See Ya Manny, So Long Dynasty
I received a text from a friend the night before the trade deadline when it looked like Manny Ramirez was headed to South Florida to join the Marlins. The text read: “Worried yet?”
My response: “They won’t do it. Not with a dynasty on the line.”
(One of the great sports debates is what constitutes a dynasty. It’s clearly a subjective interpretation of greatness. In this scribe’s opinion a team must win back-to-back titles plus another one within a few years, which is to say any franchise that wins three out of five championships is worthy of some manifestation of the term “dynasty”. A banner in 2008 would mean three out of five for the Sox.)
So my rationale was the Red Sox brass would not threaten what is at least arguably a potential dynasty in the making, particularly given that David Ortiz spent a significant period of time on the shelf and the team didn’t fade.
Given that Josh Beckett is fixing to turn it up, that Dice-K has been far from the liability most believed he would be this year and Jon Lester is the second-best lefty in the American League.
Given that Jonathan Papelbon is still the surest thing this side of Mariano Rivera when it comes to closing games in October.
Given that the most prolific offensive tandem since Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig was intact again for the first time since it co-slugged its way to a second World Series in four years.
Given that cumulatively this team was unequivocally gearing up for another title run.
I didn’t think it would happen because I’ve come to understand the whims of this ownership. John Henry, Tom Werner and Larry Lucchino have personalized the experience of being a Red Sox fan because they themselves are Red Sox fans — ones who happen to be ridiculously wealthy businessmen who assumed control of the enterprise.
Too often in sports business and figures detract from what is ultimately best for a team. With Manny’s eight-year, $160 million deal, it was at times a wise business move for the ownership to remove all those dollars from its weighty payroll. Hence irrevocable waivers in 2003, a busted trade for Alex Rodriguez in 2004, and annual deadline talks with the Mets’ Omar Minaya about a Manny move to Flushing.
In all instances, getting rid of Manny was the smart business move, the best for the bottom line. But Theo Epstein — acting on behalf of the trio — abstained from ever pulling the string because of one prevailing reason: The guy was too damned good and too vital to the most important end of winning. Winning superseded personal relationships. Winning supplanted 
smart business.
To this ownership, winning mattered most. And in pennant races and pursuits of October glory, Ramirez behind Ortiz gave the Red Sox a decisive inside track to victory.
I’ll be frank: Manny has always been a pain in the rear (to put it gently) through the eyes of ownership and his colleagues. It was just always kept more or less under wraps, in that Manny for the most part squawked privately and off the record, which meant only bits and pieces were divulged.
I’m sorry, but it’s no coincidence that the historically publicly soft-spoken Manny signed with Scott Boras before (essentially) a contract year — the Red Sox held two $20 million club options for 2009 and 2010 on Ramirez — then proceeded to start voicing all the displeasures he’s traditionally voiced behind the scenes directly to the media.
Boras, who’s likely still peeved at the Red Sox for holding him hostage two summers ago over the Dice-K contract, saw the perfect opportunity to turn the tables on the only contingent to have gotten the better of him at the negotiating table.
He knew that unleashing the Manny circus on the public would force the hand of the club, force them to 1) pay monetarily to get rid of Manny (which they have, $7 million), 2) dispose of him for seventy cents on the dollar (which they did, for Jason Bay), and 3) line Manny up to get shown the money come this offseason (which if I were a betting man…).
Done and done. And just like that the Manny Ramirez era came to a prompt conclusion in Boston.
What truly perplexes me is the fact that lots of fans and writers are on board with the move. Proponents of the trade would point to the fact that Manny’s bullheadedness was tearing the team apart from the inside, that his antics have been far worse this year than in the past.
Not true.
Manny has always been Manny. To the fans and outside world he was frequently endearing, quirky and warm, while behind closed doors he was consistently self-centered, obstinate and vexing. Bottom line is he has forever lived in Manny World, in spite of everyone around him — be it media, teammates or bosses.
(If you’re not convinced, pick up Seth Mnookin’s Feeding the Monster. It is the single most illuminating piece of writing about Manny and the organization.)
Due to that longstanding discord it was obvious that Manny and Boston would part ways after this season. After finishing what unofficially kicked off in 2003, the most prosperous era in Red Sox history. Like it or not, like him or not, the Red Sox with Manny Ramirez were most sufficiently primed to defend a World Series crown for the first time in nearly a century.
Debating team chemistry, managing motives and money is moot. Through everything that has gone down in the last week, only two facts have emerged: 1) The Red Sox are a decidedly worse team today than they were on the morning of July 31, 2008, and 2) If they should get there, the Red Sox will be a far less intimidating force in October than they were in ’04 or ’07.
Don’t believe me?
Just ask any Angels or Yankees fan.
been feeding on the sewage of the basement since April (in which case it’d be wise to bounce that overdue check to the commish), chances are you need to make a trade.
and Doug Mientkiewicz. The Red Sox were an underperforming .500 ballclub in need of an overhaul. So Theo pulled the trigger on one of the most controversial trades in Red Sox history, a deal that marked a watershed moment for a tortured franchise. My point being, if Theo was willing to assume the burden of seven generations of rabid and crazy Red Sox fans, don’t balk at the prospect of pulling something of a fantasy equivalent. If your team has been sitting middle of the pack, the time has come to part with a titan. Max out the value of a Josh Hamilton, Adrian Gonzalez, Carlos Quentin or Nate McLouth by packaging one of them and going in a different direction. It’s worked before. (And as opposed to Theo, if it all fails you won’t have to board up your windows.)
wouldn’t want the virtual experience of stepping into the batters box against Pedro in his prime?
Only fantasy baseball can allow someone to indulge a daily passion and also scorn a boss — all while on the clock. In other words, the list of people who scour fantasy stats on their own time is a lot shorter than the list of those who do it on their employer’s buck.
Fact is, the rivalry hasn’t been close to what it was in the glory days of 2003-05 — when five hour, extra-inning, extra hating blood matches were the norm, and seven-game epics with pennants on the line were the closing acts. It had, however, maintained its standing as the story of the moment whenever it renewed itself — until now.
thick of a pennant race.
Mark Teixeira Of all the blue-chip sluggers out there, Teixeira is the one who has made second half dominance his calling card — at least over the last two years. In the first halves of 2006 and 2007, Teixeira meandered along, doing his best Brian Daubach impression (9 homers/49 RBIs in ’06 and 12/41 in ’07). Then, after the All-Star respites, he got mad (maybe because some fool dared utter his name in the same breath as Brian Daubach), going off for 24 bombs and 61 RBIs in ’06 with an encore of 18 and 67 last year. If someone offered me Teixeira for Adrian Gonzalez today, I’d do it in a heartbeat. But that’s just me.
authority but missed. Pierce beat everyone to the ensuing board and after gaining control of the ball kicked it out to Eddie House for a corner trey, which he struck off the back of the iron. James Posey hustled after the long board, hauled it in and threw it back up top for a reset. He went on to assume his place in the left corner, and on cue, received the ball on a crisp rotation from House and buried a three.
Kobe couldn’t handle the Truth blowing by him for a game-tying or series-clinching bucket on his floor, in his town.
laudatory chorus for the champs.
Boston.
None of them matched the vibe inside the Garden on Sunday night. From the second the lights went down and the lineups were introduced the place became a force unto itself. With 18,000-plus unified, the building felt like it was taking on a life of its own. There was always a sustained level of clamor. It would subside slightly when the Celtics had the ball and rise to spine-tingling crescendos when the Lakers did.
to sway the outcome and render the officials mere bystanders. But time was, that’s how it went down; that’s one of the reasons why the Boston Garden and LA Forum produced nearly half of all NBA titles. That sense of intimacy, of a stake in the action, that’s what has made basketball the unique professional sport from a fan perspective.
Hello, I’m a 25-year-old Celtics fan. There are many others like me.
Wildcats and a certain “door”. Reality for us is not-Tim Duncan.
I did know it was the proudest moment I’d ever had as a Celtics fan because the pride I felt was 100 percent genuine and solely my own. It was also the most unique moment I’d ever had as a sports fan because it had nothing to do with winning or losing.
In decoded speak, the previous paragraph reads like this: Ray Allen (finally!) became Ray Allen again, Kendrick Perkins went all Bill Russell on us for three quarters, and the Celtics positioned themselves within a win of the NBA Finals for the first time in 21 years.
of the third quarter Kevin Garnett missed a long jumper; Perkins positioned himself and hauled in the offensive board, felt single coverage from Antonio McDyess and calmly backed him down before sinking a turnaround shot. A few minutes later he swatted Jason Maxiell’s layup attempt, which led to a shot clock violation for the Pistons. He sported a KG-like scowl running back up the floor as the arena wildly applauded.
vanquish an opponent in a Game 6 with the safety net of a final decisive game in Beantown on a Sunday.
Then, as if sensing its visceral reaction was slightly misplaced and maybe premature, the stadium came to a prompt hush as Pierce was about to release the ball.
When it was over and the Celtics had prevailed, survived, escaped–however you want to put it–the clock read 6:31 pm. Afternoon may have turned into evening outside on Causeway Street, but inside TD Banknorth Garden for three hours on a Sunday, time stood still.