Category Archives: Red Sox

Jenny Dell’s request for Fenway Park PA announcer tryout has front office squirming

Posted on May 31, 2012 | Leave a comment

To the chagrin of both the Red Sox and NESN executives, Jenny Dell, seen in this NESN.com file photo doing her trademark pose, has thrust her hat into the ring of contestants vying to become Fenway’s next PA announcer.

The tall task of replacing the late Red Sox PA announcer Carl Beane continues Thursday night when Jon Meterparel of WEEI takes a shot at transforming his “Sports Flash” voice into a “Now Batting” baritone at the Fenway Park loudspeaker.

However, radio personalities are apparently not the only ones that believe they could become the next Beane or even, perhaps someday, the legendary Sherm Feller.

According to several organizational insiders, NESN on-field reporter Jenny Dell would also like to audition for the role.

Per decree by Red Sox CEO Larry Lucchino, tryouts are supposed to be by invitation only. However, Dell has made her expectations quite clear to enough people in the front office that Red Sox brass is becoming increasingly uncomfortable by the day with the prospect of giving her a flat-out ‘No Thank You.’

Dell, presumably tired of the immature catcalls and lecherous looks from perverts in the first-baseline box seats, likely views Beane’s vacant slot as her only ticket out of the stuffy confines of the camera well near Tarp Alley.

However, as one mole in the front office pointed out, “Let’s not be cruel about this or anything. But Jenny’s ‘Around the League’ reports can be a bit…laborious…”

Measuring his words carefully earlier this week, Lucchino seemed to agree. “We just aren’t sure that, how do I put this, her on-camera, um, charisma will appeal to people, you know…solely in an an an… aural sense.”

Said another official within the organization, “Look, everyone’s been real nice about this whole thing so far. We all watch her on NESN and gush over her conservatively managed beauty. And we’re happy she’s maintained a skin-to-shirt ratio that would make Nick Punto’s batting average look gaudy. But honestly, somebody’s going to have to man up on this and tell her the truth even if that means offending an employee of our sister company.”

So far, though, the prospect of turning Dell down has proven more difficult to carry out in practice than it sounds in theory.

“John Henry took her out to a nice dinner at Capital Grille the other night with the intention of politely saying no. We fed him this great euphemism about how you wouldn’t use your best outfielder as a designated hitter,” said one insider with knowledge of the proceedings. “But he got back to Fenway Park and couldn’t look anybody in the eye. He just had this, this stare. Then we found him several hours later in a trance just staring through a picture of the NESN logo like it was the Mona Lisa. Like all of a sudden he’s just mesmerized by the NESN logo? We have no idea what happened.”

Some members of the organization have come around to recognize the inevitability of Dell becoming the next Beane.

As one insider in the Dell camp points out, “In the early 1990s, the Red Sox replaced Sherm Feller with a woman (Lesley Sterling). Then, they had a few men do it. It’s time for a woman to take over again.”

Brainstorms are already in the works for the likelihood that the Red Sox eventually cave to Dell’s demands, including the idea of placing a camera in the PA announcer’s booth and filming Dell as she performs her duties throughout the game. “We’d likely condense footage from this ‘Booth Cam’ into a tidy 150-minute package that would be replayed on NESN during off-peak hours similiar to the Sox in Two wrap. One hundred and Fifty Minutes with Jenny Dell does have a ring to it. A high-definition DVD of highlights from the 2012 season could be in stores well before Christmas.”

One thing seems certain: Dell seems to have proven herself inseparable from the NESN microphone.

Observed one fan at Fenway on Wednesday night: “She carries that big old thing around with her everywhere huh? How can anyone think she was meant to be anything BUT Fenway’s PA gal? She is inseparable from the microphone. Go Jenny!”

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Red Sox brass close to moving ‘Sweet Caroline’ up in the order

Posted on May 16, 2012 | Leave a comment

USA Today photo.

The Boston Red Sox do not always prevail, but fans at Fenway Park always go home winners at the end of games thanks to the club’s iconic tradition of playing Neil Diamond’s classic ‘Sweet Caroline’ just before the bottom of the eighth inning.

Unfortunately, Red Sox batters and pitchers rank as some of the slowest in the league in terms of Pace, a fancy stat measuring how many seconds pitchers and hitters take to do stuff in between pitches. More often than not, the hallmark singalong moment seems to come at obscenely late hours of the night.

In response to prodding from a growing number of fans – including parents with young children, people diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder, NASCAR fans and psychopaths who actually respect Neil Diamond as an artist – the organization has begun researching the impact of moving the playing of ‘Sweet Caroline’ from the middle of the eighth inning to the end of the fifth inning.

“Per regulations of Major League Baseball, all games become official after the fifth inning is completed,” reasons one high-ranking member in the front office. “We’ve heard some of our fans have children that are having trouble concentrating in class the following day because they were at a Red Sox game that ran late the night before. We’ve also heard from many people who hold in bodily waste during games due to irrational fears about utilizing our restrooms facilities. Respecting all these various weirdos as much as we do as an organization, we believe this may be the solution to make everyone happy.”

While some members of the club were hesitant at first, the initiative’s proponents appealed to humanity’s basic core in arguing the cause.

Watch closely. While the image above may appear to be a still-shot of Daniel Bard, it is actually a real-time GIF animation of his pre-pitch routine.

“We sat a few people down in lounge chairs, strapped their limbs in place and wire-pronged open their eyelids a la Clockwork Orange. Then we made them watch Daniel Bard pitch with multiple runners on base,” explained one source. “Everyone quickly came around and once all the vomit and diarrhea was cleaned up, the idea of shifting ‘Sweet Caroline’ to the fifth inning seemed pretty inconsequential.”

(The technique was so effective, in fact, that MLB recently announced that Bard’s go-to pickoff “trick” move will be called a balk by all umpires – not just some! – beginning in 2013.)

It seems to be a unanimous belief internally that fans will submit to witnessing actual baseball during the first five innings if they know a sweet, sweet reward is just around the corner.

“But making people watch this ballclub for eight innings? I can’t believe we haven’t been under assault from all those hippie letter-writing organizations like Amnesty International…” said another club official. “I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that many fans would rather be waterboarded than watch Vicente Padilla pitch.”

Fans interviewed by Fenway Pastoral during the most recent homestand seemed to agree, although some have their reservations.

“I understand where the team is coming from, but I’m a big beer drinker and I can’t sing along with a fifth-inning buzz,” said Irene from Sudbury.

For those worried about a decrease in team concession sales, one club financial officer says there is no reason to fret.

“Yes, studies have shown most of our soft-serve ice cream is served between the sixth and eighth innings to people passing the time waiting for ‘Sweet Caroline’ by indulging in one of our famous helmet sundaes – the Red Sox logo is printed on a plastic helmet and it makes a great souvenir.”

But, the source went on, “We have sold the presentation rights of the fifth inning to John Hancock for a significant sum of money that will make up for the difference. So it will now be John Hancock presents The Fenway Fifth Inning Festivities Starring Sweet Caroline. I know, I know…it’s brief but catchy right?”

Even Massachusetts Senator Scott Brown has fervently applauded the team’s diligence in researching such a landmark decision. “As a diehard Red Sox follower, I can understand the fans’ desire to be able to witness the halftime ceremonies in full. Baseball is not just about socking that ol’ pigskin over the Green Mammoth, but also about the pageantry. The ‘Sweet Caroline’ singalong is an integral part of that perfect evening watching Dusty Peters and company play in that jolly old sandbox, as Henry David Upton famously put it.”

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The Youker Files: In which I accidentally fart during yoga class with Mrs. Youkilis-Brady

Posted on May 8, 2012 | Leave a comment

Written exclusively for Fenway Pastoral by Boston Red Sox third baseman Kevin Youkilis.

While battling a bad back on the disabled list, Kevin Youkilis experienced an unconventional breakthrough that may save his career. (Photo from NESN.com).

As many of you probably already know, my spine has been a bit…embattled lately. The Red Sox put me on the disabled list last week and I’ve been enjoying watching Will Middlebrooks take his first round of major league at-bats. I bruised the poor kid up pretty good after he hit that grand slam on Sunday for his first major league home run. Just a ton of congratulatory punches and noogies and stuff.

But I gotta be honest. Not being out on the field battling with the guys is tough. I was just starting to feel like my swing was coming around and I could definitely feel one of those two-homer, nine-ribbie games coming any day when all of a sudden my lower back started barking at me.

My new wife, Tom Brady’s sister Julie, could tell I was in a bit of a funk. So she suggested I try to loosen my back up by going to this early-morning yoga class with her. I got pretty mad at her for assuming I was one of those effeminate, metrosexual meditation-type dudes and we had our first shouting match since getting hitched last month. Once it was over though, I realized the best way to smooth things over was to just agree to take the stupid class with her and smile my way through the stupid thing – I figured I’d take some of the pent-up aggression out on my pecs and do some incline bench presses in the weight room once it was over.

I’ve always despised the people who walk down the street with those rolled up yoga mats. It’s like, ‘C’mon, you really want everybody to know you’re going to meditate and all that, huh?’. Plus, they’re way too little to properly pad my body from the hard floor. I’m a big guy. So I borrowed one of those tri-folding floor mats from the Red Sox clubhouse. It’s about 20 square feet or so and I had to pull the back seat of my Range Rover down, but it wound up fitting just fine.

We got to the gym around 6 a.m. and I figured there wouldn’t be too many people in a class that early. But the room was chock-full and I was pretty happy I had brought my tri-fold mat. It gave me a little extra space and, after backing off some women who tried to overlay their roll-up mats on top of mine with a couple dirty looks, I was in the clear with enough room to maneuver without getting elbowed somewhere unsavory.

So anyway the class was a cinch at first. We were doing all these lame stretching and contortion techniques with our bodies. The instructor had a bunch of fancy names for them and I kind of freelanced a little bit since some of them were kind of ridiculous. Per team doctor’s orders, I’m not supposed to bend my knees past certain angles, twist myself into funny positions or sit on the ground like a dainty Lotus flower (OK, fine, that last rule is my own…). Also, some of the things they expected us to do were just plain crazy. I could tell just by the name of the Fetus and One-Legged King Pigeon positions that they weren’t anything I wanted to be a part of.

Overall, though, I thought things were moving along pretty well. I played along for some of the nuttier positions even though I felt a bit vulnerable–like some sort of wild female animal presenting herself to a male suitor in the jungle. (I mean, c’mon, laying on my stomach and grabbing my ankles from behind is a “bow posture”?)

I was seriously crushing the Crescent Moon position (picture me gloving a bad hop at third that almost bounces like three feet over my head, all the while I’m on one knee and bent slightly backward).

But, of course, bad luck just had to strike at that very moment.

I’d be lying if I told you I had any control over what happened next. The instructor kept telling us to listen to ourselves breathing. In. Out. In. Out. I could feel oxygen rushing through my veins and it felt like I could practically see carbon dioxide pouring out of me as I exhaled. It was a cleansing, Zen experience and all that stuff. It was like I had stepped out of my third-baseman’s physique and was sitting in a box seat, observing the shell of my inner soul reach a scraggly peak of utter consciousness by hitting a 500-foot home run off Roy Halladay.

I felt liberated and at complete ease with my baseball career. I couldn’t have imagined anything more soul-enhancing except maybe hitting a grand slam in the World Series to walkoff with the MVP trophy and pig-piling on home plate with all my teammates like a hoard of little kids and then dousing each other in gallons of champagne.

So yeah. It was feeling like a real poignant moment in my life.

And then…..well, I farted.

Try to be mature about it, you guys. I wish the rest of my yoga class could have been at least. Instead, all the women around me, including my lovely new wife, turned around and glared at me like I was some sort of inhuman piece of garbage. I know it didn’t exactly seep out gracefully, but there was no reason for people to get all emotional about the whole thing. I’ve never felt so low or embarrassed, especially once they started pointing and laughing.

It was like striking out with the bases loaded in the ninth inning of the World Series on one of those just big, violent cuts that aims for the fences but ends up buried in the catcher’s mitt. I mean, I went from having images of hitting a baseball over everything on Landsdowne Street to swinging and missing at strike three and hearing one big Bronx cheer.

I guess that’s what farting in the middle of yoga class feels like. In just five short years, I’ve gone from being voted third in the 2008 AL MVP voting to getting snickered at by a bunch of trailmix-eating yoga chicks. I felt so disgraced that I pretended I was out of water and walked out of the room. I hid out in the far back corner of the weight room on one of the leg-press machines for a while but I was too distraught to put up more than a few hundred pounds.

Anyway, I’ve been thinking about the whole thing and I know I shouldn’t be ashamed. I reached a level of consciousness and bodily harmony that those girls just don’t understand. My mind feels so clear and my body has a brand new spring in it.

Hopefully, this little story clears up any lingering doubts of my ability. I’m not just telling you guys this because it’s a contract year and Middlebrooks is mashing the ball all over the field. When I get back out there, I’m going to murder major league pitching with my swing. I’m just mentally ready to outclass my opponents. And while my defensive first-step may be slower than in my prime, I can anticipate where the batter is going to hit the ball just using my new understanding of the universe. So maybe the whole experience wasn’t a waste time, you know?

Farting that day in yoga class seemed to just release all those negative toxins that weren’t doing my body any good. It may have been why my back was feeling so sore and inflexible in the first place.

So thank you to my lovely wife, Tom Brady’s sister. All you fans out there can forget about any third-base controversy. I’ve seen the light and you’ll see it too: I’ll be back on the field tattooing baseballs real soon.

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Over-the-hill newspaper columnist proclaims the Red Sox are, like, SO over…

Posted on April 11, 2012 | Leave a comment

This is how this whole contrived “sellout streak” was always going to end. Not with a bang, but with a coddled general columnist’s whimper.

You know the Red Sox have lost their touch when guys like Boston Globe
columnist Brian McGrory and his elitist friends don’t want to bother making the trek to watch the second through seventh innings of Opening Day from box seats at Fenway Park.

My reason for not going? I’m getting an oil change. Or sorting my sock drawer. It doesn’t matter. I just don’t want to sit in the wind-whipped confines of Fenway Park watching a collection of pampered prima donnas courtesy of owners who seem to have lost interest in the game.

Maybe I’m a fair-weather fan, but that fair weather has lasted about half a century. It began with Lonborg, Petrocelli, and Andrews, escalated with Lynn, Rice, and Fisk, and easily survived the World Series drought that ran through the 1990s and a few years on either end.

First off, the fact that the same guy who doesn’t change his own oil is also afraid of a harmless spring breeze in the Back Bay Fens should surprise nobody. Secondly, it’s telling when a “fan” attempts to explain how diehard he is by listing players he enjoyed watching who played on two World Series teams. Those teams, by the way, played four and five decades ago, respectively.

McGrory goes on:

This isn’t about wins and losses. The real problem is there’s no narrative, no story, and beyond the trio of Pedroia, Ellsbury, and Ortiz, precious little charm.

Give us fun misfits; give us nervous rookies. But instead, we’ve got a bunch of sharp edges crunched together in the absurd hope of creating something whole.

The point is easily conceded: the 2012 Boston Red Sox aren’t the 1967 or 1975 Boston Red Sox. Holy shit!

Now that those inconvenient truths are out of the way, the club’s phony “sellout streak” can officially come to an end. All the “diehard” fans who have a problem with that can jog on to their racquet clubs and tee times. Better late than never.

Meanwhile, perhaps the millions of other Red Sox fans who were also paying attention all those other years between media-darling success stories can order themselves a beer without some waiter carrying McGrory’s white zinfandel getting in the way.

After all, any real Sox fan paying attention during the last decade knows that the “pampered prima donnas” in the stands have become a much bigger problem than the ones out on the field.

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Globe’s Dan Shaughnessy plots scathing column after being shunned by brick wall

Posted on March 15, 2012 | Leave a comment

It was supposed to be a feel-good introductory interview–nothing more than another early spring piece of fluff so light it would float right up off the newspage or the screen of a mobile device and vanish into thin air like a soapy bubble on a windy summer’s day.

It was supposed to be a simple wet kiss designed to warm the heart; soothe the soul; and provide elixir to the worried minds of a Red Sox Nation that is just a tad bit more skeptical and on edge than normal.

There would be all the requisite nods to all the facilitating chums within the organization, including CEO and president Larry Lucchino. If readers were lucky, maybe a couple veiled insults hurled toward those rat bastard New York Yankees, the Athens to Boston’s Sparta. If readers weren’t, a couple of ill-fitting allusions to heartbreaking losses in baseball (or basketball or football) games played 10 or 20 years before.

But something went horribly wrong for the Boston Globe’s Dan Shaughnessy on Tuesday morning, when he showed up at Fenway Park for a scheduled sit-down with Fenway Park’s latest celebrity, the 100th Anniversary Brick Wall.

The facade, constructed on the strength of fan donations and filled with engraved messages, well-wishes and heart-felt Thank Yous from Sox enthusiasts, just stared back at the veteran pundit. It uttered not a word. It provided the writer not a single platitude that could be regurgitated as filler. It sat there, stoic, looking ever forward and literally stonewalled its visitor’s advances.

The only witness to the standoff was a maintenance crew that was recently hired to replace concession stand signage with revised price points for the 2012 season.

Said one crew member: “Mr. Shaughnessy looked visibly upset. He kept screaming how ridiculous it was that he had flown all the way up here from Florida for this. The only noise his tape recorder picked up other than his flailing voice musta been the buzz of our drills.”

In response to this public affront, Shaughnessy has begun penning a scathing column denouncing the Anniversary Brick Wall as a Know-it-All Prima Donna unworthy of Boston fans’ adoration. The piece is expected to run on the front page of the Sunday Sports section this weekend.

Said one Globe insider: “This is going to be the rip job to end all rip jobs. I don’t know what this brick wall was thinking shunning the city’s most well-known columnist. Dan Shaughnessy is an institution around here. He is THE voice of Red Sox fans. I don’t see why the thing couldn’t just give him five minutes.”

The column places Shaughnessy at odds with the ballpark he once loved so much he that he penned several heart-rending “Save Fenway”-themed editorials in the mid-1990s. But it would appear the love affair is officially over. One club official expressed sadness for the situation.

“I’ve never seen such vitriol devoted to a non-load-bearing structure. I mean, this Anniversary Wall might still have that New Car Feeling to it, but Shaughnessy had this riot act written before the cement had even dried. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it’s just hate for the sake of hate.”

However, one high-ranking Globe editor disagreed. “This is an exceptional piece of work. We’ve already begun filling out the paperwork to enter the piece for all the relevant industry awards and accolades.”

As one media critic pointed out, “Nobody expects newspapers to be edgy these days. I think this is going to shock people. This is a sledgehammering in word form. An absolute takedown of a subject selfishly trying to rest its laurels on the hype surrounding it. Dan shot holes in that wall like he was Ben Affleck at the end of The Town. Bravo, Dan. Bravo.”

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1992 versus 2012: How much has changed?

Posted on February 29, 2012 | Leave a comment

Many members of the Boston media are dubbing this spring THE MOST IMPORTANT EVR!!

Of course they would. Last year didn’t end well. The Red Sox collapsed. Drinks got drunk. Food got eaten. Fingers were pointed. Snitches have not, to the displeasure of some, stopped snitching.

Gleeful reporters knew the stories would provide the building blocks for a plethora of early spring training stories – the kinds that help fill the time between players arriving in camp and players actually doing something interesting like playing in games.

Amidst the rubble of tired storylines, it is oddly therapeutic to look back at dysfunctional spring trainings gone past. Boston’s new manager is a blowhard! The owners are unapologetic money-grubbers! The ace pitcher said that??

All these things may be true. In a general sense, the storylines are always the same during spring training. It may only be early March, but spring training already feels as though it is taking forever.

But compare the 2012 team’s plight to two decades ago in 1992. Things could be a lot worse.

The New Manager. After firing affable fan favorite Joe Morgan (the white one) in October 1991, the team hired former Sox third baseman Butch Hobson. Regardless of what anyone thinks of Bobby Valentine, hiring Hobson to manage the 1992 Boston Red Sox would have been like the team replacing Terry Francona with John Valentin – if John Valentin had a budding cocaine addiction.

Like Valentine, Hobson showed up in Florida, ran a steady hand through flowing white mane and fluttered the hearts of beat reporters by pledging to kick ass and take names. From Nick Cafardo’s column (“Hobson’s Choice: A demanding
camp”) in the February 23, 1992 edition of the Boston Globe:

“The blueprints are just about in place for Camp Butch….Remember Ralph Houk’s spring trainings? Hit for a couple of hours and go play 18? Forget it, pal. Plan on spending some quality time at the ballpark. Plan on rekindling those ties with fundamentals you learned in high school. And make sure you get there on time. In uniform and on the field by 9:30 a.m. Just try coming late.”

Sounds eerily familiar to Bobby V’s hard-ass rhetoric during the first week-plus.

2012 Similarity Score: 8 out of 10. It’s nice to see Bobby V embracing the job with some emphatic energy. But would anybody be totally surprised if he’s done in two years, moves to some ESPN outpost town and starts overdoing it with the
booger sugar?

The Arrogant Fire-balling Texan. In ‘92, an unapologetic Texas Con Man Roger Clemens arrived late to camp. This year, it is the perennially piss-and-vinegar-filled Josh Beckett sating the media by vocalizing his paranoia over “snitches” in the clubhouse. Both guys tickle the fancy of reporters and columnists looking to stir up conflict. Both prove true the inverse relationship between an increase in hot air spewed out of a man’s mouth and falling fastball velocity out of the same man’s hand.

2012 Similarity Score: 5 out of 10 (try as he might, Josh Beckett isn’t Roger Clemens – which doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing).

The Oft-Injured Young Talent. The Tim Naerhing “If Only” Award for 2012 goes to Clay Buchholz. The righthander’s back problems are supposedly behind him and projection systems have Buchholz likely reaching the 150-160 inning range in 2012. Saying all the right things about the chances for full recovery is a good start. Still, Buchholz’s health over the long haul of the season is a significant wild card. (NOTE: Jed Lowrie would have been a shoo-in for this award had he not been traded to Houston for Mark Melancon.)

2012 Similarity Score: 3 out of 10. Buchholz has already done more earlier in his career than Naehring, who wouldn’t top 500 at-bats in a season until 1995.
Naehring’s career was done two years later at age 30. Meanwhile, asking for the “Tim Naehring Package” at a local chiropractor can cost HMO participants thousands of dollars out-of-pocket.

The Position Battle. Believe it or not, Hobson was on record as unsure who would man first base regularly in 1992: Mo Vaughn or Carlos Quintana. At that point, Vaughn had played only about half a season at the big league level while Quintana had a longer (read: two years) track record. The “battle” ended before position players even reported when Quintana was injured in a car crash while driving two of his brothers to a hospital after they had been shot in Venezuela. In 2012, the team effectively turned the shortstop position into a three-way position battle by trading Marco Scutaro.

2012 Similarity Score: 9 out of 10. “Disastrous, blood-stained car-wreck” is just one of the euphemisms being tossed around to briefly describe having to choose
between Mike Aviles, Nick Punto and Jose Iglesias to man shortstop.

The Departed Veteran Arm. During the 1991-1992 offseason, Lou Gorman opted not to offer 39-year-old Dennis Lamp arbitration. Talk of bringing Lamp back as a coach was put on hold after he signed on with the Pittsburgh Pirates, where he was briefly a teammate of Tim Wakefield’s before being released in June.

2012 Similarity Score: 8 out of 10. Like the recently retired Wakefield, Lamp’s
strikeout-to-walk ratio had grown minuscule during his twilight years. Lamp
gave the Sox about 100 innings in each of his last three seasons in Boston, but
the team was not exactly heartbroken about moving on from a pitcher with an ERA+ hovering around 90. Why Lamp didn’t attempt to extend his career into his early-40s by converting to an outfield position is beyond the understanding of top baseball minds.

The Front Office Nepotism. Twenty years ago, team president Jean Yawkey, wife of former Red Sox owner Tom Yawkey, died just days after camp opened. (Legend has it that slugger first baseman Jack Clark was so upset at the passing of Yawkey that he refused to swing at a single 3-0 pitch he saw during the season.) By contrast, present owner John Henry is very much alive. Just…maybe not on the inside.

2012 Similarity Score: 8 out of 10. Henry’s wife Linda Pizzuti tweets pictures of
players from spring training workouts and has thrust herself into the local fashion
modeling industry. (Coincidentally, Yawkey herself was a fashion model in New
York before marrying into the Red Sox in 1944.)  Two years ago, Pizzuti
took over Janet Marie Smith’s post as vice president of Planning and Development. Bobby Valentine would be well-advised to stay on Pizzuti’s good
side.

The Anniversary Memorabilia. After Yawkey’s death, the front office was so out of sorts during the 1992 season that club-initiated commercialization of the 80th Anniversary of Fenway Park was limited to, best we can tell, a commemorative scorecard that first became available in August. Meanwhile, well before Fenway’s 99th season in 2011 even had a chance to go sour, the Red Sox sold were busy selling fans 100-year commemorative bricks which could be personally engraved.

2012 Similarity Score: 1 out of 10. Talk about an unfair fight. Sure, the century-mark is much more monumental. But is there any doubt the current ownership group would have mobilized a bit more quickly in 1992? It’s difficult to quibble with a team that knows how to optimize its cash flow. Then again, results may vary for “rabid” fans that were moved enough to shell out $250 for a brick.

The Bottom Line. The 1992 Red Sox were a mess on paper even before the season began. Based on their run differential, the team fulfilled on the dot its Pythagorean won/loss expectancy, finishing 73-89. It neither underachieved nor overachieved. It just was. Hobson wasn’t a good fit to manage a major league team and the team’s mainstay veterans (Wade Boggs, Clemens) were already looking ahead to their post-Boston careers. Top to bottom, the team itself was devoid of the talent that the 2012 Boston Red Sox boast. This year’s edition is a legitimate World Series contender with a viable long-term plan to remain competitive in future seasons. It has a core of young All-Star-caliber players and money to spend in July.

So turn off the radio, log off and throw away the newspaper if need be. Things have been better. They’ve also been a lot worse. Negativity this early in the year is so 20 years ago.

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Clay Buchholz’s Love Doctor Mailbag: Spring is in the air

Posted on February 24, 2012 | 1 comment

These days, Clay Buchholz will do just about anything he can to keep his libido in check. (Photo from the Boston Herald)

Red Sox pitcher and former ladies’ man Clay Buchholz hung up his pimping cleats a few years back after marrying and impregnating TV star Lindsay Clubbine.

Periodically, he imparts insight and wisdom from his days as a bachelor to Fenway Pastoral readers.

Clay,
Some photos recently surfaced in which Terry Francona can be seen out and about, enjoying the nightlife with a 20-year-old broad? I’m really grossed out by the whole thing. I hope the rumors aren’t true and this is all some big misunderstanding…

– Judy from Andover

Judy, you sound like you’re pretty old-fashioned. Terry Francona is an icon around here and if he’s gotta exorcise a few demons by dating some younger locals, I think he should do what he needs to do. Personally, I’m really glad to see him land on his feet so quickly. I have some of that really pungent body spray leftover from my single days. (Known fact: Cheap, artificial scents tend to drive girls conceived either during or immediately after Mike Greenwell’s heyday absolutely wild.) I think I’ll send it over to him just as a sort of ‘Hey, what’s up, Terry. Hope you’re having fun out there’ kind of olive branch. He knows my number if he’s got any other questions.

Clay,
For Valentine’s Day, I bought my girlfriend one of those commemorative bricks for Fenway Park’s 100th Anniversary. I got it engraved with our full names and the date of the night we first slept together. I figured that the next time we were at a game together and stood waiting in line for a Fenway Frank beneath the right field grandstand, we could have gotten our picture taken next to it. The only problem is we broke up a couple days ago and the Red Sox have already commissioned the brick for their … um, big wall of bricks. They are refusing refund. Help.

– Aaron from Shirley

Well, Aaron, you learned a valuable lesson. Fenway Park 100th Anniversary bricks are for life. Just like herpes.

Clay,
Is it just me or does Jenny Dell (NESN’s replacement for Heidi Watney) look an awful lot like John Henry’s wife, Linda Pizzutti.

– Jake from Medfield

I’ve seen both these broads in person and I can honestly say their faces would be difficult to tell apart in a dark strip club after a few pulls of Grey Goose. Anyway, Mr. Henry’s been going around camp telling people that he was opposed to the Jenny Dell signing because he didn’t think the organization needed another brunette. I guess the NESN people thought otherwise.

Clay,
How weird is it that the local media can’t get over the fact that some players haven’t sufficiently “apologized” for knocking back a few brews and crushing a few breasts of chicken in the clubhouse last year? I mean, these guys on the radio and in the newspapers sound like a bunch of needy broads, don’t they?

-Larry from Weymouth

As players we gotta deal with reporters on a daily basis for seven months. They just need some reinforcement that what they do makes some kind of difference. And sometimes they just need a little bit of affection. So, yeah. I see where these dudes are coming from I guess. A couple days ago I put a soft hand on some newspaper columnist’s shoulder, looked him in the eye for a couple seconds, and said “Sorry about all that stuff that’s got you all upset, boss.” It was a nice moment, I think. Being well-experienced in treating a lady with tenderness has helped me keep a good rapport with the Boston media.

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They ate CHICKEN?!1: Hacky reference of the day goes to Boston Herald’s Borges

Posted on February 15, 2012 | Leave a comment

Coverage of 2012 Red Sox spring training will be rife with 5-month-old references to the team’s pitching staff and fried chicken. Here at Fenway Pastoral, we’d like to celebrate the media in all its glory for its resilience.

Today, the Boston Herald’s Ron Borges flexed his literary muscle and wrote this gem (presumably all by himself):

As for the No. 4-5 starters, well, most teams are more worried about their 1-3 starters. Here, we worry more about those three facing a box of chicken than anyone in the batter’s box. This assumes Clay Buchholz’ back is back and Josh Beckett front is not, of course, but if those three are hale and hearty rather than haughty and hungry the starting pitching isn’t as concerning as some are making you feel.

Quick Take: Sure, it might be like shooting fish in a barrel … or engaging in fisticuffs with a man who can barely walk, but Borges gets his licks in here. Plus, the boxing writer demonstrates a somewhat unknown attribute in knowing the names of two players on the Red Sox.

Literary devices employed: Mild hyperbole; wordplay; compound sentences.

Takeaway: The reference is forced and no doubt took some time to work into a column that kinda sorta presents a defense of John Henry in the WEEI-style straw-man debate over whether the team is spending enough money. All in all, though, a pretty good effort considering it’s only mid-February. Realistically, it is debatable whether Borges has ever sat through an entire baseball game. The effort here has to be worth something.

Final Grade: C.

Please report offending media members to fenwaypastoral@gmail.com. Let’s make a difference together.

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The Youker Files: Marrying Tom Brady’s sister

Posted on February 10, 2012 | Leave a comment

Written exclusively for Fenway Pastoral by Red Sox first baseman/third baseman Kevin Youkilis.

Kevin Youkilis confirms that he recently threw down a marriage proposal on Tom Brady's sister. She said yes. (Photo from USA Today).

Alright, so yeah, guys. I’m engaged to Tom Brady’s sister. I mean, big deal, right?

I guess I should extend a big middle finger to those Inside Track cows for ruining my news. Those chicks need to take some classes in, I don’t know, social etiquette or something.

Now that I got that out of the way – I gotta admit it was a pretty passionate moment proposing to Tom Brady’s sister. And this is coming from a guy who has had his share of passionate moments. In terms of just raw, blood-flowing emotion, asking Tom Brady’s sister to marry me was right up there for me with that argument I got in with Manny in the dugout a few years ago. You never forget those kinds of things.

Tom Brady’s sister and me (I told her it’s totally cool if she calls me KY20) have been dating for like a year. It’s been freaking awesome. I feel like she totally understands me, you know?

Her brother’s this kick-ass athlete for a Boston sports team (the Patriots) and so am I, so she gets that. Plus, just like Tommy, I get extracurricular attention from some Hollywood stuff (yeah, I was in a scene doing my thing at the plate in Moneyball, which is nominated for a gazillion Oscars). Also, she realizes I’m not a bad person just because I’ve broken a few sets of china after a tough day at the plate. Collateral damage. It just comes with the territory.

Oh yeah. My chin’s a little bit bigger and more muscular, but I’m also super-dedicated in the weight-room. Sound familiar?

I’m a Cincy guy so I can definitely say that Tom’s a cool dude to have as a brother-in-law even though he’s no Boomer Esaison.

The ring. I got a diamond one. It was from some boutique or galleria in the mall. There was a lot of really nice furniture inside and all the people there were really nice to me. They called me “boss” and “ace” and stuff, but not in that patronizing way that a lot of people have that make me want to punch them in the face really hard. It was all totally on the level.

I thought I was going to have to bring up the fact that I was in Milk Money to get them to offer free ring-sizing, but they just gave it away for free anyway. I definitely took them for a ride. I think I’ll send them some Sox tickets or something special like one of my old bats that has teeth-marks all over it (I struck out three times in a game in Yankee Stadium last June…I’m done with that piece of lumber).

I’ll keep the details of the proposal private. I wasn’t real nervous about giving Tom Brady’s sister the ring, though. Facing pitchers like Justin Verlander and CC Sabathia is way more intimidating because it seems like they always manage to buzz one or two heaters right near my face every time I step in against them. So for me, proposing isn’t that much different than just taking one for the team. A beanball to the neck is just as good as a hit.

I got a cortisone shot right before I did the deed to make sure bending down on one knee didn’t do any serious damage. My joints tighten up during the offseason so I figured it was better safe than sorry. Now, every time I go to a knee to knock down a grounder with my collarbone at third base this season, I’m going to think of my fiance. Just kind of a small tribute to her.

So that’s the story. I want Red Sox fans to know that marrying Tom Brady’s sister isn’t going to change me or distract me from my ultimate goal of hitting five home runs in the clinching game of the 2012 World Series. This team is focused this year and I know we’re all going to be ready to get down to business.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to make a phone call to find out how much it would cost to set up a chuppah on the Fenway Park pitcher’s mound.

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Red Sox preparing to offer near-record contract to David Ortiz’s son, D’Angelo

Posted on January 26, 2012 | 2 comments

The 2011-2012 Hot Stove season will go down as one of fiscal austerity for the Boston Red Sox: Relative inactivity in the free agent market. The Marco Scutaro salary dump. Abandoned plans for a Fenway Sports Group-operated orphanage in Kenmore Square.

David Ortiz's 7-year-old son, D'Angelo, talks hitting with Miguel Cabrera of the Detroit Tigers prior to the All-Star Game. (Getty Images)

However, baseball insiders claim that lost amidst the teeth-gnashing over the bewildering nickel-ing and dime-ing is the position of strength the team now stands in the D’Angelo Ortiz sweepstakes.

Son of current Sox DH David Ortiz, the 7-year-old Ortiz is already projecting toward future stardom, according to proprietary analytical systems utilized in Ben Cherington’s front office. Therefore, it makes sense for the team to lock up his peak years before he puts up meteoric statistics in Little League.

Sources say the money socked away from their offseason restraint will be invested in offshore capital-funded private equity funds and suspect pyramid schemes that will enable the team to offer “Little Papi” a record-sized contract that may approach $300 million.

Said one club mole, “We’ve been studying the market for the offspring of husky power hitters for years. Everybody loves David Ortiz. His home runs have helped lead this team to extraordinary success. After he’s retired, it won’t be long before we roll out Big Papi 2.0. D’Angelo will be given unhindered access to our batting cages and pitcher video analysis immediately. We’ve already asked him what type of design he wants for his iPad carrying case.”

D’Angelo’s birthday isn’t until July, meaning the younger Ortiz will spend the majority of the 2012 season at an ideal age for power development and pitch recognition training.

“If he were already 8 or 9 years old, we’d pare down the contract offer slightly. But with him being only 7 and a half, this isn’t the time to be stingy on the average annual value of the contract,” said a team accountant requesting anonymity.

Said one scout, “We are aware of his father’s body type and the likelihood he’ll develop similarly. But we believe we have identified a key market inefficiency that can be exploited by signing him to a mega-deal while he is in grade school. He can start immediately entertaining fans during batting practice and as he becomes major league-ready, we will start writing him into the lineup. This is one of those rare guaranteed returns on an investment.”

Analysts have debated about how to possibly reconcile a roster spot for a 7-year-old prospect. However, many believe D’Angelo Ortiz’s presence on the team may just be the only explanation for the puzzling absence of a viable everyday shortstop on the 40-man roster.

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