While meeting with the Boston media today, Pedro Martinez discussed his feelings toward the city, incuding this intriguing statement:

"I've had a lot of love from the people on the streets who walk around."

It made sense within the context of the interview, but had enough double meaning to cause my wife to look at me with her "Did I hear what I think I just heard" look on her face.

It's moments like this that make me miss Pedro.

As a Boston Red Sox fan for nearly two decades, I have seen a lot of guys fall off the face of the earth after being touted as the next great Sox pitcher (Brian Rose, anyone?).  The best reason for this is that while Boston's fans are regarded as some of the most passionate in the major leagues, they often allow that passion to get in the way of logic, assigning undue importance to a player who might be a minimal prospect at best.

This is not the case with rookie flamethrower Jonathan Papelbon, who in the span of two seasons has leapt from obscurity amongst the casual fan crowd to become not only a strong Rookie of the Year candidate but also the team's most valuable player through the first half of the season.  Without Papelbon strolling in from the bullpen in the ninth (and sometimes eighth) inning to finish things off, the American League East division might have a significantly altered pecking order at this point in the season.

My main concern is not that Jonathan Papelbon wins any awards for his work this season, however, but that Red Sox manager Terry Francona remembers that he is dealing with a valuable commodity and takes the necessary precautions protect this bright young star so that he may continue to enjoy future success.  Every time I see Papelbon pitch or hear that he closed out another win for the Sox, it makes me think of former All-Star closer Gregg Olson, who had several great years for the Baltimore Orioles before injuring his arm and never pitching the same again.

The idea of Papelbon turning into Olson - a potentially great pitcher who incidentally won the Rookie of the Year award in 1989 - intrigued me enough that I headed over to Retrosheet to check out Olson' day-by-day statistics during his rookie season.  What I found was proof that Olson was not strictly an old-fashioned closer or a 21st century style closer, but someone who came along as the transition between the two was taking place.  Though the occasions on which he pitched on three straight days were relatively rare (three such instances, all within the first three months), those in which he recorded more than three outs were not: thirty times in sixty-four appearances.  His season high was 3.1 innings pitched against Boston, ironically, on April 15, one of a trio of three inning relief appearances throughout the season.

Francona's usage of Papelbon in 2006 has not been as severe in the early going.  In thirty-four games, Papelbon has recorded more than three outs seven times and pitched on three consecutive days three times, with four, three and five days of rest, respectively, after each trifecta.  His season high for innings pitched in a game is 2.1 on two occasions, with the more recent time coming on the heels of a five day layoff.

The good news is that the Red Sox have shown a definite unwillingness to use Papelbon on more than three consecutive games even if it means using far less reliable relievers in the late innings.  This shows that the team is serious about keeping Papelbon healhy for the future rather than allowing themselves to get caught up in the moment and risk injury through overwork. 

Papelbon's continued success (and eventual transition to the starting rotation, which should begin next season) is doubly important for Red Sox fans given the early success of Jon Lester, another hard-throwing rookie who figures to fit prominently in the team's future plans.  Since making his major league debut on June 10, Lester has yet to lose, compiling a 2-0 record and 2.76 ERA with nineteen strikeouts in 16.1 innings (I won't mention that his two wins came against the offensively challenged Braves and Nationals).  If the twenty-two year old Lester continues to perform well, the Sox could be looking at a 2007 pitching rotation with three budding superstars (Papelbon, Lester and Josh Beckett) and two veteran mainstays (Curt Schilling and Tim Wakefield), not to mention the potential addition of 2005 first round draft pick Craig Hansen in the bullpen.

Of course, all this is provided Papelbon, Lester and Hansen keep from following the likes of Brian Rose off the face of the earth.

With the NBA Finals over and Major League Baseball enjoying the lazy mid-summer malaise that makes me love the longest season in pro sports, there wasn't a lot to read up on in the news today.  Sure, Brett Myers was arrested in Boston the day before starting for the Phillies against the Red Sox; Lance Armstrong and the French media went toe-to-toe in the center of the ring once more, with the French closing out the round with a flurry of punches (although Lance is currently leading on points); and 18-year-old Erik Johnson became just the fifth American (first since 2000) to be drafted first overall in the NHL draft.  So stuff was happening, but nothing that really affected me deeply or changed my perspective on sports in the long run.

So I decided to write one more time about the National Basketball Association and the desire of those who follow it to anoint the next coming of the greatest player in the game's history: Michael Jordan.

As I read up on the issue of the Next Jordan a bit, trying to consider a reasonably fresh angle, I realized something: with every comparison to Michael Jordan, from Grant Hill to Kobe Bryant to LeBron James, no one has ever offered up an explanation as to what exactly it means to be the next Jordan.  Is it based on looks?  Actions?  Ability?  Marketability?  If we really want to "assign" someone the "responsibility" of carrying on the Jordan legacy, we need to understand what we're dealing with: an original, complex figure who could not be defined solely by any of those attributes, but rather was an amalgamation of a variety of traits.

Before going any further, let me say this: I do not believe that there will ever be another Michael Jordan, much like there will never be another Bill Russell, Larry Bird, or Magic Johnson.  There are certain players who quite literally have no equal.  What I would like to do, though, is look at three players who have recently been heralded as the Next Jordan and assess their chances of some day ascending to a lofty spot alongside His Airness atop basketball's Mount Rushmore.

Kobe Bryant, Los Angeles Lakers: From the start of his career, Kobe Bryant has possessed an incredible amount of athleticism and ability.  His cool demeanor in late game pressure situations is excellent, as he has proven time and again his willingness to both take and make game deciding shots.  He also managed to play the 2003-04 season with remarkable tunnel vision, shutting out details of a serious sexual assault allegation in Colorado while continuing to play All-Star caliber baskeball.  The situation harmed not only his image as a young role model but also damaged his marketing value.  Additionally, it was the type of situation that Jordan was never forced to confront.

With all that said, one major area in which Kobe Bryant will never be Michael Jordan's equal is desire to win.  Jordan's need to beat the opponent, whether on the basketball court or in a simple game of cards, and his absolute hatred of losing are legendary.  Never was the gap between the two more clear than in Game Seven of this year's Suns-Lakers series.  With Los Angeles trailing by a healthy margin at halftime, Bryant went into shutdown mode, shooting only three times in the second half.  When a dominant performance could have tightened the game and put more pressure on Phoenix not to blow the big lead, he chose to hang back and prove to the basketball world that this team couldn't win without him.  It was the wrong time to make such a statement and not something that Jordan would have ever done, particularly at such a vital juncture.

LeBron James, Cleveland Cavaliers: "We Are All Witnesses" goes the Nike slogan, and in many ways they couldn't be more correct.  Whenever James takes the floor, there is a sense that he is not so much an athlete as an artist, that he is not so much playing a game as writing his own personal history.  He's that good, a fact that is more remarkable when one considers the amount of hype and pressure that have been heaped onto his shoulders at such a young age (he turned 21 last December).  In so many ways, LeBron looks like an heir apparent to Jordan; he has rare ability, rare athleticism, and rare magnetism.  He is capable of dominating a game offensively and could actually learn to play defense someday. 

As good as he is at handling the day in, day out pressures of the NBA, LeBron is still learning how to deal with the unique situations that present themselves at the end of a game.  According to meticulous records maintained by 82games.com, he has attempted nineteen potential game winning field goals during his three seasons in the league, hitting only four.  The resulting .211% success rate is .081% below the league average (Carmelo Anthony is the leader by far at .647); he has also made only five-of-nine free throws in the same time period and situation.  LeBron is good; he is probably going to be great; if he is going to be transcendent, he needs to absorb the pressure from these situations and use it to his advantage.

Dwyane Wade, Miami Heat: It took only four games during the 2006 NBA Finals, but a legend was born.  Dwyane Wade became a super-duperstar during that stretch, earning the respect of his fans, opponents and officials as he picked the Heat up on his back and carried them to the NBA championship.  Although it was reported at various times in the series that he was injured and not playing at one hundred percent, it quickly became clear that those reports were not altogether correct: Wade might have been hurting, but he fought through it to put on an exceptional display.

As the playoffs progressed, Wade showcased several layers to his game, corralling thirteen rebounds in Game Three, burying mid-range jumpers in Game Six, making strong moves to the basket whenever possible.  He also played some solid defense, blocking three shots in Game Six.  By the time the final horn had sounded, people had forgotten that LeBron James had been anointed the Next Jordan just weeks earlier and were busily engraving "Dwyane Wade" on the trophy for the Finals MVP.

Wade possesses everything necessary to earn the title of heir apparent to Michael Jordan.  He's athletic, strong, isn't afraid of drawing contact in the lane (and is willing to deliver some himself), and is relatively cool under pressure (.353 in late game situations).  The one event that will stand out, however, is the moment near the end of Game Six.  With the Heat just seconds away from their first NBA title and up by three, Wade was fouled and sent to the line for two free throws; one make would ice the game and the championship.  He missed them both.  At that instant, a caveat was inserted into the Next Jordan argument: he might be the next Michael, but Michael never, ever would have missed both of those shots.  Not with the game still in doubt.  In that sense, Wade isn't at Jordan's level yet, although he does have the ring that took Jordan several more years to get. 

All three players discussed here are outstanding athletes and exceptional basketball players; each of them has the talent to be considered among the greatest players in basketball by the time they retire.  Not one, however, is the Next Michael Jordan.  On the contrary, they are something more: they are the first Kobe Bryant, the first LeBron James, the first Dwyane Wade.  They are also at the forefront of the group that could, if it plays its cards right and makes the right moves, do the same good for the NBA as a trio of legends named Magic, Larry and Michael did way back in the 1980s.  That, friends, is a legacy worth leaping for.

The sky is the limit.

For some time now, since Jose Canseco and Ken Caminiti picked up their respective sledgehammers and broke baseball's sordid history of steroid abuse wide open, I've been waiting for the inevitable: news that a player from my favorite team, the Boston Red Sox, had been busted for or admitted to steroid use.  There were always whispers and possibilities, but they were all rumors, never anything concrete.

Until now.  In an ESPN The Magazine issue that hit newsstands this week, former Sox pitcher Paxton Crawford admitted to using a variety of steroids while with the team's minor and major league clubs in the late 1990s and early 2000s.  He also granted a very brief interview with the Boston Globe, answering a handful of questions before issuing the classic line, "It's kind of a sore subject, bro.  That's it," and hanging up.

The revelation was interesting coming from Crawford, who following the turn of the century was the latest in a line of Red Sox pitching prospects that included Aaron Sele, Brian Rose, Carl Pavano and Tomo Ohka.  His talent was as indisputable as his character was questionable, a dichotomy best illustrated by the July 2000 situation where he pitched a no-hitter for Pawtucket one night and cut himself badly by falling out of bed onto a glass the next; the circumstances under which the injury occurred were never fully explained, but it is commonly accepted that there was more to the story than initially reported.  Whatever the reason, Crawford, who had started for Boston on July 1 and July 6 of that year and was expecting another call-up when the injury occurred, didn't get back to the major leagues until mid-September.

The Crawford story is of great personal interest to me because for several months in 2003, he pitched for the Nashua Pride at the same time I was trying my hand in baseball by working as an intern in the team's Public Relations Department.  During our mutual time in Nashua, Crawford and I didn't cross paths all that often; he had his job to do and I had mine.  I came away from our limited interactions, however, with the sense that he was an overall decent guy whose biggest issue was that he had never finished growing up.  We all wanted to see him succeed but knew that to do so he had to learn to get out of his own way.

As I said, it was inevitable that someone from Boston past or present would somehow be connected to steroid use.  It was an expected turn of events.  But I never expected it to be someone I knew, someone I admired up close for his dedication to his craft.  The Atlantic League, in which the Pride played in from 1998 through 2005, isn't a place for prospects and future stars, but a proving ground for the guys who missed their first opportunity and have to claw for a second chance.  Crawford was one who scratched out of the league, got back into a major league organization and almost earned his return ticket to the majors.  But as my mother always says, "Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades," and at 28 years old, Crawford is back working on his parents' farm.

More than anything, this shows that there are two sides to the Steroid Era.  On one side are the Barry Bonds, Rafael Palmeiros and Jason Giambis -- players who used performance enhancing substances to enhance their value and put more money in theirs and the owners pockets.  On the other side, however, are the Paxton Crawfords, the prospects who turned to the juice as young, naive men, who didn't have the benefit of advanced trainers watching their every move, and who paid for their use with potentially career ending injuries.

The faces that used to be associated with the Steroid Era were the first group because sports fans always looked at the numbers those men had posted during the 10-15 years and wondered what might have been.  Now, because of Paxton Crawford, we should all look at the other side of the story: guys who used, abused and are back working, literally, on the farm, wondering what might have been.

Earlier tonight, during a brief break in the game between the Red Sox and Nationals, television cameras caught Washington leftfielder Alfonso Soriano talking to a cameraman stationed inside the Green Monster.  The two appeared to be having a nice little chat, parting amicably when the game resumed.

What might have been going through the mind of one Manny Ramirez as he watched this exchange from home plate, where he was trying to prepare for an at-bat?  Sure, Soriano and the unnamed cameraman were only talking, but the left field wall is well known to be Manny's personal sanctuary, the place he goes when the world just gets too overwhelming.  That's his Wall, his cameraman.  Looking at that sordid scene three hundred feet away -- the interloper Soriano leaning casually against the Wall, the cameraman anxiously hanging on every word -- must have hurt him deeply.

It didn't take Manny too long to make his feelings known: he ripped an RBI single to left literally seconds later, where Soriano fielded it and paused for a moment to consider the error of his ways.  They didn't show the cameraman again, but I'm sure a single tear was rolling down his cheek as he silently vowed never to hurt Manny again.

Thank goodness Soriano didn't actually go into the door in the Wall for a brief visit; Manny might have hit the next pitch over the Mass Pike.

Oh yeah, this is probably important too: rookie lefthander Jon Lester allowed one run on three hits with ten strikeouts in six innings.  If he can come approximate those numbers in future starts, the Red Sox might have one less spot in the rotation to worry about.