Josh Q. Public:Well I’ve been thinking ’bout all the places we’ve surfed and danced and all the places we’ve missed, so let’s get back together and do it again. -Beach Boys
Public Service Announcement: Ok, here we go! The greatest right handed hitter to ever don a Red Sox uniform has done did it again. The greatest right handed hitter in the history of baseball has done did it again. Manny Ramirez has done did it again. Manny Ramirez’s two-run bomb off the Bayonne Bleeder, Joe Borowski, in the top of the ninth was the winner winner chicken dinner. The ninth winner winner chicken dinner in Manny’s career. The third winner winner chicken dinner as a Red Sox. And when I say winner winner chicken dinner, you know what I’m talking about boyyyyyy. I’m talking about a go-ahead homer in the ninth inning or later. No such thing as clutch. Bill James can eat my shorts. I’m more of a Siwoffian statistician anyway. Big Papi ain’t right. That much is clear. Manny is right. Right as rain. Well, that’s all right, mama. That’s all right for you. That’s all right mama, just anyway you do. Manny did in the top of the ninth. Two outs. One on. All tied up. Manny saunters up. You knew it. I knew it. Bill James knew it. Gone! Connectamundo. Power pose. Why pitch to this cat? Eck tried it. Wow! Joe Girardi tried it over the week-end. See what happens? Manny makes you pay. That’s what happens. That’s the way it is with a wiseguy partner. He gets his money no matter what. You got no business? #### you, pay me. You had a fire? #### you, pay me. The place got hit by lightning and World War Three started in the lounge? #### you, pay me. Hold it now, hold it now, hit it. Manny is the greatest hitter in baseball today. He hits with power. He hits to the opposite field. He hits with two strikes. He hits and he hits and he hits. Roll Sox roll!
Public Acknowledgements: Chuck Wepner, Jeff Gordon, Beastie Boys, Elvis and Goodfellas
Josh Q. Public: One more time. We’re gonna celebrate. Oh yeah, alright. Don’t stop the dancin’. One more time. -Daft Punk
Public Service Announcement: OK, here we go! First place baby! First place. First place thanks to Mr. Manny Ramirez. While you were sleeping, I was watching baseball. While you were sleeping, I was watching Boston Red Sox baseball. While you were sleeping, I was watching Manny Ramirez hit a two-run double in the top of the 10th inning to rally the Boston Red Sox over the Oakland Athletics. Woo doggy! What a way to the start the day. What a way to the start the season. Manny ####ed in four runs. Manny ####ed a two-out, two-strike pitch off the center field wall at the Tokyo Dome. Manny ####ed in Julio Lugo and Big Papi with the go-ahead runs. Ballgame! Make no mistake about it. This the Year of the Ram. The Man-Ram. Manny picked up where he left off in the post-season. Manny picked up where he left off in last year’s championship post-season. Last year’s championship post season where Manny tore it up. Hardcored it up. Katy bar the doored it up. Katy bar the doored it up with four bombs. Katy bar the doored it up with sixteen baseknocks. Sure last season wasn’t his best. Sure last season was the first season he didn’t receive any MVP votes. Sure last season his .493 slugging percentage was an all time low. This year will be different. He’s worked harder than ever in the off-season. And that’s saying something. That’s saying a lot. He’s spent two months working out in Arizona. He’s abandoned the split grip in his batting stance. He’s no longer resting his bat on his shoulder as the pitcher heads into his windup. Manny finished spring training at .300. He’s started the regular season with a ####. Expect more from Manny. Expect more from the greatest Red Sox of all time. Heresy you say? Blasphemy? Apostasy? I say, free your mind and the rest will follow. Be colorblind, don’t be so shallow. I’ve heard the criticisms. You lollygag the ball around the outfield. You lollygag your way down to first. You lollygag in and out of the dugout. You know what that makes you? A lollygagger! People take offense to his posing after titanic moon shots. People can shut the hell up. All I know is, for the second time in four years, the Sox snatched victory from the jaws of defeat. Snatched victory from the jaws of defeat and played themselves into the World Series. Played themselves into the World Series thanks, in large part, to Mr. Ramirez. Took all the breath out of the Cleveland Indians. You’re every song I sing. You’re the music that I play. And you take my breath away. And that’s just it. Manny is the music the Red Sox play. So say what you will about Manny. Whatever gives you a thrill about Manny. Sing like the Barber of Seville about Manny. But know this, in this new era of Boston Red Sox baseball, this winning era of Boston Red Sox baseball, Manny is the straw that stirs the drink. Roll Sox roll!
Public Acknowledgements: Jed Clampett, Boston Herald, En Vogue, Bull Durham, Rex Smith and Reggie Jackson
Josh Q. Public:Let me root, root, root for the home team. If they don’t win it’s a shame. For it’s one, two, three strikes, you’re out, at the old ball game. -Jack Norworth
Public Service Announcement: OK, here we go! Major League Baseball. I live for this! Smell it? Ooooh that smell. Can’t you smell that smell? Smells like neat’s-foot oil in that old Wilson A2000. Smells like Derek Jeter? Smells like Red Man. Smells like Fenway Franks. Smells like spilled beer on the hot concrete. Smells like freshly cut grass. That was me. I’d wake up at night with the smell of the ballpark in my nose, the cool of the grass on my feet…The thrill of the grass. The thrill of the grass is back! The thrill of the grass is back early in the morning. Gap Band style. The thrill of the grass is back tomorrow Gap Band style in the Land of the Rising Sun. And I can’t wait. I can’t wait for baseball. I believe in the Church of Baseball. Like my main man Rogers Hornsby always says: “People ask me what I do in winter when there’s no baseball. I’ll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring.” Well Rajah, spring has done sprung. Baseball begins. The 2008 storylines are ready to be played out. Are they paper Tigers? Can Johan redeem the Mets? Are the Sox still the team to beat? Is anybody gonna sign Bonds? Can the Rockies do it again? The Diamondbacks? Is Joe Girardi really going to do any better than Joe Torre? How many guys will caught juicing? Will the Reds finish above the Red Birds. The Rays above the Yankees? Will Phat Albert Winnie the Pujols’ elbow last? Is Evan Longoria that good? Is Cameron Maybin? Mets, Phillies or Braves? Will Curt Schilling pitch again? How well will Randy Johnson pitch? Bartolo Colon? Pedro? Greg Maddux? Can Maddux put a baseball through a Lifesaver enough for the eight more wins he needs to pass the Rocket for eighth all time? Can Junior get the fifteen dings he needs to pass Slammin’ Sammy for fifth? Will Moneyball ever be winning it all ball? Is this the Year of the Cub? Will Hank become more insufferable than George ever was? Is this Bobby Cox’ last season in Atlanta? Can the Astros win with hitting alone? How bad are the Twins? All these questions and so many more. We can stop asking them now. Baseball season is starting again now. The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. Tomorrow, baseball will be marking time again. It’s about time.
So get up at six. Take your shoes off. Put your feet up. Sit back. Relax. And be a Sox watcher. I live for this game!
Public Acknowledgements: Lynyrd Skynyrd, Joe Jackson, Bull Durham and Field of Dreams.
A buddy of mine sent me thislink. I never thought I’d live to see the day somebody used me as a reference. Wikipedia or not. I am footnote number five. “Drew has also been criticized by fans and the media for his perceived lack of effort, leading to nicknames such as ‘D.L. Drew’ or ‘Nancy Drew.’” Thank you JD. Thank you Wikipedia. Thank you Al Gore.
Josh Q. Public:Ain’t that a shame? My tears fell like rain. Ain’t that a shame? You’re the one to blame. -Fats Domino
Public Service Announcement: OK, here we go! The Baseball Hall of Fame. Coperstown. Hallowed grounds. Preserving history, honoring excellence, connecting generations.
Now, the obligatory Big Jim Ed Rice plea. I’ll make this brief. How does this cat not get in. In his day, he was the best hitter in the American League. Bar none! In 1978 he was the best hitter in baseball. C’mon fellas. Jokes over. Enough is enough. Jim Ed deserves to be in Cooperstown. This voting is a travesty. It’s a travesty of a mockery of a sham of a mockery of a travesty of two mockeries of a sham. How do you not select this cat. Here are some stats:
In 1977, he led the league with 39 home runs. He also had 206 hits. The first of three consecutive years with at least 35 homers and 200 hits. Are you kidding me? He was the first player ever to have accomplished that feat. He also led the league in total bases for three straight years, becoming only the third A.L. player - after Ty Cobb and Ted Williams - to do so.
Jim Ed won the MVP award in 1978. In 1978, he accumulated an astounding 406 total bases. 406! The only guy ever in the American League to do so since 1938. The last guy to do it before Rice? Super Joe DiMaggio. No one in the AL has done it since Rice. No one. Not even the juicers. Simply unbelievable. EMF style.
Jim Rice was so strong that his ordinary grounders would be into the outfield before the infielders could react to them. So strong he would break bats on check swings. Some kids #### their name in the snow. Jim Ed Rice can #### his name into concrete.
Of the 17 players with 300 homers and a career average as high as Rice’s .298, Rice is the only one not in Cooperstown.
Josh Q. Public:You can’t hide your lyin’ eyes. And your smile is a thin disguise. I thought by now you’d realize, there ain’t no way to hide you lyin’ eyes. -Eagles
Public Service Announcement: OK, here we go! All Rocket. All the time. So that’s it Roger? That’s your defense? That tape? That was no Watergate. I can’t stand it. I know you planned it. But I’m gonna set it straight, this Watergate. Let me make one thing perfectly clear. Nothing changes. If anything, it makes the Rocket look worse. It was a setup job. A set up job gone bad. Two lawyers and Roger in a room trying to set up unsuspecting Brian McNamee. A whining Brian McNamee. A sniveling Brian McNamee. A blubbering Brian McNamee. Clemens thought he sensed weakness. Thought he could throw one high and tight. Thought McNamee would go down looking. Clemens thought he sensed weakness when he received a text from McNamee. McNamee texted Clemens seeking to speak with him because McNamee’s 10-year-old son, Brian, was ill. Clemens and his Dream Team pounced. But what did they pounce on? A pathetic man. A feeble man. A pitiful man. A petty man who made his living by injecting illegal substances into the buttocks of bigger men. Men who made McNamee himself feel bigger. McNamee was apologizing. Not for lying. No. McNamee was apologizing for telling the truth. For telling the truth and falling off the gravy train. The gravy taste dogs can’t wait to finish. Falling off the gravy train with a very sick child. McNamee: “I will go to jail, I will do whatever you want.” I will lie for you. I will go to jail for you. Greg Anderson style. I will do all that for you if you pay for my sick child. McNamee: “All I did was what I thought was right. I never thought it was right, but I thought I had no choice.” I never thought ratting was right, but they had me. They had me cold. I had to give you up even though I didn’t think it was the right thing to do. It’s the right thing to do and the tasty way to do it. McNamee was apologizing. He was apologizing with selfish motives. No Doubt. He had one hand out and the other holding a knife in Roger’s back. McNamee ratted. McNamee felt bad for ratting. That’s it. The Rocket should quit now. Fess up before it’s too late. We are a forgiving lot. Jason Giambi got Comeback Player of the Year. Andy Pettitte is back in pinstripes. This bullying routine will get Clemens nowhere. Except maybe the hoosegow. Come clean Roger. Come clean now. Come Zestfully clean.
Public Acknowledgements: Richard Nixon, Beastie Boys, Quaker Foods, Wilford Brimley and Proctor & Gamble
Josh Q. Public: Another one bites the dust. Hey, I’m gonna get you too. Another one bites the dust. -Queen
Public Service Announcement: OK, here we go! What are all the nay sayers saying now? When the Mitchell Report first came out on Thursday, we heard words like flimsy. We heard words like circumstantial. We heard words like unreliable. We even heard words like slander and liable. Say the word and you’ll be free. Say the word and be like me. Say the word I’m thinking of. Have you heard the word is love? I heard, but the word of the day is admit. Say the secret word and win $100. You bet your life. The first big winner was Andy Pettitte. Who’s the big winner here tonight at the casino? Huh? Andy, that’s who. Andy’s the big winner. Andy wins. Andy admitted the Mitchell Report’s allegations are true. He admitted that he did use performance-enhancing drugs. In actuality, FP Santangelo was the first to admit HGH use after the report’s release. But c’mon. FP Santangelo? Pettitte’s admission is huge. Coming off the heals of a Clemens denial, Andy’s confession gave instant credibility to Mitchell’s work. It also put a darker shadow on Roger’s. Since Pettitte came clean, the dominos have been falling. Oh oh domino. Roll me over Romeo. There you go. Add Brian Roberts to the list of names from the Mitchell Report to admit to using performance-enhancing drugs. Breaking his silence in Tuesday’s editions of the Baltimore Sun, the Orioles second baseman said he took steroids “once” in 2003. This was supposed to be the flimsiest evidence of all. Hearsay to the Nth degree. Larry Bigbie told investigators Roberts had told him he used steroids “once or twice” in 2003. Turns out to be true. So how’s this sounding: “McNamee injected Clemens in the buttocks four to six times with testosterone.” Still flimsy? Roberts’s admission came a day after former All-Star second baseman Fernando Vina admitted using human growth hormone four years ago to help heal injuries. If I had to do the same again. I would, my friend, Fernando. So they’re dropping like flies. On Monday, implicated catcher Gary Bennett admitted HGH use. Implicated by a copy of a $3,200 check that he wrote Radomski. Written the same day he was punched in the face by Phat Albert Pujols. Bennett signed a new contract with the Dodgers shortly after his admission. So the hits just keep on hitting. The flies just keep on dropping. Bonds and Clemens may never come around to telling the truth. And with each day that passes, it seems like that’s what it is. The truth. The double truth, Ruth.
Public Acknowledgements: Beatles, Groucho, Swingers, Van Morrison, ABBA and Do the Right Thing
Josh Q. Public: All truths are easy to understand once they are discovered; the point is to discover them. -Galileo
Public Knowledge:
1. This report is just the tip of the tip of the iceberg. Like Chicago used to sing, “Only the beginning. Only just the start.” For every cat named in this report, there are many, many more who went unnamed. Every clubhouse has their own Brian McNamee. Every clubhouse has their own Kirk Radomski. Every clubhouse has their own skeletons.
2. The Roger Clemens’ of the world can save their outrage. Save it for a rainy day. Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket, never let it fade away! Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket, save it for a rainy day! Save it Rocket. Save it everybody. You had your chances. 500 of you did. Only 68 of you had the courage to speak with Senator Mitchell. Clemens’ mouthpiece Rusty Hardin told reporters that Roger had not been given the opportunity to defend himself. Yes he had. As did 432 others. They chose not to.
3. Everybody loves the list. The list of the players. The list of the cheaters. The list of the users. All the animals come out at night: ####, skunk ####, buggers, queens, fairies, dopers, junkies, sick, venal. Someday a real rain will come and wash all this scum off the streets. Not today though. This rain wasn’t near strong enough. But it’s not just the players who need a good dousing. To me the most damning thing I heard was that of Gene Orza. A former player claimed he had been given two weeks’ notice of a drug test by Orza. Independently, Kirk Radomski stated that this former player had earlier told him the same thing about Orza’s statements. Larry Bigbie also said that the same former player had told him the same thing about his conversation with Orza.
4. I still can’t over the fact the best hitter of our lifetime is dirty. I still can’t over the best pitcher of our lifetime is dirty. And don’t kid yourselves. Don’t let them kid you. They are dirty. It’s still very overwhelming to me. Now we gotta ask, who are really the best players of our lifetime? Like how many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop? The world may never know. We may never know ’cause we may never know who was really clean and who wasn’t.
5. The big question I hear being tossed around is, is it worth it. As Jayson Stark asked: “Was it really worth all that money, all that time, all that trouble? Was it really worth it to relive all those years of ugliness, shred all those reputations, embarrass the sport of baseball all over again?” My answer is Yes. Yes, yes, yes. A thousand times yes. The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it’s a part of our past, Ray. It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again. Baseball itself needs to be good once again. And if it means some folks’ faces are going to get dirty in the process, then so be it. Remember, no one is bigger than the game.
6. Kevin Duckworth? He is not actually implicated in steroids in any way but during the investigation of former Met clubhouse guy Kirk Radomski a personal check of his was uncovered.
7. All I really need to know I learned in Juiced. As compelling as the Mitchell Report is, Jose already told us. In his book, Canseco claimed widespread use of steroids in Major League Baseball. He named names. Big names. Important Names. Superstar names. Jesus Christ. Superstar. Do you think you’re what they say you are? We didn’t think so. We didn’t believe him. No one did. But following his story, several of those players, including Mark McGwire and Rafael Palmeiro, were called to testify before Congress about steroids in baseball. And here we are.
8. More Jose. Jose is convinced A-Broad should have been on the list. Canseco: “All I can say is the Mitchell Report is incomplete. I could not believe that (Rodriguez’s) name was not in the report.” Yowza! Jose was right before. Jose played with A-Broad. It may be high time we start believing this cat.
9. A sign the apocalypse is upon us? Al Jazeera breaks in on the Mitchell Report:
10. Rumors had it that rumors that the Cardinals’ Albert Pujols was on the list. Because your kiss, your kiss, is on my list. Because your kiss, your kiss I can’t resist. The list of those implicated in the Mitchell investigation. It turned out they were just that. Rumors. But if there is one thing I’ve learned from all this, it’s that nobody is above su####ion. Nobody. Not one new name could come out that would surprise. Not Derek Jeter. Not Big Papi. Not nobody.
Josh Q. Public:It is the spirit and not the form of law that keeps justice alive. -Earl Warren
Public Service Announcement: OK, here we go! I don’t like this. I don’t like this one bit. I do not like it in a house. I do not like it with a mouse. I do not like it here or there. I do not like it anywhere. You may say I’m a homer. You may say I’m out of order. I say, you’re out of order! You’re out of order! The whole trial is out of order! Boom Boom Beckett was robbed. He was jobbed. He was rump swabbed. Just like Pedro was robbed by I-Rod oh so many years ago. I don’t care that in the last game of the season Beckett looked more like Matt Young than he did Cy Young. I don’t care that CC pitched more innings than Boom Boom. I don’t care that he threw fifteen more strikeouts. I don’t care what they say about us anyway. I don’t care about that. I care that Josh Boom Boom Beckett was the best pitcher in the American League this year. Who would you want on the hill? King of the Hill. And just so you know, Beckett struck out (.96) per inning while Sabathia struck out even fewer, a paltry (.84) per inning. So put that in your pipe and smoke it. Boom Boom Beckett walked only forty batters all season. Boom Boom Beckett only allowed seventeen bombs. Boom Boom Beckett Beckett limited opponents to a .245 batting average. Boom Boom Beckett held opponents to .207 with runners in scoring position. He outshined Sabathia in all these categories. Outdevined Sabathia. Out walked the line Sabathia. Doesn’t that count for something? Doesn’t twenty games? I remember when twenty games meant something. I remember when that was how a pitcher was measured. Boy, the way Glenn Miller played. Songs that made the Hit Parade. Guys like us, we had it made. Those were the days. Not so much anymore. Not for Mark Feinsand of the New York Daily News or Jorge Ortiz of USA Today. I guess twenty games means bupkus to them. Those Bozos each listed Sabathia, Lackey and Fausto Carmona on their ballots. No Boom Boom Beckett in sight. That just ain’t right. Makes you wanna fight. Fight for your right. To party! No partying now. Not after this travesty. Not after this mockery. This trial is a travesty. It’s a travesty of a mockery of a sham of a mockery of a travesty of two mockeries of a sham. I guess you can’t have everything.
Public Acknowledgements: Dr. Seuss, And Justice For All, Weezer, Mike Judge, The Brockton Enterprise, All In The Family, Beastie Boys and Woody Allen
Josh Q. Public:And though she’s not really ill, there’s a little yellow pill. She goes running for the shelter of a mother’s little helper. And it helps her on her way, gets her through her busy day. -Rolling Stones
Public Service Announcement: OK, here we go! You’ve heard. Heard the word. Spread the word and you’ll be free. Spread the word and be like me. Spread the word I’m thinking of. Have you heard the word is love? Nice sentiment and all, but that ain’t it. The word is steroids. Steroids in baseball. No more than eleven players from this year’s free agent class were asked to speak with George Mitchellas part of his investigation into performance-enhancing drugs in baseball. Woo doggy! We’ve had Juiced. We’ve had Game of Shadows. We’ve had Balco. Congressional hearings. Ken Caminiti. Jason Grimsley. Signature Pharmacy. Applied Pharmacy. Kirk J. Radomski. All of it. More and more names are being dropped. More and more players are getting popped. The beat goes on, the beat goes on. The beat goes on in this Mitchell Report. I’m not here to claim the baseball apocalypse is upon us. But the voyeur in me wants to know. I need to know. I need to know. Because I don’t know how long I can hold on. And if you’re makin’ me wait. If you’re leadin me on. I need to know. I need to know who the eleven are. Since no one’s telling me it’s up to me to conjecture. It’s up to me to assume. It’s up to me to hypothesize, theorize, surmise. It’s up to me to judge. Here comes the judge! Here comes the judge! Here comes my best guess as to who the Magnificent Eleven are:
1. Eric Hinske: Rookie of the Year. Hinske was a decent prospect at best, but in 2002, he was Superstud. In 2002, he was big. In 2002, he was fast. In 2002, it looked as though Hinske could have as easily played for the Toronto Argonauts as he did the Toronto Blue Jays. In 2003, Hinske was big. In 2003, Hinske was fat. Signing a $14.75 million contract may have had something to do with it. Coming off the juice may have too.
2. A-Broad:Jose Canseco is coming out with a new book. A new book with more information. Much more information. Jose: “I have other stuff on Alex Rodriquez. He is not whom he seems to be”. Now say what you want about Canseco. He’s been called a liar. He’s been called a cheat. But everything he claimed in Juiced, seemed to prove true.
3. Sammy Sosa: Slammin’ Sammy. Just too easy, right? It seems so easy. Oh, so doggone easy. Yeah, it seems so easy. He’s gotta be one, right? Hopefully he gives Mitchell more than just: No hablo ingles. No hablo ingles.
4. Barry Bonds: Look at the size of that boy’s head. I’m not kidding, it’s like an orange on a toothpick. Well, that’s a huge noggin. That’s a virtual planetoid. Has it’s own weather system. I’m not kidding, that boy’s head is like Sputnik; spherical but quite pointy at parts! Now that was offsides, wasn’t it? He’ll be crying himself to sleep tonight, on his huge pillow.
5. Andruw Jones: Jones makes this list just because he has single-handedly disproved the contract year theory this year. Jones, has had one of the worst seasons of any major leaguer this year at the plate. He had been constantly battling with the Mendoza line. Jones’ story is just too bizarre to ignore.
6. Mike Piazza:Sam Champion’s boyfriend. The Monster is out of the cage! He denies everything. He compares the steroid scandal to the Kennedy Assassination. I’m not biting. From 1999 to 2002, Piazza hit no less than thirty-three bombs and as many as forty. In 2003, Mike fell off to eleven dings and has hit no more than twenty-two since. Not damning evidence, but still.
7. Jeremy Affeldt: Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. We on fire. Up in here, it’s burning hot. We on fire. Shorty take it off if it get to hot, up in this spot. It’s hot up in Jason Grimsley’s spot. Former Kansas City teammate Jeremy Affeldt has stood up for Grimsley countless times. Is it a coincidence that Affeldt’s best year in the majors came when he was in a Royals uni with Grimsley. Like Emma Bull always says: “Coincidence is the word we use when we can’t see the levers and pulleys.”
8. Eric Gagne: Gagne went from being an also-ran starter with a heater that should have been called a lukewarmer to a Juggernaut closer with blazing cheese. I hanker for a hunk-a, a slab or slice or chunk-a, I hanker for a hunk-a Cheese! He set the record for consecutive saves. He won the 2003 NL Cy Young Award. In 2004 baseball announced they would be testing for steroids on an experimental basis. Oddly enough, Gagne lost began to look less Juggernauty that season. Then came 2005. A more stringent policy in 2005. Game Over!
9. Mark Sweeney: More where there’s smoke, there’s fire. I have only one burning desire. Let me stand next to your fire. Mark Sweeney stood next to Big Head Barry’s fire. Barry Bonds failed a test for amphetamines last season and originally blamed it on Sweeney. Gene Orza, chief operating officer of the Major League Baseball Players Association, told Sweeney he should remove any troublesome substances from his locker and should not share said substances. Bonds later retracted these statements but the doubt remains.
10. Mike Cameron: Cameron was suspended for the first 25 games of 2008 for testing positive to a banned stimulant. He’s played drunk. Cameron: “####, I’ve played drunk. New York City. I went four for four with two jacks and eight ribbies. I’m not saying that’s the only day I played drunk, but that was the best one.” Why stop there?
11. Michael Barrett: You all saw it. AJ Pierzynski collided with Barrett at the plate. Pierzynski slapped the plate after the collision as the ball got away from Barrett. Barrett smashed Pierzynski in the face. “I didn’t have the ball ####!” If that’s not a cut and dry case of roid rage, I don’t know what is.
Public Acknowledgements: Beatles, Sonny & Cher, Tom Petty, Flip Wilson, So I married an Axe Murderer, Lloyd Banks, Time for Timer and Jimi Hendrix
Josh Q. Public:The party’s over, it’s time to call it a day. They’ve burst your pretty balloon and taken the moon away. It’s time to wind up the masquerade. Just make your mind up, the piper must be paid. -Nat King Cole
Public Service Announcement: Ok here we go! They did it. They really did it. We’re somebody’s now. Millions of people look at this blog everyday! This is the kind of spontaneous publicity - your name in print - that makes people. The Red Sox are in print! Things are going to start happening to them now. Things have been happening all season, and I’m going to miss it. Deeply miss it. Sorely miss it. Like my main man Rogers Hornsby always says: “People ask me what I do in winter when there’s no baseball. I’ll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring.” That’s what I’m doing now. I’m waiting for spring. Waiting for another Red Sox championship run. Waiting for another wire to wire championship run. But Secretariat is all alone! He’s out there almost a 16th of a mile away from the rest of the horses! Secretariat is in a position that seems impossible to catch. As it turns out, nobody could catch the Sox. Not the Yankees. Not the Angels. Not the Indians. Not the Rockies. Not nobody. And I’m going to miss it. There’s something missing from my life. Cuts me open like a knife. It leaves me vulnerable. I have this disease. I shake like an incurable. God help me please.
Yes I’m going to miss these guys. I’m going to miss my two favorite words in the English language. Papi’s up! On his gimpy knee, he was not the Papi we knew and loved but still a force to be reckoned with. He played a flawless first base in the Series. In game three, he hit a line-drive to right smack dab in the middle of a Red Sox six-run third. Papi in the middle. Where he at? In the middle. Yep, Papi’s in the middle. Where that at? In the middle. In the middle of the line up and the middle of a championship-clinching inning. I’m going to miss Manny being Manny. Hat falling, bare handed off the walling, leaving Kenny Lofton balling, Manny. Manny is the best right-handed batter in my lifetime. Big game? ####, pay me. Little game? ####, pay me. Fastball? ####, pay me. Change? ####, pay me. While A-Broad deserts the teams he claimed he wanted to stay with, Manny stays with the team he claimed he wanted to leave. I’m going to miss Mike Lowell. Throw in, Mike Lowell. World Series MVP, Mike Lowell. Gold Glove, Mike Lowell. Lowell homered, doubled and scored twice in the Game Four clincher at Coors Field. His dirty uniform typifying his whatever-it-takes attitude. I hope I don’t have to miss him next season. I’m going to miss Boom Boom Beckett. Has there ever been a bigger game pitcher? I never saw Bullet Bob Gibson. I never saw Sandy Koufax. I’ve seen Boom Boom. I’ll take my chances with him. I’m going to miss Curt Schilling. I may be missing him forever. His winning performance in Game Two may have been his last winning performance in a Red Sox uniform. What he did one night in 2004 solidifies his place in my heart. I’m going to miss the rookies. Mighty Mite, Dustin Pedroia. Here I come to save the day. That means that Mighty Mouse is on his way. Yes sir, when there is a wrong to right, Mighty Mouse will join the fight. On the sea or on the land, he gets the situation well in hand. Dustin Pedroia, Rookie of the Year. Jacoby Elisbury, next year’s Rookie of the Year. Inserted into the staring order in Game Six against the Indians. Became the third rookie all time with four hits in one Series game and tied Matt Williams as the only player to hit two doubles in one Series game against the Rockies in Game Three. Burning down the base paths. Hold tight, wait ’till the party’s over. Hold tight, we’re in for nasty weather. There has got to be a way. Burning down the house. Running like people were chasing him. No No Nanette Clay Buchholz. Dice-K. Okie. The future’s so bright, they gotta wear shades. I’m going to miss Tek. The captain. Calling a game like no other. No one shakes off Tek. No one. I’ll miss Redemption Man JD Drew. I’ll miss Coco Crisp’s circus catches in center. I’ll mis John Lester. Was there a feel gooder story of the year. If so, I missed that too. I’ll miss Papelbon’s fist pumping, Irish jigging, lights out closing. I’ll even miss Julio Lugo, the latest of the revolving door shortstops around here. Yes, I will miss them all. Until next year, Roll Sox roll! Dynastic!
Public Acknowledgements: The Jerk, Chic Anderson, Police, Monie Love, Goodfellas and the Talking Heads
Josh Q. Public:You’re still the one that makes me strong. Still the one I want to take along. We’re still having fun, and you’re still the one. -Orleans
Public Service Announcement: OK, here we go! Schill the Thrill. Taking the hill. Filling the bill. Still gots the skill. The skills to pay the bills. Last night, maybe for the last time in a Red Sox uniform, Curt Schilling went out and did what he does best. He went out and took over a World Series game. Sherman, set the way back machine to 1993. Ahh, 1993. Rodney King. Waco. Schindler’s List. Sienfeld. Das EFX. And Curt Schilling. Schilling was 27. Beckett’s age. Curt Schilling was Josh Beckett’s age when he made his first World Series start for the Fightin’ Phils. He got knocked around. Rocked around. Shocked around. He gave up seven runs to theBlue Jays in 61/3 innings. He hasn’t lost a World Series game since. Five days later, Schilling came back to shut out Toronto. The rest is history. Schilling now owns an 11-2 record and 2.23 ERA in the post season. He may have ceded his legendary status to Josh Beckett, but remember this, and never forget, Schilling is big game pitcher. Schilling came to Boston a champion. Schilling came to Boston a World Series MVP. He came. He saw. He conquered. Schilling: “I’m going to Boston to break an 86-year-old curse.” And break it he did. He may not have done it alone, but what he did in Game Six, against the Bombers, goes down as The Most Heroic Performance I’ve Ever Seen. The win against the Cardinals, icing on the cake. ####, and I do mean ####, not in a loving, Red Sox way, but in a stupid #### way, Kevin Millar, asked this: ‘’When he comes into the game, people cheer him like he’s the Pope…Why does he get a free pass?” Are you out of your goddamned mind, Kevin? Do you really need an answer to that? Schilling’s overall career in Boston has not been perfect for sure. He’s been hurt. He’s been about a .500 pitcher since 2004. But it’s games like last night. Big games. Important games. Imperative games. Games like that there. That’s why he gets a pass. If that was indeed the Thrill’s last game in a Red Sox uniform, it was fitting. Schilling: “I don’t think there’s anyone on the planet better than me in a game that matters.” I don’t either. Roll Sox roll!
Public Acknowledgements: Bill Burt, Beastie Boys, Mr. Peabody and Julius Caesar
Josh Q. Public:Don’t you know I’m still standing better than I ever did. Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid. -Elton John
Public Service Announcement: Ok, here we go! What’s crack-a-lacking sports fans? Woo doggy! Theeeeeee Red Sox win! Down 3-1. Against all odds. Take a good look at me now, ‘cos I’ll still be standing here. And you coming back to me is against all odds. It’s the chance I’ve gotta take. Take a look at me now. Take a look at the Boston Red Sox. Lookie lookie the Red Sox get the cookie. The world they shookie. I shook up the world! I shook up the world! I done wrestled with an alligator, I done tussled with a whale; handcuffed lightning, thrown thunder in jail; only last week, I murdered a rock, injured a stone, hospitalized a brick; I’m so mean I make medicine sick. The Red Sox made the Cleveland Indians sick. Dice-K showed his worth and helped the Red Sox reach the World Series for the second time in the past four seasons. Maybe it was redemption. Maybe it was destiny. Maybe the Red Sox are what we thought they were, if you want to crown them crown them. I’m crowning them. I’m crowning Manny. He has been much maligned. Much maligned but walked the line. Threw on a line. Threw out Kenny Lofton and scared the bejeezus out of him. Scared him so much Lofton later held at third and refused to score to tie it up. I’m crowning Dustin Pedroia. Pedroia’s first career postseason home run made him the first rookie to go yard in an ALCS Game Seven. He joined National Leaguers Andruw Jones and Miguel Cabrera as the third rookie to hit an LCS Game 7 homer. But that’s not all. He tore into a Betancourt fastball for a bases-clearing double in the eighth. That double made him the first rookie to amass five RBIs in an LCS game. He scored three runs, finishing the series with eight runs scored, a new ALCS rookie record. Goodness gracious! I’m crowning Boom Boom Beckett. The best big game pitcher I’ve ever seen. The best big game pitcher there’s ever been. The best big game pitcher from here to Abelene. I’m crowning Curt Schilling. Even without his bloody sock he gets things done. Doin’ it and doin’ it and doin’ it well. Throwing seven innings of masterful six-hit baseball. When the Saturday night was over, Schilling was 4-0 (1.37 ERA) in five starts with his team facing elimination. Yowza! I’m crowning Jonathon Papelbon. The best closer in all of baseball. Entered in the eighth. Entered in the eighth with two on. Entered in the eight with none out. Entered in the eighth and struck out Neanderthal Hafner on three pitches. Got Victor Martinez to ground out. Got Garko to fly to deep center, where Ellsbury made a fabulous running catch near the Boston bullpen. I’m crowning JD Drew. Grand Slamming JD Drew. All manning JD Drew. I’m crowning Coco Crisp. Starting centerfielder all season. Only to be sat down in games six and seven of the ALCS. Bitter? No way. No shame in his game. Made a spectacular grab. An astonishing grab. A stupendous hustle grab to end the game. Running far to make an over-the-shoulder grab before slamming into the wall. That my friends, is what a baseball player looks like. This my friends, is what a baseball team looks like. Now it’s time for the Red Sox to tap the Rockies. Roll Sox roll!
Public Acknowledgements: Phil Collins, Muhammed Ali, Dennis Green, Johnny Cash and LL Cool J
Josh Q. Public:You gotta roll, roll, roll. You gotta thrill my soul, all right. Roll, roll, roll, roll-a, thrill my soul. Let it roll, all night long.-Doors
Public Service Announcement: OK, here we go! Woo hoo hoo! It’s JD Drew. Everybody’s been hating on JD. Everybody’s been irating on JD. Everybody’s been defecating on JD. Not today though. We gotta sha-la-la-la-la-la, live for today though. And don’t worry ’bout tomorrow, hey, hey, hey though. ‘Cause the Sox are rolling today. Rollin’, rollin’, rollin’. Though the streams are swollen. Keep them Bosox rollin’. Red Sox! How ’bout them Red Sox? How ’bout JD Drew? Worth the waiting, right? The anticipating, right? Dustin Pedroia and Kevin Youkilis get on by way of the infield hit. Papi’s up! Draws a three and two walk. Bases chucked. Manny? King of the salami? K. Lowell? Mr. RBI himself? Pop out. Here he comes. Goat of the year. No paddle and boat of the year. Grand slammy! Strawberry Jammy! Happy as a Cape Cod clammy! Ballgame! He was the first player in college baseball history to hit 30 home runs and steal 30 bases in the same season. As a freshman, he became the first player to hit three home runs in a single College World Series game. Yowza! As a Seminole, he became one of only three players in college baseball history to have 100 hits, 100 runs and 100 RBIs. Yowza again. In his rookie year, as a Cardinal, he was drawing comparisons to Stan the Man and the Mick. Then the injuries began. Then the name-calling began. NancyDrew. DL Drew. Sticks and stones. 2004. Best season of his life. Power, patience, and defense. That was his mantra. .305/.436/.569 with 31 home runs, 118 walks, and 96 RBI’s. Finished 6th in the MVP voting. Not for nothing, last year’s numbers were not vastly different from those of 2004. And not for nothing else, he plays the hell out of right field. Dwight Evans style. Last night, JD redeemed himself. Tonight, Dice-K needs to do the same. Yup, stay away from my window. Stay away from my back door too. Disconnect the telephone line. Relax baby and draw that blind. Tonight’s the night. It’s gonna be all right. Roll Sox, roll!
Public Acknowledgements: Bob Ryan, Grass Roots, Rawhide and Rod Stewart
Josh Q. Public:So come on get your rocks off. I’m gonna knock your Sox off, you’ll see, oh yeah. -Steve Miller Band
Public Service Announcement: OK, here we go! Boom Boom Beckett! Goodness gracious me oh my oh. Did you see Beckett light up Ohio? I did. I got chills. They’re multiplying. And I’m losing control. ‘Cause the power you’re supplying, it’s electrifying. Boom Boom was electrifying. He’s the one that I want. Hoo hoo hoo. The one that I want in big games. Like Ned the pie maker bringing the Sox back from the dead. Pick up my bones. Erase my name from off the tombstones. I’ll rock a mausoleum, backyard or coliseum. Boom Beckett rocked a coliseum. Rocked the Jake. For the second time in this series, Beckett smashed CC Sabathia. I said C. CC Rider. Oh see, what you have done. A whole lot of nothing, that’s what. Beckett threw 109 pitches. 109 beautiful pitches. 109 dazzling pitches. 109 bewildering pitches. He dropped in knee buckling curveballs. He dropped in mind bending change ups. He threw heat. High heat. Hard heat. High hard 96 mph heat. High hard 96 mph heat well into the eighth inning. High hard 96 mph heat well into the eighth inning and proving he is the best post season pitcher of all time. Move over Reggie, there’s a new
go-ahead homer in the ninth inning or later. No such thing as clutch. Bill James can eat my shorts. I’m more of a Siwoffian statistician anyway. Big Papi ain’t right. That much is clear. Manny is right. Right as rain. Well, that’s all right, mama. That’s all right for you. That’s all right mama, just anyway you do. Manny did in the top of the ninth. Two outs. One on. All tied up. Manny saunters up. You knew it. I knew it. Bill James knew it. Gone! Connectamundo. Power pose. Why pitch to this cat? Eck tried it. Wow! Joe Girardi tried it over the week-end. See what happens? Manny makes you pay. That’s what happens. That’s the way it is with a wiseguy partner. He gets his money no matter what. You got no business? 
Manny picked up where he left off in last year’s championship post-season. Last year’s championship post season where Manny tore it up. Hardcored it up. Katy bar the doored it up. Katy bar the doored it up with four bombs. Katy bar the doored it up with sixteen baseknocks. Sure last season wasn’t his best. Sure last season was the first season he didn’t receive any MVP votes. Sure last season his .493 slugging percentage was an all time low. This year will be different. He’s worked harder than ever in the off-season. And that’s saying something. That’s saying a lot. He’s spent two months working out in Arizona. He’s abandoned the split grip in his batting stance. He’s no 
longer resting his bat on his shoulder as the pitcher heads into his windup. Manny finished spring training at .300. He’s started the regular season with a 
jaws of defeat. Snatched victory from the jaws of defeat and played themselves into the World Series. Played themselves into the World Series thanks, in large part, to Mr. Ramirez. Took all the breath out of the Cleveland Indians. You’re every song I sing. You’re the music that I play. And you take my breath away. And that’s just it. Manny is the music the Red Sox play. So say what you will about Manny. Whatever gives you a thrill about Manny. Sing like the Barber of Seville about Manny. But know this, in this new era of Boston Red Sox baseball, this winning era of Boston Red Sox baseball, Manny is the straw that stirs the drink. Roll Sox roll! 
Band style in the Land of the Rising Sun. And I can’t wait. I can’t wait for baseball. I believe in the Church of Baseball. Like my main man Rogers Hornsby always says: “People ask me what I do in winter when there’s no baseball. I’ll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring.” Well Rajah, spring has done sprung. Baseball begins. The 2008 storylines are ready to be played out. Are they paper Tigers? Can Johan redeem the Mets? Are the Sox still the team to beat? Is anybody gonna sign Bonds? Can the Rockies do it again? The Diamondbacks? Is Joe Girardi really going to do any better than Joe Torre? How many guys will caught juicing? Will the Reds finish above the Red Birds. The Rays above the Yankees? Will Phat Albert Winnie the Pujols’ elbow last? Is Evan Longoria that good? Is Cameron Maybin? Mets, Phillies or Braves? Will Curt Schilling pitch again? How well will Randy Johnson pitch? Bartolo Colon? 
Pedro? Greg Maddux? Can Maddux put a baseball through a Lifesaver enough for the eight more wins he needs to pass the Rocket for eighth all time? Can Junior get the fifteen dings he needs to pass Slammin’ Sammy for fifth? Will Moneyball ever be winning it all ball? Is this the Year of the Cub? Will Hank become more insufferable than George ever was? Is this Bobby Cox’ last season in Atlanta? Can the Astros win with hitting alone? How bad are the Twins? All these questions and so many more. We can stop asking them now. Baseball season is starting again now. The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. Tomorrow, baseball will be marking time again. It’s about time. 
Now, the obligatory Big Jim Ed Rice plea. I’ll make this brief. How does this cat not get in. In his day, he was the best hitter in the American League. Bar none! In 1978 he was the best hitter in baseball. C’mon fellas. Jokes over. Enough is enough. Jim Ed deserves to be in Cooperstown. This voting is a travesty. It’s a travesty of a mockery of a sham of a mockery of a travesty of two mockeries of a sham. How do you not select this cat. Here are some stats:
McNamee would go down looking. Clemens thought he sensed weakness when he received a text from McNamee. McNamee texted Clemens seeking to speak with him because McNamee’s 10-year-old son, Brian, was ill. Clemens and his Dream Team pounced. But what did they pounce on? A pathetic man. A feeble man. A pitiful man. A petty man who made his living by injecting illegal substances into the buttocks of bigger men. Men who made McNamee himself feel bigger. McNamee was apologizing. Not for lying. No. McNamee was apologizing for telling the truth. For telling the truth and falling off the 
gravy train. The gravy taste dogs can’t wait to finish. Falling off the gravy train with a very sick child. McNamee: “I will go to jail, I will do whatever you want.” I will lie for you. I will go to jail for you. Greg Anderson style. I will do all that for you if you pay for my sick child. McNamee: “All I did was what I thought was right. I never thought it was right, but I thought I had no choice.” I never thought ratting was right, but they had me. They had me cold. I had to give you up even though I didn’t think it was the right thing to do. It’s the right thing to do and the tasty way to do it. McNamee was apologizing. He 
was apologizing with selfish motives. No Doubt. He had one hand out and the other holding a knife in Roger’s back. McNamee ratted. McNamee felt bad for ratting. That’s it. The Rocket should quit now. Fess up before it’s too late. We are a forgiving lot. Jason Giambi got Comeback Player of the Year. Andy Pettitte is back in pinstripes. This bullying routine will get Clemens nowhere. Except maybe the hoosegow. Come clean Roger. Come clean now. Come Zestfully clean.
Oh oh domino. Roll me over Romeo. There you go. Add Brian Roberts to the list of names from the Mitchell Report to admit to using performance-enhancing drugs. Breaking his silence in Tuesday’s editions of the Baltimore Sun, the Orioles second baseman said he took steroids “once” in 2003. This was supposed to be the flimsiest evidence of all. Hearsay to the Nth degree. Larry Bigbie told investigators Roberts had told him he used steroids “once or twice” in 2003. Turns out to be true. So how’s this 
sounding: “McNamee injected Clemens in the buttocks four to six times with testosterone.” Still flimsy? Roberts’s admission came a day after former All-Star second baseman Fernando Vina admitted using human growth hormone four years ago to help heal injuries. If I had to do the same again. I would, my friend, Fernando. So they’re dropping like flies. On Monday, implicated catcher Gary 
Bennett admitted HGH use. Implicated by a copy of a $3,200 check that he wrote Radomski. Written the same day he was punched in the face by Phat Albert Pujols. Bennett signed a new contract with the Dodgers shortly after his admission. So the hits just keep on hitting. The flies just keep on dropping. Bonds and Clemens may never come around to telling the truth. And with each day that passes, it seems like that’s what it is. The truth. The double truth, Ruth.
3. Everybody loves the list. The list of the players. The list of the cheaters. The list of the users. All the animals come out at night: 
4. I still can’t over the fact the best hitter of our lifetime is dirty. I still can’t over the best pitcher of our lifetime is dirty. And don’t kid yourselves. Don’t let them kid you. They are dirty. It’s still very overwhelming to me. Now we gotta ask, who are really the best players of our lifetime? Like how many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop? The world may never know. We may never know ’cause we may never know who was really clean and who wasn’t. 
7. All I really need to know I learned in Juiced. As compelling as the Mitchell Report is, Jose already told us. In his book, Canseco claimed widespread use of steroids in Major League Baseball. He named names. Big names. Important Names. Superstar names. Jesus Christ. Superstar. Do you think you’re what they say you are? We didn’t think so. We didn’t believe him. No one did. But following his story, several of those players, including Mark McGwire and Rafael Palmeiro, were called to testify before Congress about steroids in baseball. And here we are. 
10. Rumors had it that rumors that the Cardinals’ Albert Pujols was on the list. Because your kiss, your kiss, is on my list. Because your kiss, your kiss I can’t resist. The list of those implicated in the Mitchell investigation. It turned out they were just that. Rumors. But if there is one thing I’ve learned from all this, it’s that nobody is above su
the season Beckett looked more like Matt Young than he did Cy Young. I don’t care that CC pitched more innings than Boom Boom. I don’t care that he threw fifteen more strikeouts. I don’t care what they say about us anyway. I don’t care about that. I care that Josh Boom Boom Beckett was the best pitcher in the American League this year. Who would you want on the hill? King of the Hill. And just so you know, Beckett struck out (.96) per inning while Sabathia struck out even fewer, a paltry (.84) per inning. So put that in your pipe and smoke it. 
batting average. Boom Boom Beckett held opponents to .207 with runners in scoring position. He outshined Sabathia in all these categories. Outdevined Sabathia. Out walked the line Sabathia. Doesn’t that count for something? Doesn’t twenty games? I remember when twenty games meant something. I remember when that was how a pitcher was measured. Boy, the way Glenn Miller played. Songs that made the Hit Parade. Guys like us, we had it made. Those were the days. Not so much anymore. Not for Mark Feinsand of the New York Daily News or Jorge Ortiz of USA 
Today. I guess twenty games means bupkus to them. Those Bozos each listed Sabathia, Lackey and Fausto Carmona on their ballots. No Boom Boom Beckett in sight. That just ain’t right. Makes you wanna fight. Fight for your right. To party! No partying now. Not after this travesty. Not after this mockery. This trial is a travesty. It’s a travesty of a mockery of a sham of a mockery of a travesty of two mockeries of a sham. I guess you can’t have everything.
Applied Pharmacy. Kirk J. Radomski. All of it. More and more names are being dropped. More and more players are getting popped. The beat goes on, the beat goes on. The beat goes on in this Mitchell Report. I’m not here to claim the baseball apocalypse is upon us. But the voyeur in me wants to know. I need to know. I need to know. Because I don’t know how long I can hold on. And if you’re makin’ me wait. If you’re leadin me on. I need to know. I need to know who the eleven are. Since no one’s telling me it’s up to me to conjecture. It’s up to me to assume. It’s up to me to hypothesize, theorize, surmise. It’s up to me to judge. Here comes the judge! Here comes the judge! Here comes my best guess as to who the Magnificent Eleven are:
2. A-Broad: Jose Canseco is coming out with a new book. A new book with more information. Much more information. Jose: “I have other stuff on Alex Rodriquez. He is not whom he seems to be”. Now say what you want about Canseco. He’s been called a liar. He’s been called a cheat. But everything he claimed in Juiced, seemed to prove true. 
4. Barry Bonds: Look at the size of that boy’s head. I’m not kidding, it’s like an orange on a toothpick. Well, that’s a huge noggin. That’s a virtual planetoid. Has it’s own weather system. I’m not kidding, that boy’s head is like Sputnik; spherical but quite pointy at parts! Now that was offsides, wasn’t it? He’ll be crying himself to sleep tonight, on his huge pillow.
6. Mike Piazza: Sam Champion’s boyfriend. The Monster is out of the cage! He denies everything. 
8. Eric Gagne: Gagne went from being an also-ran starter with a heater that should have been called a lukewarmer to a Juggernaut closer with blazing cheese. I hanker for a hunk-a, a slab or slice or chunk-a, I hanker for a hunk-a Cheese! He set the record for consecutive saves. He won the 2003 NL Cy Young Award. In 2004 baseball announced they would be testing for steroids on an experimental basis. Oddly enough, Gagne lost began to look less Juggernauty that season. Then came 2005. A more stringent policy in 2005. Game Over!
10. Mike Cameron: Cameron was suspended for the first 25 games of 2008 for testing positive to a banned stimulant. He’s played drunk. Cameron: “
now. I’m waiting for spring. Waiting for another Red Sox championship run. Waiting for another wire to wire championship run. But Secretariat is all alone! He’s out there almost a 16th of a mile away from the rest of the horses! Secretariat is in a position that seems impossible to catch. As it turns out, nobody could catch the Sox. Not the Yankees. Not the Angels. Not the Indians. Not the Rockies. Not nobody. And I’m going to miss it. There’s something missing from my life. Cuts me open like a knife. It leaves me vulnerable. I have this disease. I shake like an incurable. God help me please.
going to miss Curt Schilling. I may be missing him forever. His winning performance in Game Two may have been his last winning performance in a Red Sox uniform. What he did one night in 2004 solidifies his place in my heart. I’m going to miss the rookies. Mighty Mite, Dustin Pedroia. Here I come to save the day. That means that Mighty Mouse is on his way. Yes sir, when there is a wrong to right, Mighty Mouse will join the fight. On the sea or on the land, he gets the situation well in hand. Dustin Pedroia, Rookie of the Year. Jacoby Elisbury, next year’s Rookie of the Year. Inserted into the staring order in Game Six against the Indians. Became the third rookie all time with four hits in one Series game and tied Matt Williams as the only player to hit two doubles in one Series game against the Rockies in Game Three. Burning 
down the base paths. Hold tight, wait ’till the party’s over. Hold tight, we’re in for nasty weather. There has got to be a way. Burning down the house. Running like people were chasing him. No No Nanette Clay Buchholz. Dice-K. Okie. The future’s so bright, they gotta wear shades. I’m going to miss Tek. The captain. Calling a game like no other. No one shakes off Tek. No one. I’ll miss Redemption Man JD Drew. I’ll miss Coco Crisp’s circus catches in center. I’ll mis John Lester. Was there a feel gooder story of the year. If so, I missed that too. I’ll miss Papelbon’s fist pumping, Irish jigging, lights out closing. I’ll even miss Julio Lugo, the latest of the revolving door shortstops around here. Yes, I will miss them all. Until next year, Roll Sox roll! Dynastic!
Blue Jays in 61/3 innings. He hasn’t lost a World Series game since. Five days later, Schilling came back to shut out Toronto. The rest is history. Schilling now owns an 11-2 record and 2.23 ERA in the post season. He may have ceded his legendary status to Josh Beckett, but remember this, and never forget, Schilling is big game pitcher. Schilling came to Boston a champion. Schilling came to Boston a World Series MVP. He came. He saw. He conquered. Schilling: “I’m going to Boston to break an 86-year-old curse.” And break it he did. He may not have done it
alone, but what he did in Game Six, against the Bombers, goes down as The Most Heroic Performance I’ve Ever Seen. The win against the Cardinals, icing on the cake. 
with a whale; handcuffed lightning, thrown thunder in jail; only last week, I murdered a rock, injured a stone, hospitalized a brick; I’m so mean I make medicine sick. The Red Sox made the Cleveland Indians sick. Dice-K showed his worth and helped the Red Sox reach the World Series for the second time in the past four seasons. Maybe it was redemption. Maybe it was destiny. Maybe the Red Sox are what we thought they were, if you want to crown them crown them. I’m crowning them. I’m crowning Manny. He has been much maligned. Much maligned but walked the line. Threw on a line. Threw out Kenny Lofton and scared the bejeezus out of him. Scared him so much Lofton later held at third and refused to score to tie it up. I’m crowning Dustin Pedroia. Pedroia’s first career postseason home 
run made him the first rookie to go yard in an ALCS Game Seven. He joined National Leaguers Andruw Jones and Miguel Cabrera as the third rookie to hit an LCS Game 7 homer. But that’s not all. He tore into a Betancourt fastball for a bases-clearing double in the eighth. That double made him the first rookie to amass five RBIs in an LCS game. He scored three runs, finishing the series with eight runs scored, a new ALCS rookie record. Goodness gracious! I’m crowning Boom Boom Beckett. The best big game pitcher I’ve ever seen. The best big game pitcher there’s ever been. The best big game pitcher from here to Abelene. I’m crowning Curt Schilling. Even without his bloody sock he gets things done. Doin’ it and doin’ it and doin’ it well. Throwing seven innings of masterful six-hit baseball. When the Saturday night was over, Schilling was 4-0 (1.37 ERA) in five starts with his team facing elimination. Yowza! I’m crowning 
The anticipating, right? Dustin Pedroia and Kevin Youkilis get on by way of the infield hit. Papi’s up! Draws a three and two walk. Bases chucked. Manny? King of the salami? K. Lowell? Mr. RBI himself? Pop out. Here he comes. Goat of the year. No paddle and boat of the year. Grand slammy! Strawberry Jammy! Happy as a Cape Cod clammy! Ballgame! He was the first player in college baseball history to hit 30 home runs and steal 30 bases in the same season. As a freshman, he became the first player to hit three home runs in a single College World Series game. Yowza! As a Seminole, he became one of only three players in college baseball history to have 100 hits, 100 runs and 
CC Sabathia. I said C. CC Rider. Oh see, what you have done. A whole lot of nothing, that’s what. Beckett threw 109 pitches. 109 beautiful pitches. 109 dazzling pitches. 109 bewildering pitches. He dropped in knee buckling curveballs. He dropped in mind bending change ups. He threw heat. High heat. Hard heat. High hard 96 mph heat. High hard 96 mph heat well into the eighth inning. High hard 96 mph heat well into the eighth inning and proving he is the best post season pitcher of all time. Move over Reggie, there’s a new