Chances are, at this very moment somewhere in the Boston area, someone is practicing his or her Scu-Scu-Scutaro flex pose a la Patrick Bateman.
A business man, noticing his reflection in a train window as his Red Line T heads underground, risks tearing the stitching on his designer suit to do a flex-and-point—all the while holding his briefcase and folded copy of the Wall Street Journal. A seemingly timid intern steps into the ladies’ restroom of a Cambridge-based research laboratory to flex her pose in the mirror after MLB’s Gamecast indicates that the Red Sox shortstop has drawn a base-on-balls, igniting a key rally. A Boston Police officer reroutes traffic down a dead-end street because he refuses to change the positioning of his right arm, which points at his reflection in a building’s facade as he thrusts his hips to and fro while blowing his whistle erratically.
Boston’s slick-fielding, sure-handed, at-bat-extending, fundamentally sound shortstop’s popularity continues to skyrocket as quick as the team’s place in the standings.
Last week’s release of the Scu-Scu-Scutaro video on YouTube has the city awash in fans humming the parody, set to the tune of the 1985 Phil Collins hit “Sussudio.” The original song, which has been a staple on generic easy listening stations for more than two decades, has invaded the subconscious of Red Sox Nation.
“Sussudio” served as the soundtrack to Patrick Bateman’s psycho-sexual, nocturnal blood lust in the movie American Psycho. Similarly, “Scu-Scu-Scutaro” has quickly become a fitting ode to a player who murders the opposition’s pitching staff with his pesky hits, plate discipline and sure hands in the field.
Of course, there are some unintended consequences that have sprung up as a result of Scu-Scu-Scutaro Fever.
For example, a six-inning Little League game this past weekend in Belmont lasted well over four hours due to the mounting number of 11-year-olds who have begun emulating Scutaro’s selectivity at the plate.
“Back when Nomar was king around here in the late ‘90s, I coached a game that only took an hour and fifteen minutes because everyone wanted to swing at the first pitch,” said longtime coach Ed Stevens. “But I’ve never seen anything like this…These kids are doing the flex-and-point and high-fiving each other when one of their teammates foul chops a bouncer into the dugout to keep an at-bat alive.”
Stevens echoes the concerns of many youth baseball coaches in the area who have observed similar obsessions with the Scu-Scu-Scutaro way.
“I’m in a tough spot because I know I should be rewarding these kids for their plate discipline,” reasons the coach. “But I feel a little silly paying for a kid’s Mr. Misty at Dairy Queen just because he made another kid throw him seven pitches in one at-bat.”