Cursed To First - Sox and Pats forever.

Ye Olde Home Run Derby Liveblog

ROUND ONE

7:57 Should I be amused that ESPN is using the beat to "California Love" as the promo music for the Home Run Derby, or consider that an official sign the classic 90's hip-hop song has officially jumped the shark??

Similarly, would Donnie Moore just want to be remembered, or would he bristle at the repeat, one more time, of the obvious oversimplification that his demise was directly attributable to Hendu's home run in 1986?

8 pm Opening Band. Now's a good time to get a sandwich.

I saw Train once at a club, opening for Better Than Ezra. I don't even think I'm cool for making that statement. In fact, the only reason I'm telling you this is because I think they should be more ashamed than I am.

8:06 This lineup for the Home Run Derby is better than previous years -- anybody remember the "International Edition" a few years ago? 

Big boos for Swisher and Papi from the populist, small-market, anti-commercialist Anaheim / Los Angeles population. Fight the power, guys!

8:08 I had to rewind my DVR to make sure I heard what I thought I heard. Yep. "Jose Ortiz," followed by a shot of DAVID Ortiz in the dugout. I'm sorry, but that is just the worst thing ever. Worse than even "Manny Ortez", since Barry-- I mean, Bobby Valentine's job right now is to be a SPORTS COMMENTATOR, not a US Senator. Mind-blowing. Unbelievable. You sure you didn't mean to pick David Jeter? He's in this Derby, right?

8:13 Still not over this. You know you look effing dumb when Joe Morgan is sitting right next to you and you still manage to look dumber.

8:18 First homer hit by Chris Young. Second ball swung on but doesn't go out of the park. Ball shagger in LF takes a page out of the Manny Ramirez Outfield Technique playbook. Epic, nationally televised miss. Hi Mom!

8:20 Chris Young is already on the Gold Ball, and comes away from Round One with a grand total of one homer, on the first pitch. I would make some snarky comment about the National League here, but he got to bring his own pitcher.

8:23 Vernon Wells up. After three outs, he just gets one over the wall. Maybe he should've given his pitcher a Red Sox cap to wear.

8:24 I am now more interested in whether any of those kids is going to catch a fly ball tonight than what's going on at the plate. 

8:25 Inaugural "backbackbackbackbackback" of the 2010 All-Star Game.

Vernon comes away with two homers in the first round. What was that I was saying about this lineup?

8:30 For the record, I would not eat something that purported to be a "meal" and costs $2, and ESPECIALLY not from Denny's.

Love from Torii Hunter for David Ortiz. Suck it, Angels fans. Cory Hart up.

8:31 Berman getting all of the possible puns on Hart's name out of the way in the first round. I hope.

8:32 Berman now switching to puns on Hart's hometown of Bowling Green. "He's bowling them out of here." Except...that doesn't make any...sigh. Not worth it.

8:33 A-Rod looks like he just woke up out of a coma and has no idea who he is or what he's doing here, standing on a baseball field. Is there a reason we had to see him just now?

8:34 Hart hits a BOMB to straightaway center. 464 feet. Now that was a blast. Followed by another. And another. This is the reason we watch this thing.

8:35 Another homer for Hart. Brian Cashman is on the phone as we speak.

8:38 In other news, Cory Hart is reportedly in a facial-hair contest with Dan Haren to see who can look more like a homeless stoner Jesus.

8:40 Despite his utter irrelevance tonight, A-Rod's endearing personality has earned him a live interview during the Home Run Derby. 

I know it's not Nick Swisher's fault people voted him in over Youkilis. I know this. And yet I'm praying for a meteor to strike his giddy, giggling face at the plate right now.

8:44 A-Rod is still talking. Luckily I can draw on years of watching games with Tim McCarver in the broadcast booth to help me block him out.

8:46 Commercial break mercifully ends those Yankees-filled minutes of my life I'll never get back.

8:52 The ball just rumbled right up the seam through a collapsing defensive line of children. Matt Holliday up. An out on his first swing. Joe Morgan: "Well, he's starting out well." I would rather Train was providing the soundtrack here.

8:53 A-Rod interview: 6 interminable minutes. Albert Pujols interview: less than one minute. Somebody help me out with this.

8:54 I like Holliday's swing when he knows he's connected -- he spins almost all the way around.

9:00 Here's Papi. First we have to go over his slumps the last two Aprils. Sigh.

Unexpected pleasant detail -- the camera's so close you can hear the Velcro on David's shiny new red batting gloves.

9:01 First homer for Papi. One out. Pedroia with a Flip cam on the sidelines. Squee.

Second homer -- the sound off Papi's bat is still like none other. WHACK. You know before you even see it it's gone.

9:03 Homer #4 for Papi. Four outs.

9:04 Are you serious, Joe Morgan? You're talking about the goddamn Ba--- D'ANGELO ORTIZ. IN FULL UNI. ON THE SIDELINE. If you'll excuse me, I need to go drop dead of the cute. 

9:05 Papi's hitting wrappers around that right field foul pole. Up to 6 now on 6 outs.

9:06 Another mighty CRACK. Another shot of D'Angelo gaping at the field. Definitely the most enjoyable part of the evening for me so far. 

9:07 Eight homers. Seven outs. Papi spits and claps. There goes the Velcro. Laughing, smiling, yelling in Spanish to the sidelines. Remember this next April.

9:08 The word Papi just said, which Joe Morgan repeated and laughed at on live national television in a country in which Spanish is the second most widely-spoken language, is not a word they would air on ESPN Deportes. Just FYI.

9:12 At first I thought Bobby Valentine was talking about being drunk on air, then I looked up and realized it was Will Farrell.

9:13 Somebody just brought up Will Farrell's Harry Caray impression. I have an idea for next year's Derby host lineup.

9:15 Thought that Hanley shot had a chance to go over everything.That was impressive, but I don't want him going ahead of Ortiz. I don't know why. I just don't.

9:16 Never mind, Ramirez and Papi are now tied. 

And now Ramirez is ahead. This is where Bob Lobel would ask, why can't we get players like that?

9:19 God help me, I still think Andy Pettitte is good-looking, even in his awkward, dorky prom photo on a Dove commercial.

9:25 It hit a sign on its way out, but Miguel Cabrera just pretty much went over everything.

9:26 Papi interview with Erin Andrews. I can't understand a word he's saying so far with all the noise and because he keeps getting distracted by the homers, but I still want to hug him.

9:27 Mentions of Papi's slump now up to three for this broadcast.

9:29 Cabrera hasn't hit like Cory Hart so far, but when he goes yard, it's gone for good.

ROUND THE SECOND!!

9:37 Papi's up first. Another no-doubter to right center. Followed by another to right. I love that flourish at the end of his swing when he knows it's out.

9:38 Berman is running out of nearby locations in California to call out as destinations for the ball.

9:39 Another one around the right field foul pole. Followed by another to right field. 15 homers for Papi, only two outs in this round. And ANOTHER to essentially the same spot. Shift THIS.

9:40 Papi's now hit at least three in a row within a few seats of each other in that bleacher section in right center. Torii Hunter grinning on the sidelines. 17 total for Papi now. Where's Pedroia?

9:42 Hey Science of Baseball guy, I want to see a spray map of where Papi's homers have landed this round. I bet they'd all be within one seating section of each other. Two at the most. 20 his total now.

9:44 21. Papi looks down at the plate between pitches, his ear-bling glinting. There's just something so heartwarming about him, always.

A popup, and Papi's out for this round. He hugs Hanley Ramirez and heads out. Whether he wins or not, I think it's established, in front of the whole league, that he can definitely still hit for power. Not that it's really going to shut up any of the nattering nabobs of negativism, of course.

9:47 Miguel Cabrera up. I don't know who they're interviewing on the sidelines or what they're talking about. Uh, thanks, Tim McCarver?

9:48 It might be nice for them to tell us who the bashful little girl is that they just showed on the sideline. Cabrera's kid? But apparently that would mean actually calling the actual sporting event.

9:50 So, apparently, would noting that Papi hit as many homers in the second round as Hart did in the first -- 13.

9:51 For those of you keeping score at home, the ball-shagging kids remain oh-fer.

9:52 And no sooner do I say that than we get our first outfield catch of the day. Sign that kid up!

9:53 Cabrera is eliminated -- Hart is already ahead of him and he hasn't hit yet. He'll have to console himself with a chance at the Triple Crown this season.

9:57 Is it just me, or does Hanley Ramirez drag his feet in a really odd way when he walks? At least, just now he did.

9:59 Ramirez looked like he didn't even look at where the ball was going on that last swing. And yet, KA-POW. Out in dead center. Ramirez is now up to 12.

10:01 A-Rod still got more airtime than anybody else. I wish to register a complaint.

10:02 Ramirez up to 17 with 8 outs in the second round. 

10:03 Berman's best call of the night so far: "YIKES!!" on Ramirez gold-ball bomb. No. 18. No. 19 barely stays fair.

10:05 Another one to left center for Ramirez. Breathing down Papi's neck now.

10:06 Papi stands and claps for Ramirez, who just tied him for 21. If Cory Hart goes ballistic again this round, we'll have a swing-off between Ramirez and Ortiz.

10:09 Hart's got 3 outs, no homers. Make that four.

10:10 Six outs for Hart. Seven. And another egregious miss on the warning track. 

Eight outs. Nine. Gold ball already for Hart without one homer this round.

10:12 Red Sox vs. Former Red Sox in the final round. Ortiz is going to his first Derby final round ever and is tied with the young whippersnapper at 21 bombs.

10:16 Have concluded re "California Love" that yes, Tupac is probably rolling over in his grave. 

ROUND THREE!!!

10:17 Morgan pointedly says  "Bobby's got David." You gotta get your shots in where you can, Joe. 

10:18 Now I REALLY want to see that spray map. All three homers this round hit to right center, too. They're discussing the slump again. Mentions now at four. More than there were rounds.

10:19 Five homers. One out for Papi. That's what's up.

10:20 In the time it took me to type that, he added three more.

10:21 I think Papi's thrown too many tantrums at umpires in Anaheim to "win over the fans" here, as Berman suggests.

10:22 What looked for sure like homer No. 9 was just shy of the wall. Five outs.

10:25 Gold Ball for Ortiz with 10 homers this round. 

Make that 11. Tying the last-round record.

10:26 No matter what happens here, I am bursting with pride for Papi. And no, though this point has been beaten into the ground, nobody would've expected this even two months ago.

10:31 Ramirez hits his first homer with two outs in the final round. 

10:32 Four outs. Two homers.

10:33 Nice camera work by ESPN, showing Ramirez watch his ball drop into the rock pile in the distance.

10:34 Ramirez now has four homers, four outs.

10:35  A screaming liner to left for the fifth out. I can hardly stand it. I have never cared about the Home Run Derby this much, ever.

10:36 Papi towels off Hanley's face and hugs him. Seven outs, four homers. Umpire tantrums aside, I really don't understand how you boo this man, even if you hate the Red Sox. 

10:37 8 outs. D'Angelo whispers in Papi's ear on the sidelines. Homer Number 5 for Ramirez.

10:38 BIG PAPI WINS!!!!!!!!!!

10:40 I leave you with these words from my liveblog of the 2006 Derby, which I keep coming back to when it comes to Ortiz.

That sound off Ortiz's bat--that ringing, meaty THWACK--and the way the ball goes tailing off into orbit while he stands and watches, a great dark figure under the stadium lights...there's something so sublime about David Ortiz, his happiness, his booming power, his unfailing interior light. People talk (at least half-jokingly) about Albert Pujols being divine, but I think that if God chose to incarnate himself as ballplayer, it's a pretty safe bet he'd be this one.

Tonight, he showed he's still got it, in more ways than one.

Proud Mary Keeps on Burning

Remember last winter and all the butthurt over whether or not the Sox would have offense? Somehow, even with all the injuries, this team keeps stamping out wins, and they remain third in the league in batting average, second in home runs, second in hits, and first in RBI to boot.

Last night that charge was led by none other than the Large Father himself, who reminded us he still knows his way around a batters' box with a towering shot off James Shields (who threw a tantrum on the mound before the ball had even left the park) into the right-field corner -- almost the same spot where Papi's Game 4 home run landed off Paul Quantrill back in 2004.

This came after a tense, scoreless, first four innings -- you could hear in Don Orsillo's voice how good it felt to call out, "Ortiz! To deep right field!!" Papi even did that little flourish with his bat at the end of his swing, the way he does when he knows he's really connected. Just like old times.

The beatings continued with extreme prejudice after that, featuring a key hit from Jason Varitek and a Bill Hall homer, till the score was so lopsided I began to wish run differential mattered in the standings the way it does in the World Cup tournament (our bullpen gave some back, so in the end it's probably for the best that it doesn't).

All this wasn't against some NL basement-dweller. This was against one of our chief rivals in the AL East this year, and put Boston within a game of first place in the division. And the three chief players in that effort were known back in April as our washed-up DH, our creaky old batless catcher, and some random dude we picked up from Seattle.

Quoth Theo,

We'll keep relying on players who may not be household names to most of our fans, but are here for a reason. We'll continue to find ways to win and there's a really good spirit about this club and everyone is pulling for one another and we've thrived on getting those contributions from some unlikely sources. We need to keep that going.

But perhaps we've said too much.

Insert Sweep-related Pun Here

Hamel Brooms, originally uploaded by Phil Armishaw.

How Sweep it is, Swept Away, Swept A Ray, etc.

But seriously. How awesome is it that, having taken their first win of the season against the Rays this year with the first game of this week's series, the mercurial Sox just up and decided they'd take 'em all?

Especially against one of the two teams it has seemed like the Red Sox just can't beat this year.

The biggest reason for this was the Red Sox starting pitching seeming to come into its own. Jon Lester especially seems to be turning it on after a slow start. That cutter's just devastating, his narrowed eyes above the glove tucked under his chin now the source of a positively Beckettsian intimidation factor. And Clay Buchholz is making me quite happy by bearing out my prediction that consistent playing time would allow him to blossom. It sucks for Wake, but I'm still glad it wasn't Buch they sent to the pen.

But that's not to disavow the contributions from the offense this series, especially David Ortiz, who was swatting balls around the Trop and blasting off like it was the old days. Adrian Beltre had a huge night last night with 6 RBI, and Pedroia got back on track with a three-fer performance Tuesday, including a lucky shot off the ceiling that had the Elf chuckling to himself at second base.

There are chain reactions, too, whenever one part of the team improves. Papi returning to being a threat helps his teammates up and down the lineup. The starters going deep saves the bullpen, which makes their appearances more crisp and effective (especially MDC). Not walking around with half a dozen Red Sox fans and beat writers up their butts each will also probably help the team play better defense.

This series went about as well as can be expected, but it's still always a relief to get away from road games against these dome teams. I think @RedSoxRedShoes put it best when he described the Trop this way: "I cannot believe Tropicana Field is an MLB stadium. It looks like someone puked Tinker Toys inside of a snare drum."

They Are What They Are

My father would always say the same thing to me when we were watching Derek Lowe c. 2003 -- "he is what he is," he'd say. His subsequent efforts in the postseason notwithstanding, what Lowe was (and is, at least roughly, with a career record of 146-120) was a .500 pitcher.

In some ways, being a .500 player or team is to be as Derek Lowe was -- showing flashes of brilliance, then reverting to Meltdown Mode. If he could just be the No-Hitter, Bite-My-Tweeter Derek Lowe all the time, you'd think. If he could just stop running into that one bad inning.

Enter the 2010 Red Sox. Flashes of brilliance, blowing out the Tigers on the road in the opening game of the series, with 450 foot dingers by Big Papi and a 6-run scoring differential...followed by what we've seen the last two days, disconcerting backslides into squandered starts, bullpen ineffectiveness and run-scoring opportunities left on base.

It would be simpler in some ways if the Sox were just plain bad this year. Instead, I suspect this is how it may be for the rest of the summer campaign -- rising hopes, cresting and breaking into that trough of disillusionment again. Tobin Bridge jumpers will line up after series against the Rays and Yankees, continue calling for Clay Buchholz and Jon Lester to be traded for Adrian Gonzalez, a batboy and a bucket of baseballs, call for David Ortiz's tarring and feathering on Boston Common, pine for the days when we had Manny Ramirez's bat and all its concomitant problems in the lineup.

Polyannas will snort and eyeroll at the pathalogical pessimism of the nay-sayers and congratulate themselves on their superior fandom and attitude toward the team, but they'll have a tough argument to make against games like Saturday's, in which multiple offensive opportunities are squandered and the bullpen weakens, weakens, and then finally breaks in a final humiliation to the tune of walking in the winning run in the bottom of the twelfth. Great teams, even good teams, don't do that kind of thing, or at least not with the disconcerting regularity the 2010 Red Sox have. 

But the rub is, it's really not so bad...it's just mediocre.There will be this sine-wave pattern of ups and downs, but in the end, the median is showing no signs of wavering. They are what they are -- a .500 team -- and my prediction is that there won't be any getting around it this year.

Laser Show

When I posted the above photo to Flickr last May, Sam commented: "Evocative of better times."

Comerica also seemed to conjure memories of the All-Star Game, now an unbelievable half-decade ago, that saw Papi launching long balls with ease -- for fun -- over the vast outfield in Detroit.

A year later, in the midst of his 51-homer 2006, that year where Papi would end up the one bright spot in an otherwise injury-riddled and disappointing season, I wrote:

Papi didn't have the most home runs in the first round of the Derby, but Holy God, if they were giving out an award for the prettiest, he'd have it hands down, on any number of his ten moon shots, most of them over everything. This just after they trotted out a physics professor to talk about how the best way to put a ball in the river just outside the park was to pull it into the little notch just on the fair side of the pole in right--Ortiz put several into the river, notch be damned.

Probably my favorite was the one to dead center that still went over everything, including the ESPN bozos chattering away in their booth.

That sound off Ortiz's bat--that ringing, meaty THWACK--and the way the ball goes tailing off into orbit while he stands and watches, a great dark figure under the stadium lights...there's something so sublime about David Ortiz, his happiness, his booming power, his unfailing interior light. People talk (at least half-jokingly) about Albert Pujols being divine, but I think that if God chose to incarnate himself as ballplayer, it's a pretty safe bet he'd be this one.

This is why the Sox once made up a batting title for Papi -- the Most Clutch Hitter of All Time. It ultimately means nothing, at least from a mathematical point of view. But it conveys the sense we've always had that there's something exceptional about Ortiz, whether he'll be a Hall of Famer or not. Over the last two seasons it's been easy to forget the fearsome figure he once cut at the plate -- last night it was easier to remember.

It almost exasperated me, listening to Jerry Remy's incredulity at the spot in the stands where Papi's 450-foot blast had landed, and later, watching him trot the bases, almost chagrined, after crushing another one over the fence. After all this pain and struggle, and acceptance that maybe Papi's time in the sun is over, he goes popping off like that again, leaving us to cling to potentially false hope for another little while. One game -- even a two-homer game, even if those homers are gargantuan -- does not mean Papi's Back. But it's safe to say he once again has my attention.

And if anybody should've accompanied Papi in going yard last night, it was the man who so eloquently stuck up for him with the now-immortal "laser show" comment, his opposite in stature but equal in uncanny power, Dustin Pedroia.

I thought about going and checking out just what Detroit's record is so far this season, and it was made clear from the broadcast booth that last night's Tigers starter, Max Scherzer, is far from a Cy Young contender, but for now I'm not looking a feel-good game in the mouth.

P.S. I know it's been a long time since I rapped at ya, but hopefully I'll be getting back to the blog more this week.

Cinco de Nomar

On a night drenched in honey-gold sunset at Fenway Park, a familiar figure crossed the warning track, in a white jersey with a scarlet number 5 on the back.

Am I being manipulated as a fan, for whatever reason? I guess. Is the whole thing a little awkward, like seeing an ex while out somewhere, and making polite conversation even as you remember how bitterly things ended? Sure.

And honestly, I thought I was over it. I really thought I was over the schmaltz of welcoming Nomar back, when trading him was what led to the championship in 2004.

But from the schmoopy commercial spot to photos like this, tonight it really got me. Seeing Nomar like that, back out on the field in a white jersey again...I actually had a lump in my throat. 

The thing that made the whole Nomar situation so painful was the lack of closure. The last time we saw him, he was walking out of the clubhouse in Minnesota in that white dress shirt. The next time, he was in an Oakland uniform, and by then it was all water under the bridge. The fans of Fenway never had a chance to know they were embracing Nomar for the last time. We can try to re-create that moment, and have in the years since, but it won't ever be quite the same. 

And it wasn't just Nomar, it was Trot, it was Wake and Tek, it was all those guys of approx. 2003 - 2004 back together again on the field. We'll never go through what we went through with those players again, and I suspect those faces will always have direct access to my heartstrings. And I guess tonight stirred all that up. Which was probably the idea. Sigh.

Meanwhile...

Dustin Pedroia continues to fling himself around the field like his ass is on fire. And like his teammates' asses are on fire, and he's launching himself over there to single-handedly save the day. He's just a ball of furious, relentless energy, and I absolutely adore him. 

John Lackey was brilliant tonight, surrendering just one run against his former team.

David Ortiz hit an opposite-field home run that was greeted with an audible gasp from the crowd, followed by a thundering standing ovation.

Daniel Bard was FILTHY.

Adrian Beltre hit a bomba gigante to dead center, his second homer in three nights and made a nifty play at third. Scooter made another nice pick at short.

Also, vintage Papelbon was in the house tonight. 

I really, really hope May is going to be "The Red Sox Make Us All Look Like Assholes for Ever Worrying" Month.

It Was a Mighty Duel

It's been an especially intense day around here. The water was finally safe to drink again, meaning millions of coffee addicts were finally able to get their Starbucks or Dunkies fix, and could finally stop getting into punchouts with each other at the grocery store over cases of Poland Spring. As if that wasn't enough, tonight, the baseball addicts in Red Sox Nation also got a wallop of beautiful baseball.

It began with a taut eight-inning pitchers' duel between Jon Lester and Ervin Santana. Both lineups resorted to the kind of small-ball scrapping that tells you they are under siege from a true monster on the mound, just hunkering down and trying to take advantage of mistakes until the bullpen comes around. Jon Lester continued the rampage he began in Toronto, clenching his jaw through 8 innings on 120 economical pitches tonight while surrendering just one run.

On top of that, at long last we saw Run Prevention in action this evening, with a breathtaking play from Dustin Pedroia to end a bases-loaded, one-out eighth. I have seen some dispute over whether Pedroia tagged the runner, but I have to believe that if there was really a case to be made for that, Mike Scioscia would've been out there flipping out about it before any of the rest of us noticed it. And in any event, Pedroia's diving, scrambling, flipping masterpiece was the most thrilling play I'd seen since Marco Scutaro's incredible ranging throw from the hole in the fourth.

There was ugliness, hideousness, even, as David Ortiz twice came to the plate with runners on, and both times grounded into a double play. The best I can do right now is allow him the dignity of not discussing it or the boo-birds much further.*

Because no sooner had Papi trudged off the field, head bowed, than young Jeremy Hermida strode to the plate, and finally delivered the killing blow the park had been jonesing for the whole night, and I'll tell you, no matter how obnoxious some of our fellow frequenters of Fenway Park can sometimes be, for all the nasty GIDPs and defensive lapses of this season, there really is nothing like the moment some crucial, timely hit goes rocketing off toward the outfield, and that place just explodes.

Kevin Youkilis was jumping up and down like a little boy in the on-deck area, waving his arms in great semicircles around his head to signal to his teammates whether they should stand up or slide coming into home. Jon Lester, in the dugout, asked of those around him, "Is that fair or foul? Is it fair? Yes?" and then he, too, was subsumed in the wave of hysteria, pumping his fist and yelling like any one of the fans who were rattling the grandstand. "YEAH!!"

I think it's safe to say every one of us really needed that. Without a doubt, the best game of the season so far.

* Except to say: I don't care how bad he is, that shit ain't right. If I could ban you from Fenway Park forever, I would. If I could take tonight's joy away from you somehow, I would. But like I said on Twitter, I also became pretty jaded to this when I saw a "fan" heckle Keith Foulke to the point of a verbal altercation, a year after the guy left his knees on the field winning a World Series for which he should have been MVP, but wasn't. (Not that I'm, um, bitter or anything.) I figured it was pretty much only a matter of time before even Papi was turned on by the Fenway crowd. And to be honest, virtually any other player would've been turned on long before this point. 

Opening Day at Chez Target

A View from the Top: MN Twins's Target Field , originally uploaded by meetminneapolis.

Further proof Jon Lester has somehow had his genes spliced with Josh Beckett's: he stormed off the field spitting curses, then pitched a full-on screaming tantrum in the dugout yesterday, after surrendering two runs and throwing 30 pitches in the first inning. He followed up his torturous four-run, five-inning start with a sullen press conference. Not quite the snarl of Beckett, but glowering nonetheless.

April, as has been pointed out pretty much everywhere, including from behind the microphones and tape recorders jammed in his glaring face yesterday, is not Lester's month -- his record today stands at 2-5 with a 5.08 ERA in 14 career April starts.

April has continued to be a cruel mistress for Ortiz as well. He started off yesterday's game with his 10th strikeout of the season. But he followed that with one of the two Sox RBI on the day with a fly ball that ate up Delmon Young (Thanks again, Delmon!).

But it wasn't scored an error! And so Papi was 1-1 w/RISP! And whatever it is you're saying about rivers in Egypt, lalalalalalala I can't hear you!!

OK, seriously--on July 14, I would agree totally that he should be taken out of the lineup. On April 14, I say, even if it's a formality, we give him a chance. He's earned at least that much.

Meanwhile, the Sox dropped another series opener and opponents' home opener on this road swing. Maybe it was all that strange sunshine in the new outdoor Target Field. But seriously...yesterday, Carl Pavano put in 6 innings, surrendering one run on four hits. Carl Pavano?

Also, Victor Martinez has thrown out exactly one runner trying to steal this year, while three baserunners coasted into second against him yesterday -- his 10th, 11th and 12th of the season (per A.Benjamin, via JoS).

I'm not expecting the Sox to go 162-0. But tomorrow I'd like to see them maintain just a little more, you know, dignity. And maybe get back to .500 again.

Red Sox / Royals Games 2 & 3: Back to .500

(photo by Sam)

Now this is more like it...

Josh Beckett vs. Zack Greinke for Appointment Television on Saturday. Greinke had been showered with gifts during Friday's pregame ceremonies for the Cy Young award he won last year, but Beckett was the better pitcher 24 hours later, surrendering three runs over seven innings, his longest career start in Kansas City (previous high water mark, per NESN, was 6 and 2/3).

That completed seventh inning almost came at too dear a price, though. He gave up four hits and two runs in that inning alone, one shy of the number of hits he'd surrendered for the whole game (5) and tripling his run total for the game. Prior to that seventh inning, I had thought Beckett might be able to spare us the bullpen; that one inning took care of that idea.

He still got the win, but the best news was, literally, that he survived the inning.

David DeJesus hit a line drive that scored Chris Getz, and just grazed the back of Beckett's head on its way to center field. A millimeter left or right, a nanosecond slower in reaction time, and we're looking at a Matt Clement situation, or even worse.

The ball still glanced off Beckett, and he grabbed at the back of his head with a grimace (as the Globe's Peter Abraham put it, "swatted at the back of his head like a man annoyed by a mosquito"), but nobody in the dugout noticed. (It took two or three replays on NESN before they saw definitively that the ball changed direction.)

It was clear Beckett was fine, thankfully, when he finally walked off the field after that long inning, almost tripping over a ball on his way off, calling himself an "f'in idiot" and heading back to the dugout to curse for another few minutes. There but for the grace of God. 

***

Beckett's first start, with Victor Martinez behind the plate:

IP 4.2

H 8

R

5

ER 5 BB 3

SO 1

HR 2

Beckett's start Saturday, with Tek catching:

IP 7.0

H 9

R 3

ER 3

BB 1

SO 4

HR 0

It would be easy to imagine Tek becoming Beckett's caddy, the way Dougie used to be for Wake, but what happens once you get to the playoffs, Beckett has grown used to Tek as a security blanket, and you need V-Mart's bat in the lineup? Then again, Tek did hit two homers yesterday; maybe coming off the bench will suit him hitting-wise.

As with everything else, too soon to tell, of course.

***

Miscellaneous thoughts:

• Clay Buchholz also made a pretty decent case for keeping his spot in the rotation when / if Daisuke is reactivated. I hear the Diceman made a nice rehab start the other day, but Buchholz started the season when he was supposed to, and I like the way he seems to be developing, despite his rough spots (like giving up a leadoff hit in every inning he pitched today). I would hate to see Buchholz denied playing / learning time because we're still trying to squeeze blood from the Daisuke stone. 
• Daniel Bard and Jonathan Papelbon were set up with a hold / save 8th and 9th and went scoreless. Bard was hitting 98-99 on the gun and Papelbon threw the split fairly well. Papelbon looks a little funny, like he's throwing across his body a little too much (A little too much like a merry go round rather than a Ferris wheel, which is the opposite of how he once described his ideal motion). But whatever, he got the save, and here's hoping this is the beginning of the bullpen permanently getting its shit together this season.
• Big Papi had four strikeouts today. Jeremy Hermida hit a homer yesterday and had an RBI today. Yeah.
• Best wishes for a speedy recovery to Jacoby Ellsbury, who was kneed accidentally in the chest by Adrian Beltre while both were going for a foul popup. This followed a previous miscue between left field and left infield that resulted in a dropped ball. Now that we know Ellsbury's ribs aren't broken (which had seemed a possibility), hopefully they'll work out the communication over on that side of the field. 

Red Sox / Yankees Game 3: My own home opener

The heat was surprising at quittin' time yesterday, the late afternoon still muggy and hazy on a day that could have easily passed for mid-July. I was in a crowd of Red Sox fans from the moment I approached the Riverside T station. On the train, I watched, bemused, as three college-age guys in Beckett jerseys openly swigged out of telltale red Solo cups while the D car rumbled and squealed its way into town.

I had to wait for a while to meet my husband by the Cask, in the uneasy intimacy of a crowded sidewalk full of others doing a similar thing. From that vantage point it was clear when a fresh train had just arrived at Kenmore Square station; the regular periodic surges in the crowd being corralled across Lansdowne Street were visible.

From that vantage point it was also clear how many Yankees fans were in attendance last night. Every tenth person, or just about, seemed to be wearing a pinstriped or deep blue jersey. Bright white NYs were everywhere. As were alternate forms of Yankees garb, including that old staple, the obnoxious T-shirt.

Though it's not like we don't have our own answers to that.

***

Walking up that ramp into the ballpark for the first time each year may never get old. The sky was a mix of iron-grey clouds and fading honey-gold twilight, as the facade, and then the grandstand, and then the right field boxes, and finally the bleachers and the bullpens came into view. It felt, as always, like some kind of portal had closed behind me. From the lower level of the park, only the tallest buildings around are visible; the sensation is of departure from the outside world, encapsulation in a self-contained atmosphere.

As the buzz of the crowd, the shouts of vendors, and somewhere beyond, the pop of the glove in the bullpen began to sink in, I couldn't have suppressed my grin if my life had depended on it. It spread across my face, an uncontrollable reflex, as I climbed stair after stair, all the way back to row 17 of grandstand section 1.

There was a pole that partially blocked the pitcher's mound if I didn't lean the right way. One of my knees was pressed up against the back of the peeling, fading grandstand seats immediately, and would stay that way for almost every moment of the next 10 innings. My butt would ache by the bottom of the first.

I let out a happy sigh.

***

At other Red Sox - Yankees games I've been to, it's usually clear when there are fisticuffs being exchanged somewhere in the park -- a physical fight seems to suck in the crowd around it like a black hole, and you can see it suddenly gather in from across the field, usually accompanied by a telltale roar that has nothing to do with the action on the field. This time, the only fights I saw were of the verbal variety.

Ahead of us and to our left sat a Yankees fan in a white hat and light blue Yanks t-shirt, who took it upon himself to cheer on his team from practically across Lansdowne Street, as if the people who could hear him weren't just the increasingly irritated Red Sox fans nearby. As the game wore on, he engaged in a lengthy and shrill verbal altercation with an equally loudmouthed Red Sox fan.

Out on the street before the game, as a group of lads clad in pinstripes passed some Sox loyalists, one of the Boston fans let out an exaggerated cough, into which he embedded the words "YANKEESSUCK", which got him a laugh from his Joba-jersey-wearing counterpart (and from me).

Inside the park, when Yankees fans in attendance stood up to walk down the stairs, Red Sox fans would holler out whatever name was on the back of their shirts, followed by a hearty bellow of "...SUCKS!!"

And when a woman in a Jeter jersey came and sat momentarily in our grandstand section, a kid from standing room squatting in an unclaimed seat in our row repeatedly reminded her that "Jeter Sucks." Her responses would've made Josh Beckett proud.

I thought for a second I was going to see a cross-gender fight (you laugh, but I saw it happen once at Gillette). But then, inexplicably, the woman and her friends (all of whom were wearing Red Sox gear) left the section and never returned.

***

It wasn't Opening Night, but it was still a noteworthy game: John Lackey's first start in a Red Sox uniform.

Lackey delivered starting with a crisp first inning, in which he surrendered a walk but no hits. Big John held up his end throughout his six-inning start, and left clinging to a 1-0 lead, having surrendered only 3 hits. 

Lackey assuredly won't be earning quite the fangirl following Beckett, Papelbon and Ellsbury have. Even while doing what he does best, pitching, his body language seems jerky and awkward. Though a power pitcher, he doesn't "drop and drive" -- instead, he turns on a vertical axis, while his right leg kicks up next to him during his follow-through like he's doing the Charleston. As he finishes his throw, he holds one hand out in front of him like a velociraptor's claw before coming to rest. And his posture as he looks in for the sign with men on base is even stranger.

As long as he keeps throwing up goose eggs, though, he'll be fascinating to watch.

***

When David Ortiz came up in the first inning with Ellsbury and Youkilis on first and third, two outs, I held my breath watching him spit and clap and dig and set in the box through my telephoto lens, begging to any higher power that happened to be listening for him to just please get a hit. 

It's not even because he's my team's DH anymore. It's because I feel for him personally in a way I haven't with any other player. I was dying for him to get a hit, not just to beat the Yankees, but to beat the people who want to give him shit about his failures. Papi's in a category by himself, given the memories he's attached to and the personality that's been nothing but a cheerful delight around here until his latest struggles. It will just never be all business with Big Papi, at least not if you're a fan.

He finally connected, and as the ball spun toward my lens I reacted instinctively, mistakenly, probably wishfully, "THERE'S a hit!" The older gentleman next to us glanced at me, and I realized: the shift. The goddamn shift. Ortiz was out at first. Inning over. And a queasy feeling settled into my gut.

His next time up, also with a runner on, in the bottom of the third, I overheard a guy in the standing room section behind us talking to his buddy about the way Ortiz has been vilified lately. "They can't just strip him of his pride like that," he said. "It just ain't right."

That's when, from off in the right field grandstand, the "Pa-PI! Pa-PI! Pa-PI!" chant started. The guy in standing room and his buddy joined in immediately. I did too.

And then, at long last, Ortiz eked out a base hit, scoring Pedroia.

It hurts to type that sentence. It hurts to think about it. I know the truth. But as far as I and the rest of the fans in the grandstand last night were concerned, we're going down with the friggin' ship. 

***

***

Watch that be the only run of the whole game, I thought to myself as the cheers died down following Papi's hit, and we settled back into our seats.

I was partially right -- it would turn out to be the only Boston run of the game. Scott Schoeneweis relieved Lackey to start the 7th; he was pulled with two outs and Jorge Posada on second base, where it seems he is a fixture -- an irritating, parasitic fixture, like a barnicle -- in every game. Daniel Bard replaced Schoeneweis and promptly gave up a hit to Nick Swisher, scoring Posada and tying the ball game.

Immediately, my heart sank. I have yet to experience chest-bursting confidence in this lineup, despite the way it's scrapped and clawed against the Yanks the last two days. It just seemed, right then, like it was over but the shouting.

Which was true, but the shouting would go on for another three innings, into extras, where Curtis Granderson eventually pounded the final nail into the coffin with a home run off Jonathan Papelbon that landed almost directly in front of us. Around us the Yankees crowd, still going strong as Sox fans began to stream toward the exits, stood up and cheered.

I know that I don't really have a leg to stand on with this, given how my fellow Sox fans have represented us at visiting ballparks all over the country, even unto the point of a reputation for unsightly colonialism on the road. But honestly, I was seething. A tiny thundercloud may have appeared above my head. I'm sure I was making my very own version of the Peyton Manning Face. 

Not only was I disappointed that my first game of the year was going to be a loss, that one of my favorite players (Papelbon, who is worrying me on a scale to rival Papi) was the reason, that because of a key strikeout with runners on in the bottom of the fifth the screaming meemies would be after Ortiz again, but I also deeply, deeply resented the presence of these celebrating interlopers who were there to rub it in. I was desperate for something, anything, that would wipe the smug looks of satisfaction off the faces of the high-fiving kids in Joba jerseys four rows down.

Let me also just take this moment to mention that I can't vouch for the behavior of any and everyone wearing a Sox shirt in ballparks across America, and that I personally have never seen the Red Sox play anywhere other than Fenway Park. If anything, fans of Elsewhere, I'm feeling your pain.

And yes, my Zen after the inaugural loss of the season had lasted all of a day. I knew it would pass, too, but in that moment...even despite my better judgment and knowledge otherwise...and even given its irrelevance to the events that had just transpired...I, too, wanted to loudly inform somebody that Jeter Sucks.