gesture, nonplussed. Tichenor seemed surprised not to find Francona in his face when he turned around, and stood there awkwardly for a moment, while Francona just sized him up with a withering once-over and a clearly lip-readable "What the f is wrong with you!?" Well-played by Tito. 

And that was that. Beckett admitted it was his fault after the game. Having watched the highlights and postgame interviews and the seventh inning in slow motion, I think it's safe to say that Varitek made a split-second decision that it would be better for him to be run from the game than Beckett, and then took the ejection for the team.

Varitek's work had already been done for the day anyway - who would have thought, ever, that we'd see the day where Varitek hits back-to-back bombs and David Ortiz coming to the plate is an automatic 'inning over'?

Varitek's resurgence this year is nothing short of remarkable - for example, he hasn't hit two home runs in a game right-handed since 2004. In part this has been credited to a change in his hitting approach, but I also think not being bedridden with a severe illness followed immediately by getting divorced may also be helping.

We're not supposed to acknowledge those 'excuses', and usually this is where someone points out how much money ballplayers make, as if that's capable of making them something other than human. Also, predictably, this is usually when someone raises the specter of PEDs, apparently because if it involves any hitter changing in any way, then it must be because because he's either juicing now, or because he's now off the juice. Either way, any change in success at the plate = juice as far as some people seem to be concerned, these days.

In any event, as valuable as Varitek was yesterday, he was probably right in his choice of whose ejection could better be tolerated by the team at that moment. The Red Sox have been starved for pitching performances like Beckett's last two outings - it was crucial that he stay in and get the win this time.

And get it he did, in breathtaking fashion. He had the curveball and that twisting two-seam fastball in spades. Particularly the latter, with its bending, sidewinding motion, which combined with Beckett's impeccable control over location, made him virtually unhittable last night. Even if his ten-cent head sometimes makes things more complicated than they strictly have to be, if you can reduce him to just those innately fluid pitching skills, his million-dollar arm can be well worth the price of admission.

Mixed feelings on Tom Brady's SI writeup

The big news for the Patriots this week was Tom Brady's return to the team. ESPN cameras caught him throwing a football on the field at Gillette Stadium. A Boston.com blog that embedded the video reported, "Brady showed no lingering effects from surgery for the torn left ACL that sidelined him for nearly the entire 2008 season."

Then, in a Peter King article that will appear in this week's Sports Illustrated, Brady said unequivocally that he has no lingering effects from the injury. "There's nothing I can't do." Wes Welker was also quoted swearing up and down he's the same.

But there's something off-putting about the Brady that appears in the King piece, and I say this as one of Brady's staunchest fans and defenders over the years. It started with Brady referring to himself, playing football, as "one of the real gladiators." It's hard to picture the buttoned-down, polished Brady of years past making this kind of statement.

That feeling only deepened when I read what he had to say about leaving the game last year in Week 1 - how shocked he admitted to being when they kept playing the game without him. That doesn't sound like the team-first Brady his teammates talk about.  

What sealed my queasy feeling, though, was this:

Two days after the Oct. 6 surgery, he defied Bündchen's pleas and his doctor's orders to stay off the leg by putting Jack on his shoulder and moving around the hospital room, playing with him. A hematoma developed in the knee, and the staph infection ensued.

Are you for real? Tell me that's not real. Tell me the guy who wears No. 12 for our team was not stupid and arrogant enough to start horsing around on a busted knee two days after surgery. Tell me he didn't almost throw away his entire career on some weird moment of machismo.

And especially, tell me that's not the same attitude he's working with now.

Half Empty / Half Full

Half Empty or Half Full?, originally uploaded by Bonnie Matthews.

Half Empty - Here's a true fact: according to the spreadsheets at BaseballReference.com, the only pitching statistic in which the Red Sox lead the American League so far this year is in HBP. They have 27 to the second-place Yankees' 25.

Half Full - They are second in average age by 0.3 years. Second in number of wins, second in losses, second in won-lost percentage, somewhere in the middle of the list for runs per game, ERA, innings pitched, hits, earned runs, home runs...you get the picture.

Half Empty- They have been okay. Even very good. But the starting pitchers have also often been...meh. Especially the power guys at the top of the rotation - while Tim Wakefield has quietly put in an unbelievable season so far, Josh Beckett and Jon Lester have been somehow off all year. Brad Penny and Daisuke have been inconsistent at best.

Half Full - From Big Papi's first homer, to the return of the newly healed Youkbacca (tm Surviving Grady), to a resurgent top of the rotation, this week has seen a few comebacks. Lester ground out a much-needed win to seal the sweep of the first-place holder in the AL East, finally surrendering just one run when a Toronto Blue Jay crossed the plate after he was no longer on the mound. Beckett seems to be improving with each start, but had yet to pull out a full-metal, fist-pumping masterpiece...until tonight.

As with Papi's homer, whether this week counts as a turning point or a fluke depends on the next time around, and the time after that...and for the record, Papi's gone right back to looking dismal since breaking out the other night. But also just like that homer the other night, watching Beckett scream praise toward Nick Green at shortstop and storm off the field hollering triumphantly did my heart a world of good. And that final pitch to Ramon Martinez in the seventh was a filthy thing of disgusting beauty.

Whether a fleeting flash of brilliance or the start of another monstrous streak, for tonight? I'll take it.

Half Empty - Papelbon seemed to be cruising with two scintillating strikeouts to David Wright and Jeremy Reed before surrendering the go-ahead run on a Monster shot by Omir Santos. The devastation of this was compounded by the extended length of time it took the umpires to retire into the dugout to review a replay before declaring the save blown, and the sublime Beckett effort a ND. The first time since the home opener that Beckett's been truly brilliant, and it's the one night Papelbon picks to blow it.

This series against the Mets is lost. That much is for certain. Beyond that, I'm really not sure right now.

Big Papi, Where Art Thou?

I would rather urinate upon an American flag, in front of my war veteran grandfather, than give up on Papi. -- commenter "ZG" on Chad Finn's Touching all the Bases

As I write this, Fenway Park is still reverberating with the aftermath of the first home run by David Ortiz this season. 

"David Ortiz to deep center field!" Don Orsillo bellowed, nearly choking on the words after Papi connected. The ball floated over straightaway center, dropping just over the wall in front of the cameras in center field. "Has he done it? HE HAS!"

Papi's teammates could barely give him the silent treatment when he came back to the dugout - it lasted all of three seconds before they swarmed him.

"Everybody and their brother was blowing on that ball to get out of here," said the Eck as Papi popped his head up over the dugout roof for a curtain call.

In the sweet aftermath of that moment, the relief was overwhelming. Relief for Tito, who smacked Papi on the ass with all his might, grinning and hollering in delight. Relief, of course, for Papi, whose face has been more and more uncharacteristically grief-stricken with every at-bat. Relief for myself and the rest of the fans who have cheered him all along.

Just before Jason Bay cranked the third home run of the inning, the cameras showed Papi approach Tim Wakefield at his post on one of the dugout steps, and nestle himself under Wake's right arm. Wake patted him on the shoulder and they bowed their heads together, deep in excited conversation. My heart melted into a puddle of liquid goo.

But it was Josh Beckett, a few seats down from Wakefield, who pointed out the cloud within this admittedly delicious silver lining. As Mike Lowell returned from tattoing another monster shot off the 22-year old Toronto Blue Jays rookie on the mound, if I read his lips correctly, Beckett said, "this kid fuckin' sucks."

And it's true. Brett Cecil was the definition of "lit up" tonight, gulping and gasping like Buccholz during one of last year's panic attacks between hanging meatballs. If you'd told me two years ago that we'd be so overjoyed after Papi barely cleared the wall off a pitcher like this, I'd have told you to shut your mouth.

Even if he'd hit it onto Lansdowne Street off of an ace in his prime, one home run doesn't mean that Papi is cured. I hope, and hope very hard, that this is the beginning of his turnaround. But that will depend on his next at-bat, and the next one after that...

This was a joyous reprieve from the worry about Ortiz that's been hanging over Boston like a looming thunderhead, split by lightning flashes of the news about Papi's former compadre the West Coast and growing darker with every 0-fer effort this year. Regardless of what happens from here, the issue of steroids will still linger over our iconic slugger, maybe forever.

It feels like it has become necessary to pick a stance on this, and there seem to be two camps to choose from. Those who are presuming already that he took steroids, at least up until baseball stepped up its testing program in 2005, maybe for a time after that (presumably the better to hit 50 homers in 2006), and is now struggling without them.

Then there's the second camp, the one that acknowledges the realities of the Steroid Era, but for now is hesitant to come to any conclusion on the issue without further evidence. To some, that's denial. To others, that's loyalty. 

Are last year and the last six weeks for David Ortiz the result of a wrist injury from which he will now begin to recover? The inevitable sharp decline of a natural power hitter? Or the evidence that he juiced? We may never conclusively know.

And so right now, it's about what you want to believe. Papi has gotten smaller over the last couple of seasons. Is this because he has been trying to lose weight and be in better shape? Or because he stopped taking steroids?

His current slump could still be attributable to the lagging effects of his wrist injury, for which he had surgery in the off-season, and which at least one expert witness has testified could still realistically be affecting him. To which anyone convinced of steroid use could reply, but steroids can cause the same tissue changes as tendon injuries.

For the people in the first camp, if he gets better this year, that proves he's back on the juice. If he doesn't, it's proof that he definitely was before.

This is the biggest turnoff about all the pearl-clutching over steroids in recent years for me - the tendency for people to try and make players prove a negative. It simply can't be done.

So, for now, as long as it comes down to what I want to believe, I'm going to believe that which causes me to feel the least psychic agony.I realize that to talk about agony over steroids might seem contradictory after I said just a little while ago that the Manny revelation doesn't change how I view 2004. But there are differences when it comes to Papi.

For one thing, he still wears our uniform and most likely will for the rest of his career. With Manny playing for another team, we dodged the bullet of how to respond to this situation with one of our own. In Papi's case, it's more likely we could be confronted with the choice between knowingly supporting a juicer just because we like him so much, or turning our backs on principle to the one player I can't imagine giving up on.

Even if Manny still played for us, Papi would still be different. He's personal. I know the platitudes about rooting for the laundry, but David Ortiz singlehandedly taught us to believe in 2004. He noticed fans crying in the stands, and said so. Then, he went out and sealed the walkoff wins in games 4 and 5 that year. It felt like he was making a personal gesture, sending a personal message, to comfort us. In those moments, he became the face of a miracle. I know the platitudes about athletes not being role models, but Papi feels different.

Right now, there are times things don't look good. Times it feels like we're back in the middle of one of those five-hour October epics, but instead of the game's most dominating closer, Papi's up against the game's deepest problem. What it comes down to for me is that until and unless it's proven to be true, I'm going to keep chanting "Let's go, Papi." I'm going to keep hoping against hope that he'll be the one who teaches us to believe all over again.

If there's ever been a player who deserves that from me--from all of us-- it is David Ortiz.

On a happier note...

New Sox-Rays photos from Friday night -

Full set here.

The Obligatory "Manny Did Steroids" Post

Yeah, I've been avoiding it. Just as a player accused of doing steroids will never truly prove his innocence, no fan who wades into this mire can avoid being the target of someone else's criticism. But here goes.

It's not that I don't care or that I think steroids are okay. Not only should they be banned because of the unfair advantage, but because the league has a responsibility to try and prevent its players from destroying themselves with harmful substances.

That said, I'm not going to think differently about baseball or the Red Sox because of what happened with Manny.

There are some who'd say that makes me part of the problem, continuing to support a league which harbors steroid abusers. I might agree if it wasn't for the Mitchell Report, the perjury charges against Barry Bonds, the public disgrace of Roger Clemens, and now, Manny Ramirez, the first major player to be caught and suspended in-season - at great expense to his franchise, no less. Even belatedly, imperfectly, the league and the culture at large are treating this as the serious problem it is. Efforts are being made to clean up. Otherwise, how would we even know about Manny in the first place?

But the problem doesn't end there, apparently. There have still been plenty of shrill declarations since this news broke, and the suggestion that Red Sox fans are answerable for Manny's transgression has been a recurring theme. Specifically, some citizens of the Interwebs believe Red Sox fans should disown the championships in 2004 and 2007, on the assumption that Manny was probably using steroids then, too.

Some say that for Sox fans to do anything less would make them hypocrites for having questioned other PED users' continued employment in baseball and continued popularity among many fans. 

And I say, bullshit.

For one thing, the timing does make a difference. It's one thing to have a player on your team alleged to have used PEDs, be caught using them, or admit to having used them, and continue to embrace that player. It's another thing entirely to suggest that fans of a team should retroactively declare a championship null and void because a player flunks a drug test years afterwards while playing with another team.

And what about the fact that he plays for another team? Was that an accident? Does anyone actually believe that Boston blindly supported Manny the whole time he was here? Does his exorcism from the clubhouse last summer not count as a rebuke of Manny Being Manny, and all that stood for, from the Red Sox and most of their fans?

Okay, let's say it isn't. Let's say we were willing to claim responsibility for a former Red Sox player's assumed prior PED use. In that case, I'd like to know two things:

1. What would our Manny penance look like? Should we hold a ritualistic bonfire of all 2004 and 2007 memorabilia in Government Center? Immediately give away any game tickets currently in our possession, if we rooted for the Sox during Manny's tenure? Make Manny voodoo dolls (those of us who haven't done so already)? Apologize to everyone we meet for having been happy the Red Sox won those World Series?
2. What exactly would it accomplish? Would it stop highly competitive but poorly educated rich men from trying to boost or prolong their athletic careers? Would it help scientists develop new and better detection tests?

Or would it just make a few people with disordered priorities, a grudge against the Red Sox, and / or a joyless attitude toward sports feel vindicated? 

I'm not saying the Sox have purged themselves of everyone who probably used PEDs. I'm also not saying that Red Sox fans wouldn't embrace a player in the face of ongoing steroid allegations. But it hasn't happened yet, and until it does, recriminations about Sox fans' tacit approval of cheating--and accusations of hypocrisy--are completely jumping the gun.

Maybe self-righteous rage is the point of sports for some people. Maybe there are some people who  believe that, through some magical transference, the abilities and, ideally, unimpeachable sportsmanship of athletes reflect on the people who buy a ticket to watch them play.

If that's your cup of tea, so be it. But I don't think there's any point in sucking whatever joy's left out of the game that way. As Joe Posnanski wrote about the Manny mess - 

Some tell me that all this is because I’m naive … and I’m OK with pleading guilty to that. I suspect I am naive about sports. I think that sports are fun, games are diversion...a college coach cheating to recruit a player is not on the level of a investment banker cheating retirees out of their pensions and a player who is a jerk to teammates and media members is not on the level of the person who commit violent crimes. There are serious moments in sports, hateful moments, heroic moments. Most of the time, we’re talking about games here.

To that I would add something further - that the real importance, the real contribution sports make to the world, is in the community they create. What makes the game important, what makes the game real, is us. The "interior stadium" referred to by Roger Angell, constructed in our own minds. The way we use it to strengthen our friendships, solidify bonds with family, and create a sense of place and identity in an increasingly disconnected world.

That the actors on the field are imperfect behind the scenes, that all may not be as it seems, is almost entirely beside the point. It is, at the very least, not really news.

One player missing from Patriots draft

Despite a crop of 12 new players selected by the Patriots during the 2009 NFL draft, the talk among Patriots fans so far has centered around the one player they didn't pick up - an outside linebacker to replace Mike Vrabel.

Following Vrabel's departure in exchange for a second round pick, trade talk involving the Carolina Panthers' veteran Julius Peppers flourished, and then fizzled. Without a move made on Peppers, fans expected the Patriots to use their first round pick or the second round pick acquired for Vrabel and former quarterback Matt Cassell to restock at this position.

What happened was that the Patriots not only didn't pick a linebacker in the first round - they didn't pick anyone there, instead trading their pick to Baltimore for more lower-round picks.

There were still players available in the second round that seemed like they might've fit in to the Patriots defense, including my own personal pipe dream, Ohio State alum James Laurinaitis. The Patriots chose three defensive players in the second round...but no linebackers. Finally, in the later rounds, the Patriots picked up South Florida's Tyrone McKenzie, who had played OLB, but he probably won't play inside in the NFL. Even if he does, as a late-round rookie, he's unlikely to make the kind of impact a higher-ranked player like Laurinaitis or a veteran like Peppers would.

Even if the Patriots had wanted versatility in a defensive player at OLB, there were also defensive end / OLB hybrids there for the taking in this draft. And still the Patriots passed.

With such an obvious hole to fill, and with free agency as well as the draft having passed without major moves, heads are being scratched from Martha's Vineyard to the northernmost reaches of Maine.

The question I find most intriguing that's being asked in all this is whether or not the Patriots might be moving away from the 3-4 defensive scheme. To do this, the Patriots would have to totally reconfigure their defensive line, where stout, aggressive talent is crucial in the two-gap version of the 3-4 the Patriots usually run.

When you think 'stout, aggressive talent' and 'defensive line' with the Patriots, who do you think of? Why, none other than the Patriots' two biggest contract question marks, Richard Seymour and Vince Wilfork. And oh, by the way, another standout Patriots defensive lineman, Jarvis Green, is also up for contract renegotiation after this season.

Meanwhile, though no linebackers or DEs were selected in this year's draft, the Patriots took two nose tackles, BC's Ron Brace and Kentucky's Myron Pryor.

Given we have so little evidence to go on so far, a wide variety of scenarios are possible; the most plausible seems to be that two college NTs might not wind up NTs in the NFL, but instead could be insurance for Wilfork and Green. This draft could have been Belichick's way of signaling that he's willing to play hardball with his veterans on the defensive line and nothing more.

But another possibility is currently being debated in football circles: that these moves signal a move away from the 3-4 defense in favor of a 4-3 scheme.

This seems unlikely. The Patriots were actually among the first teams to implement the 3-4 under Chuck Fairbanks in the 1970's. Bill Belichick's experience with the 3-4 stems from his upbringing as a coach under Parcells, and he has developed the 3-4 system carefully and thoughtfully during his time as Patriots head coach. It doesn't seem like he'd move away from the scheme based on one year's contract issues.

But it was also the consensus after the 2008 season - indeed, after the 2007 season - that the Patriots defense was in need of a major overhaul. Last year, especially, the flagging veterans and too-green kids did not combine for a pretty picture by the time all was said and done. And the trade of Mike Vrabel, seemingly out of the blue, shows there are no sacred cows where Bill Belichick is concerned. That's not to mention the sudden departure of Ellis Hobbs, as well as this year's choices in the draft -- you can always expect the unexpected from him.

At the very least, if we're wondering all this out in TV land, you can be sure the Patriots' opponents are doing similar speculating about what New England's next move will be. And I'm sure that's exactly how Belichick wants it.

War of Attrition

With the Rays, the fights are like road rage. One thing leads to another, and the next thing you know you're locked in mortal combat with some schmuck who meant nothing to you five seconds ago.

With the Yankees, the fights are more like sibling rivalry. Sometimes it seems as though you're actually getting along, but spend too much time together, and annoyance turns into irascibility. Somebody's touching somebody else. A shove. A punch. Endless, petty bickering. Long memories of past slights. Admittedly assholish behavior, sometimes on both sides. All accompanied by the strangely comforting knowledge that the score will always be even in the end.

Tonight, though, Joba hogged the asshole spotlight with a plunking of Jason Bay that set Eckersley off, drenching the NESN booth in spittle. Until then, following a run-scoring jamboree for the Sox in the first, both pitchers settled into a businesslike duel, and everyone was well behaved. In fact, just before the plunking, I had started thinking, you know, things aren't nearly as contentious around here as they used to be.

The new Stadium contributed to that feeling, I think. I have never been to the old Yankee Stadium, but the particular tenor of its crowd on TV is a sound that's been burned into my cerebral cortex, and these games have sounded different. The Eck theorized that the sound in the new Stadium is different because of the shallower slopes of the upper decks compared to the old place. It might also be because this new Stadium was half-empty for most of these games, all but the die-hards (like Spike Lee) chased out of the stands by rain.

Josh Beckett put in a workmanlike six innings and change, but it still wasn't the dominating redemption we've all been looking for. The most notable thing about this outing, really, was the lengthy delay in the sixth inning while the grounds crew resurfaced the mound for him. He put the tying run on in the seventh, and then turned his back in disgust on Tito approaching from the dugout. His walk off the field was slow and stone-faced, showered in boos and rain.

In the dugout he thunked a batting helmet down on the bench, but for Josh, as Eck put it, "that's a minor snap." It was halfhearted at best.

In the end, Joba and his band of merry men never could drag themselves out of the hole that had been dug in the top of the first. Against the Bombers' mediocre bullpen, the Sox tacked on three more runs as the Stadium emptied, then sent in our Backup Closer™ for mop-up duty. The Elf added an exclamation point at the end with a ranging putout from shortstop territory for the final, soggy out.

Beginning with Beckett's minimal tantrum, the rest of the game was totally anticlimactic. The simmering tensions that followed the Bay drilling were also dampened by the evening showers. But I'm sure there are a few people with that whole incident tucked in their back pocket, for when it eventually comes score-evening time.

Meanwhile, this game carried a body count of another kind. Jorge Posada and Kevin Youkilis were scratches before the festivities began, the former with a hammy and the latter with a sore lower back brought on by an awkward swing. Finally, Jacoby Ellsbury added to the attrition by tweaking his leg somehow in a futile dive for the ball in the third inning.

Papelbon In Bloom?

jonathan papelbon, originally uploaded by Paul Keleher.

Finally, I can exhale a little bit.

I love all my Red Sox, but like any fan, some are more equal than others to me. Probably the player I'm most binkyish about would be Jonathan Papelbon (not a news flash for anyone who's been reading this blog longer than 10 minutes). And for most of this season, watching him has bothered me almost as much as watching Big Papi.

Papelbon's mechanics have not looked right and his pitches have not looked the same. He's gotten the job done, for the most part, but since Spring Training, his velocity had been down and that hopping, zipping movement has been missing from his fastball. Having heard him talk before about working on being "Less like a merry-go-round and more like a Ferris wheel" with his motion, I noticed him becoming steadily more merry-go-round this year, often falling off dramatically at the end of his delivery and missing his spots. In short, his command and control have been what Curt Schilling once famously described as "horseshit."

He then gave some alarming quotes indeed about how he was tinkering with his delivery. I was, to quote a SoSHer, in the "concerned category." JoS quantified what I'd been sensing all along - the rate at which hitters were swinging and missing at Papelbon's pitches has been in decline this season. We especially saw this in the Angels series a couple weeks back, when Howie Kendrick fouled off eleventy balls before Paps could finally finish him off. That wasn't the only time this year that happened, either.

It's hard for me to tell whether Papelbon is growing more comfortable now in his adjusted mechanics or if he has abandoned them and gone back to the old way, but last night he was more effective. He came on in the eighth inning in relief of Ramon Ramirez, who had just surrendered his first homer of the season to Mark Teixeira, the sought-after first baseman's second "ba-boomba" of the game, to use last night's Eckersleyism. Paps' first batter was the formidable Hideki Matsui, who I swear is always up in these situations. I knew things were looking promising when Matsui struck out swinging.

Miguel Cabrera followed with a sharp single to right, setting my brows back to "furrowed". Then Jose Molina popped out to end the threat with runners at first and third. Results inconclusive.

The next inning would solidify the assessment - by now also being made by the pitching conossieur Eckersley - that the ball was moving much better for Papelbon. But not at first. Paps set my alarm bells jangling again by giving up an infield single and then plunking Derek Jeter to put two on right away in the bottom of the ninth.

It was Teixeira's at bat in the next few minutes, following a flyout for Johnny Damon, that changed the complexion of Paps' night for me. Suddenly the "extra few feet" on his fastball had returned. He was locating at 95 mph. And Teixeira, looking for another gopher ball, swung and missed three times.

It was a beautiful AB, at least as far as Boston was concerned. Even better was the commentary from Eckersley, who used the word "cheese" about 10 times in five minutes, as in "low cheese," and "high cheese," at times substituting "high hair." DAVE ROBERTS! chimed in after a devastating knee-high heater to Teixeira with "Hot! Hot!" Eckersley joined him, and for a moment both former players were just giggling and hissing, "Hot! Hot!" together.

Like I said last night, if we can't have the Rem-Dawg, this is the next best thing.

The next batter representing the winning run, Nick Swisher, stopped my heart for a few seconds with a towering, rocketing fly ball to right that thankfully fell foul. Then he walked. If I ever have to have Botox on my forehead later in life, I'm sending the Red Sox the bill.

It all came down to brass tacks with Robinson Cano at the plate, bases loaded, two outs. I was standing in my living room, hands in prayer position in front of my face, hyperventilating. It was one o'clock in the morning. Cano, too, would strike out swinging, and Papelbon would fall off the mound toward Varitek immediately afterward, fist-pumping with a vigor we haven't seen yet this season.

It was still shakier than I'd like; not a dominating performance. But it was definitely much more like the Paps I know and love.

Three-Man Booth

Dennis Eckersley, originally uploaded by queenv918.

It's a rainy third inning in the Bronx, and Don Orsillo is joined by DAVE ROBERTS! and The Eck.

According to the Eck, Phil Hughes has a good fastball tonight, but "he's just not gettin' it done." I think he should maybe cut him some slack considering it's raining enough that everybody's glistening like Kevin Youkilis running the bases on a hot day in August. But what do I know.

JD Drew scores a businesslike third run after Mike Lowell drops a flare down the right field line. "Pitchers just can't get a break," quoth the Eck, quickly adding, "not that he doesn't deserve to be in this position."

Man. He is merciless.

DAVE ROBERTS!, meanwhile, is a bit of a Sox homer so far (picking up that slack for the Rem-Dawg, no doubt). At times it's been clear he's new at this -- earlier tonight he gave a gulping, Chris-Farley-like interview to Jacoby Ellsbury during the rain delay.

But now, in the booth with Orsillo, he relaxes. He says he likes to get back out to the East Coast--can't imagine why. I'm sure he hasn't paid for a drink or a meal around here yet, and I hope he never does.

As Jason Varitek comes to the plate, Roberts jumps in to the conversation with a brief soliloquy breaking down the pitchers' strategy against 'Tek. "That's the book on Jason, just try to crowd him, because he's so strong that if he gets his hands extended, he can do some damage." Yankees fans chant what sounds like "Asshole" at the Captain before he grounds out to end the half-inning.

If we can't have the Rem-Dawg, this is the next best thing.