In case you don’t know, a Shabbos walk is the term used for the awkward Saturday afternoon strolls taken by Jewish youths across America, essentially hoping to find love.

Whether you were displaying the strength of your three-week relationship or hoping to light a spark with a fresh face, Shabbos walking was an essential ritual. Girls took particular delight in this activity, often preferring to hone their unseasoned matchmaking abilities rather than actually go on a walk. 

To an 11-year-old boy thrust into a militant Orthodox Zionist structure, girls are a source of conflict. You can’t stop who you crush on, but your actions must be displayed in a polite and restrained manner, in concordance with ancient Jewish law.

Sneaking off to the woods to make out was a not even a hypothetical possibility, much less one that ever came to fruition. So you took what you could get, which in my case meant letting my friend Danielle fix me up with her friend Aliza.

Unfortunately, I was already head over heels for Danielle. She was a blonde, blue-eyed Texan who personified the kind of sassy female I had been missing during my first decade on earth.

As a spineless kid who was terrified of getting in trouble, I recognized and cherished her precocious impudence. Her friend was sweet, but all I could see was that she and her parents still hadn’t figured out that her glasses covered most of her face.

Although in my head I turned this Shabbos walk down a hundred different ways, Danielle’s unbridled excitement at setting us up coupled with my lack of even a whiff of testicular fortitude meant this walk was indeed going to happen.

I imagined leaving the walk in the middle and sprinting to my friend to confess my feelings. Instead, I told myself that taking a walk with her friend would be the best way to stay close to her. I was really that naive. 

We decided to meet near the far goal of the boy’s soccer field. This was intentional, as trying to find this rather nondescript person in a general area set against a sea of blue and white (required garb for Friday nights and Saturdays) would have been near impossible.

The beginning of the walk was reminiscent of some ancient Japanese ritual—few if any words were exchanged between a ‘shidduched couple,’ but instead of bowing to one another, we set a quick pace in a desperate attempt to ease the tension.

By the time we realized there was nothing to say, we had traversed a good portion of the camp and I was still looking sheepishly at the ground (there’s a reason they call it a Shabbos walk and not a Shabbos talk).

In this particular instance there was no hand holding or even laughter, only mumbled conversation drowned out by the young cat-callers expertly perched around the camp (needless to say, there were plenty of boys who took great delight in jeering others to cover up their own insecurities about not having someone to go one a walk with. At least this is what I told my young, startled self).

I hate to say it, but all I could think about was how much I wish my impertinent friend with the shiksa goddess looks was standing next to me instead of my date. After what felt like weeks, we finally parted (girls and boys campuses were universes away).

While I was relieved that I had completed this fabled act, I held onto the dream that the next one would be Danielle. Or anyone who I had even a remote interest in kissing.

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Hell hath no fury like a Zirin with a cocktail in his hand. Let me explain:

Dave Zirin, inducted this year into the exclusive Big Jewcy club, recently wrote a book with John Carlos about his famous moment at the 1968 Mexico City Olympic Games. Last night he gathered with a intimate crowd at the gallery at New York’s Le Poisson Rouge, as a guest speaker at Gelf Magazine’s Varsity Letters, their much lauded monthly speaker series (ok maybe not lauded per se but they do get great speakers and you should definitely check it out next time around). Joining him were George Vecsey, speaking about his book on the great Stan Musial and whose columns for the New York Times have been intellectually engaging readers for the past 30 years (he recently semi-retired),  and Mark Ribowsky, who penned a book about the larger than life sportscaster Howard Cosell (it’s mandatory to utter his name in Cosell’s voice, try it once, you’ll never go back). Vecsey and Ribowsky both shared poignant anecdotes about their subjects, and Vecsey fondly ruminated on a truly legendary career in the business. Zirin animatedly capped off the night, speaking passionately about getting to know John Carlos, a man who never compromised his beliefs, enduring great personal and professional tragedies in championing human rights. Slightly spilling his drink as he swayed onstage, Zirin regaled the crowd with stories of Carlos sharing a cup of coffee with his FBI tail and going shoulder to shoulder with a Michael Oher-sized inner-city high schooler who interrupted Carlos during a speech. I’m glad it was Zirin who Carlos let tell his story; two men who have dedicated their lives to championing sports and social justice. If you despise the current glut of greed and egotism in sports and want an outlet for your frustration, go read Dave Zirin; he’s fighting the good fight in an age of absolute moral decrepitude. Check out the Gelf interview here.

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Have Jews ever been more excited for Christmas? Starting with Knicks-Celtics at noon, the NBA kicks off with a delectable five- spot of games, roughly translating to 12 hours of hi-def goodness to pair with your Chinese food. However, it looks like a couple of my favorite players won’t be home for the holidays. J.R. Smith and Wilson Chandler, playing for the Zhejiang Chouzhou Golden Bulls and the Zhejiang Guangsha Lions respectively, inexplicably signed contracts which don’t allow them to return to the NBA until March. Aaron Brooks and Kenyon Martin are also trapped in China, but K-Mart’s crazy is so 2004 and Brooks seems like a genuinely nice guy, so we can quietly neglect them for now.

Smith just posted a 52 point, 22 rebound line on his way to being named Player of the Week, and Chandler is leading the league in scoring, so perhaps they are enjoying their newfound status as bonafide stars in China. Both guys have enough ego and ‘me firstness’ that playing for screaming fans that deify you and hang giant posters of you across the country is probably not feeling like absolute torture.  Chandler’s only problem may be finding a consistent weed supply, or, for that matter, photo-ops with random rabbis. (Seriously, can someone provide an explanation of that photo?).

I feel like Smith has made a connection with his new home, judging by the fact that he is certified Blasian (tell me he doesn’t remind you of the drunken master from Virtua Fighter? Am I crazy? Yes. Yes I am.). Smith is a legitimate nutjob, but an exceptionally entertaining player, with unlimited range and eye-popping hops. He’s just crazy enough to turn down a 3 year, 20 million dollar contract from the Bulls due to his love for the various tiers of Chinese prostitutes.

As for Chandler, I always liked him on the Knicks- a big shooter who could get to the hoop was never afraid to crash the boards. But for every one inspired game from Chandler, there were two others where you could have put his face on a milk carton. I didn’t actually expect him to physcically disappear though, that’s just unfortunate.

Thus, our ongoing tete-a-tete with China seems to have extended to the hardwood. In fairness, we did rent Yao Ming for the better part of 8 years (until he decided to head back to China to be made into a giant dragon that gets flown on Chinese New Year. That’s what’s happened right?). Don’t worry China, George Karl is just crafty enough to slip Kobe’s some extra mamba juice and program him to ‘retrieve lost Denver Nugget tattoos’. You just watch.

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Every person has a different mechanism that relaxes their physical and emotional selves. I don’t mean leisure time that is somewhat distressing and provides temporary respite to an aching soul. I mean a true, unadulterated panacea to one’s daily ills, that which allows you to embody that very tired maxim and ‘leave all your troubles behind’. For me, bowling is my valium/yogalates/acupuncture all rolled into a tidy 16 lb ball. I play in a league at the most homey no frills bar in Williamsburg, and, heading into my fourth season, I can’t imagine life without a weekly trip to the Gutter.

The motions in bowling are pretty simple: the walkup, the take-back and the throw. Still, it’s a pleasure to watch other forms happening around you, and realize that no two are alike. There are some especially graceful ones, who look like they could incorporate their style into an adaptation of Swan Lake, and others whose progressions looks more like they practiced falling off the back of a loading truck. The sounds are also familiarly repetitive: the squeak of the clown shoes on the linoleum floor, the thud of the ball as it hits the lane, and the crackle as it makes contact with the pins. However, the difference between the sharp, instantaneous pow! (cue the old Batman clips!) coming from a strike hitting the pocket perfectly, and the dull cacophonous thud as the ball hits the 1 pin straight on causing some version of a split is couldn’t be greater. Personally, I never want to review my form on tape.  Stepping up to the ‘line’ (or whatever those three dots are actually called), I go through the motions with no hesitation or meditation, knowing that constructing a mental image of my sequence would only harm my fluidity of motion. Sometimes I’m great, other times not as much. I have no illusions about reaching the Everest of this sport, 12 strikes echoing one after another in resounding fashion. But the feeling a being ‘in the zone’ on the lanes is so intoxicating it keeps me coming back even after the most disappointing games. I started thinking about what it takes to make it in professional bowling. Watch this clip: one guy comes agonizingly close to a perfect game, the other one relieved to have simply reached triple digits. That’s fucking crazy! What other sport can you watch and legitimately say ‘I could do what that guy just did!’ Obviously, to consistently reach the upper echelon scores is a far cry from that one magical game where the strikes and spares were aplenty and you somehow spit out a 220. Nonetheless, it’s fascinating thought to ponder, albeit one that rarely crosses my mind. Most people in the league come for the camaraderie; to hang out with friends, drink good cheap beer and hopefully throw a few strikes. I come for pure, uninhibited peace of mind, and on that, the game delivers every time.

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So apparently sports have excited and enthralled us for far too long, and have now decided to depress the shit out our collective selves. Between the awful goings on at Penn State and the long, painful trudge towards a cancelled NBA season, most sports-fans would be better off turning their attention to 30 Rock and Mad Men re-entering their lives early next year.  Therefore, I submit to you a triumphant story, one that combines all the uplifting elements that keeps us coming back so sports year after year. Nestled within an innocuous Manhattan intramural basketball league, a furious rivalry has been brewing for over a year.  And this past Monday night, one team reigned supreme.

Zog Sports (not to be confused with the radical conspiracy theory purported by the Aryan Nations and like-minded folk) is a non-profit started by a Jewish guy who showed up late to his office on 9/11, watched his entire floor get destroyed and decided he needed to do something more charitable with his time. While the goal is an admirable one, the basketball league contains dimly lit, slippery locations, shoddy refereeing, and a no overtime policy. But then after the game you go to a ‘official Zog bar’ and get a dollar off your beer so it’s all worth it. My team, the 4skins, has been a rotating cast of characters going on two years, with a firm belief in drafting white, mediocre Jewish talent and making sure the refs clearly grasp the terrible job they’re doing each and every game.  Our team’s first season was the winter of 2010, in which we emerged as champions of our league. More importantly, we caught the eye of one Chris Gethard, professional comedian and member of The Del Harris Marathon. DHM was made up of a loose collective of comedians, mostly from the Upright Citizens Brigade (we once had the privilege of playing against Jason Sudeikis, who hit at least two lefty bank-shot threes. Then he got too famous and never showed again). For some inexplicable reason, Gethard decided the first time we played DHM that the 4skins would be his team’s rival. Please do not imagine Gethard as a serious baller who looked at our team as fresh meat. He is petite, pale skinned, wears sports-goggles, and looks like a somewhat overgrown child. Sometimes he shoot ill-advised 3 pointers, but usually is content to get technical fouls called on him from the bench. However, his passion for the game is undeniable, and all credit goes to him for recognizing the unmistakable chemistry/enmity that existed between our two squads. Unbeknownst to us, DHM was posting hysterical, extremely NSFW tweets and facebook messages about us all season long (isn’t that how every great rivalry gets started?). We finally found out about the joke, and went to one of their UCB shows, where they preceded to ream us out much to the delight of everyone in attendance.

Gethard is now host of The Chris Gethard Show, a hilariously wacky show that airs on public access TV. The show consists of weird call-ins, elaborate shenanigans (serious props for this one) and delivers consistently low-budget chaotic nonsense. Gethard thought an episode should be devoted to our budding rivalry, and organized a friendly, fight-to-the-death battle that took place this week. 4skins fans came dressed in our traditional Kelly green bearing signs like ‘Cut Em’ Up’ and ‘The Decision: Circumcision’. Gethard’s crew  got some primo pre-game interviews from both teams on what this rivalry means (A female DHM member claimed she was excited about beating some ‘dirty fucking Jews’). DHM got some quality heckling in, but the 4skins prevailed in a tightly contested game. In any case, be sure to check out the November 30th episode of Gethard’s show, it’s gonna be a doozie. Also if you want to come to our playoff game this weekend, please let me know.

Update: In an incredible ending to a storybook season, The 4Skins won the Zog Sports ‘Players’ (the highest level, a markedly different echelon than ‘Sorts Players’ or ‘Fuck it, I Signed Up for the Cheap Drinks’) championship on a last second shot by new recruit and season MVP Neil Goldman. Down 1-0 in two consecutive best of three matches, the Skins reached down to the depths of their boychik reserves to display some of the most gutsy, gritty (insert obligatory sports metaphor here) plays ever seen on a basketball court. We look forward to defending our title and rekindling our rivalry with Gethard and the gang. Robert Herzog, I’m waiting for your congratulatory call.

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This week, Garrett McNamara set a world record by surfing a 90 foot wave. However, that wave looks like child’s play compared to the one Herman Cain has been riding the last month. Multiple sexual harassment claims, a glaring lack of foreign policy knowledge, and a tobacco heavy campaign commercial have only strengthened the Godfather of pizza’s standing in the polls. Rachel Maddow has called his campaign an incredibly brilliant performance art piece, and his over-the-top wacky antics do smack of someone playing an elaborate prank on the American people. Cain has never been one to hold his tongue, and we thought it appropriate to take some of his most amusing quotes and apply them to some colorful sports figures.

“Don’t blame Wall Street, don’t blame the big banks. If you don’t have a job and you are not rich, blame yourself”!

To Latrell Sprewell, the mercurial NBA all-star who turned down a 21 million dollar contarct on the grounds that it wasn’t enough to feed his family. While this bold move effectively ended Spree’s career (he ended up owing lots of money and foreclosing on his house and yacht), I understand Spree’s sentiment. He took Cain’s words to heart, and knew if he didn’t try for that 50 million contact he would only have himself to blame. Way to stick to your guns Spree, Herman would be proud.

“When they ask me who is the president of Ubeki-beki-beki-beki-stan-stan I’m going to say you know, I don’t know. Do you know?”

This gem displays both a hardened lunacy streak and a proud display of ignorance. Two candidates come to mind here. The first is clearly Ron Artest (my apologies, Metta World Peace), whose incredible lack of a filter is matched only by his penchant for rap tributes to Michael Jackson and henessy drinking. There is nothing out of reach for Artest in the realm of crazy, including running for Prime Minister of Uzbeki Beki Beki  Stan Stan. The second one is one Donovan McNabb, who infamously claimed he did not know the rules about overtime in the NFL, or that playoff games couldn’t end in a tie. McNabb’s ‘aw shucks’ demeanor and staggering ignorance on this topic continues a time-honored tradition of proudly announcing you don’t know what the hell you are talking about, a tradition fervently practiced by Herman Cain.

“The only tactic liberals have is to try to intimidate people into thinking that the Tea Party is racist. The Tea Party is not a racist movement, period! If it were, why would the straw polls keep showing that the black guy is winning? That’s a rhetorical question. Let me state it: The black guy keeps winning”.

Let’s send this one out to our old friend Iron Mike Tyson, a man for whom words have always come fast and furious but not always correct. Give him credit though, he’s never shied away from expressing his opinions about kicking children’s testicles and fading into bolivian, and in all respects he is clearly a black guy that keeps winning. Also he absolutely nails Cain in this parody. Bravo Mike.

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Thanksgiving is fast approaching (which is terrifying because I feel like a moment ago I put the high holidays in my rear view mirror). While everyone loves getting down and dirty with turkey and stuffing, there isn’t really a good holiday transition between sitting in your hut with your species and bloating yourself in the name of the Puritans. It looks like people have gone to the trouble of researching the connection between Jews and Pilgrims, but I choose to focus on time-honored stereotypes and mention Spanish Jew Haym Solomon putting up serious dough to fund the Revolution (although I distinctly remember watching Molly’s Pilgrim in Jewish day school and having no clue why they were showing it to us). In any case, sports are the great unifier of nations, and there’s nothing more satisfying than plopping down in front of the Thanksgiving day football games with a bellyful of tryptophan.  We profile some sports figures past and present and what dishes they might be making this Turkey Day:

Chris Johnson, Tennessee Titans

Dish: Lard Based Gravy

A perfect dish for a guy who looks about as fast and shifty this season as your grandfather playing Thanksgiving backyard football with a double knee replacement. We know the Titans offensive line is abysmal, but it wasn’t that long ago that CJ was this guy. He may not have had a lot of time to practice with the holdout and such, but he’s averaging under 3 yards a carry! You trip and fall forward and usually get more than that!  I guess his gravy causes you to actually move backwards, resulting in 300 yards rushing through 8 games and thousands of massacred fantasy teams.

David Stern, Basketball Commissioner

Dish: Backstab Stuffing

Yes, I know there is no such thing, but that’s why it’s perfect for Stern: He takes pride in disappointing fans in unexpectedly cruel ways. He waited until the absolute last minute to even begin talks between players and owners, and he’s likely been spending his time whispering sweet nothings in Dan Gilbert’s ear about what a brave soldier he is for not giving an inch. The first month of the season has already been cancelled, giving the Commish ample time to perfect this dish and make sure it yields maximum suffering. I’m sure it will have pieces of Mark Cuban’s clenched fists in it. At least we’ll know he went down fighting.

Tony Larussa, Retired (Until he drunkenly stumbles into the clubhouse for spring training next season and belligerently announces his return, mark my words)

Dish: Turducken with 5 extra layers of various meats

This is an easy one. For the man who took singular delight in ‘hands on managing’, we need a food with chameleon like properties. Thought you were cutting into turkey, now you’ve got steak on your fork! Wait! Now it’s Lance Lynn! There’s no denying it was a magical last run for Crazy Tony, but good god, between him and Ron Washington, if you took your eye off the screen for one second, there was an entirely new team on the field when you looked back. Well done you lunatic, well done.

The post Shtickball: The Sports And Thanksgiving Edition appeared first on Jewcy.

College sports is fairly hot topic these days. Probably due to the fact that baseball is nearly over (but going out with a bang, holy smokes did you see last night?) and the NBA might end before it begins despite some very frantic last minute negotiations (It seems like both Congress and the NBA love to deal like I wrote college term papers- at the absolute 11^th hour. Not a promising sign). Sally Jenkins wrote a fantastic piece for the Washington Post about giving college athletes a chance to major in something they actually have a passion for: Sports (Hear her discuss the article on the always entertaining and highly engrossing Slate sports podcast Hang Up and Listen).  While I agree that college athletes should be given an opportunity to challenge themselves academically with courses that truly interest them, I wonder how this hypothesis would actually play out.  Can you imagine having to share a ‘Sports and Religion’ class with Tim Tebow? Every day raising his hand and beginning his answer with ‘Well, our lord and savior Jesus Christ reminds us that’…- you’d be ready to nail yourself to the cross before you ever got to mid-terms. What about sharing a ‘Sports and Justice’ class with Ray Lewis? You so badly want to ask him where his white suit disappeared to, but you’d probably soil yourself before you ever got up the nerve. Still, there are some athletes that would probably be fun to share a class with. The trope of Shane Battier as a intellectual, Krzyzewskian player is a tired one, but I certainly wouldn’t mind taking a ‘Sports and Politics’ class with him (perhaps taught by our old friend Dave Zirin?), if only to gaze intently at that glorious dome of his. To take it to another stratosphere entirely, can you imagine taking a ‘Sports Psychology’ class with Ron Artest? Talk about learning from your peers, I’d get up at 5 a.m. and walk miles through the snow to attend.  So while there certainly are some notable drawbacks, the verdict is in: let the athletes learn! At least until they have a really important game, then we’ll probably see a puny white equipment manager signing in as ‘N. Suh’ to take a ‘Sports and the Art of the Guillotine’ final.

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It’s the most wonderful time of the year. You’re basking in your Frank Lloyd Wright inspired sukkah, the leaves are changing, and you’ve hopefully been absolved of all those pesky transgressions you committed this year. For some however, heeding the call of the shofar took a backseat to the call of the diamond. The MLB playoffs have ‘Jewish’ representatives in both the AL and NL in Ian Kinsler and Ryan Braun. Both have Catholic mothers but we’re not about to split hairs. Kinsler was raised celebrating Jewish holidays and Braun can eat all the bacon wrapped scallpos he wants and we’d still take him- he’s that good. Much has been made about Braun and Kinsler’s relationships to the Holidays, but we might as well go right to the source- the box scores. Since there is always a steady diet of late season/playoff games falling on the holidays, let’s examine Braun and Kinsler’s decision to play instead of pray and how they fared.

September 30th- Second Night of Rosh Hashanah

Game 1 ALDS- Rays 9, Rangers 0

Ian Kinsler- 0-3 with a walk and a strikeout

God was not smiling on Kinsler as he laced up his cleats while the rest of us were focused on hiding our naps from the rabbi during an interminably long service. The Rangers get trounced in Game 1 of the division series and Kinsler puts up a goose egg, unable to out-hit the Day of Judgment.

October 7th- Night of Yom Kippur

Game 5 NLDS- Brewers 3, Diamdbacks 2, Brewers advance to NLCS

Ryan Braun- 2-3, BB

Braun has another solid game, going 2-3 with a walk before Nyjer Morgan (aka Tony Plush) hits a walkoff single in the 10^th. I’m sure Braun did his own Kol Nidre in the dugout and sources close to the team affirmed that he was wearing the family kitel right before he stepped into the batters box. In any case, Braun shrugged being smote by fire or plague or famine to help propel the Brew Crew into the NLCS.

October 8th- End of Yom Kippur
Game 1 ALCS- Rangers 3, Tigers 2

Ian Kinsler- 1-3, BB, RBI

Kinsler gets a pass here because the game started after the fast ended. Reports were that he had invited teammates for a pre-game break-fast of bagels and lox, egg salad, and chocolate pudding pie. Then he went out delivered a key RBI and helped the Rangers take a 1-0 lead over the Tigers. That’s Jewish commitment to excellence, and not a religious party foul in sight.

Update: The Rangers beat the Tigers to advance to the World Series, while the Brewers fell to the Cards last night to end their season despite Braun hitting like a menace the entire Playoffs. Ryan, time to make up for lost time and shake those species. You’re also just in time to booze it up with the chasids on Simchat Torah. Ian, if, unlike last year you manage to win it all, all is definitely forgiven. If not, I’d watch my back the next couple of weeks. God is one competitive dude, and takes ‘win or go home’ to a whole different level.

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This week Schtickball hops around to find you stories from across the wide world of sports. Off we go!

Apparently some doe-eyed Jewish kid from Solomon Schechter has decided to walk on to the Maryland basketball squad.  After a couple of serious injuries that prevented him from being recruited by any of the Ivies, Jacob Susskind decided the Terps ‘were the right fit for him academically and socially’. So basically he’s some dweeby Schechter kid who happens to be 6’5 with serious game and is looking to meet some slutty College Park sorority chicks nice Jewish girls? More power to him. I’d be amazed if he catches a whiff of the court this season, but schnorrer’s can’t be choosers. I’m secretly hoping he comes in for garbage time, gets a big ovation by the Maryland Jewish syndicate, then gets absolutely destroyed by Harrison Barnes.

The Red Sox are in the midst of a historic collapse, and for more insight I cede the floor to my uncle Mike, who is a lawyer by day and a rabid Yankee hater/astute baseball blogger also by day (apparently there’s plenty of downtime waiting for trial to start). You may argue with his endpoints, but the research is always sound and the logic Bill Jamesian. See below for his post.

The NBA has decided to postpone training camps. On the bright side, David Stern has decided where he’s going to shul for high holidays. I would tell you, but even talking about a soul that black is bad karma, and I just can’t risk it with Rosh HaShanah around the corner.

Building on the storied tradition of Cincinnati Bengals flouting the legal system, Jerome Simpson decidedly to have a hefty amount of marijuana delivered to his home. Police intercepted the package, getting Simpson used to what it will be like once Carson Palmer returns.

Finally, this week Deadspin has been showcasing some extremely NSFW c-roll footage, courtesy of their readers/ESPN archives. Handle with care, and Shabbat Shalom!

Mike’s Files: The Great Collapse of 2011

The Boston Red Sox started the season 2-10. They are currently on a 5-14 “tear”. In between that 7-24 combined stretch, they were baseball’s best team, winning more games than the Phillies, dominating the Yankees, getting on the cover of SI (so that’s what happened!). So, really, what happened? Besides the fact that the Yankees have played really good ball, overcoming A-Rod’s partial season, Burnett’s usual bad year, Hughes step backwards, the Posada soap opera, injuries to all-time Mets great Pedro Feliciano and set-up man Soriano and Sabathia’s battle of the humongous bulge. Every minor player stepped up and then some, Granderson had a career year, Mariano just kept on going, Nova was unbelievable, Cano hit great all year long, Jeter turned back the clock, Garcia got batters out with junk and Colon didn’t get caught doing anything illegal to his body. An all-around team effort. They’ve done everything this year, including even trying to help the Red Sox to get out of their own way.
 
             On the other hand, or perhaps the flip side of the same coin,  Boston’s monumental collapse (which I do not see abating, at least not until 2012) has also been a total team effort. True, a rash of major and minor injuries played a significant role. But until recently, the team weathered the long and short-term losses of Buchholz, Dice-K, Lackey, Lester, every middle reliever, Drew, Lowrie, Youkilis and Crawford, all of whom spent time on the DL, while Beckett also missed time (no DL). September has been different however, as the wheels have come off. The “regular” bottom of the rotation guys, such as Lackey and Wakefield, went from being mediocre to awful. The top of the rotation guys, Lester and Beckett, went from being great to being almost decent. Whereas the Yanks would typically score 10 in order to bail out Burnett who gave up 8 in 5 innings, Boston’s vaunted offense almost never scored enough runs in order to overcome a bad start by a good pitcher. (Twice they did score 18 runs, when about the last dozen was meaningless). And the “fill-in” starters, such as Weiland, Miller and Bedard were either terrible or just didn’t get the job done often enough. This was truly mystifying during September, when rosters expanded to 40 players and the Yankees seemed to have enough pitchers to fill two staffs. By contrast, despite a 40 man roster, Boston has no clue as to who will start Saturday’s game against the Yanks and went so far as to (unsuccessfully) attempt to “pry” the great Chris Capuano from the Mets just so that he could start that one game. Theo, what the hell is going on here? Which takes us to the bullpen. All season long (that is May through August), Bard and Papelbon covered up for Theo’s failure to get them any help. Retreads such as Wheeler and Jenks were disasters, Okhajima continued his descent from greatness to obscurity with an early season-ending injury and younger guys, even Felix Doubront, just didn’t seem ready for prime time.  Once Bard suddenly started to get hit hard and often in September and even Papelbon was no longer automatic, a whole bunch of seemingly secure games, incredibly went down the tubes. 2 nights ago, Francona got into the act, panicking and bringing Bard into the game in the 7th inning, too early. He pitched a beautiful 7th (with a 1 run lead), got the first guy out in the 8th, then ran into serious trouble, yielded to Papelbon who got 1 out, then loaded the bases before clearing all 3 of them all at once. Game over, in the 8th inning. Last night, in a tie game in the 8th, Francona removed Beckett and brought in the severely overworked Aceves to pitch to Vlad Guerreo, who Beckett had struck out easily twice. Game over in the 8th.
 
           Boston’s defense has also fallen apart in September; I think they’ve made better than an error per game. A couple of days ago, I watched under-achieving back-up outfielder Darnell McDonald lose 2 consecutive balls in the sun, eventually leading to a loss. On the next night, slumping Josh Reddick dropped a line drive hit right to him. Speaking of young “sluggers”, Reddick and Saltalamacchia, who more than held their own throughout the summer dog days, are now having trouble making contact. 3 strikeout games have become common.
 
            As for the stars, the core, well Youk has been banged up and hurt throughout the season and suddenly, it seems that moving big, bulky and gung-ho Youk to 3B, was not without a substantial health cost. Ellsbury, Pedroia, Gonzalez and Ortiz all have had great seasons but their bats seemed to get dragged down into the general Red Sox malaise, as the month wore on. Typical was a Pedoia at-bat of 2 nights back; after battling back from a 3 run-deficit, Boston was tied 4-4 and Pedroia was up with bases loaded and none out. His 3 pitch K was as bad an at-bat as I have seen all year, as it was obvious that he was either going to hit it way over the Green Monster or not at all. During the first half of the year, Gonzalez seemed impossible to pitch to; now, he seems easy to strike out. The pressure has definitely gotten to these great players.
 
           Parenthetically, here is an interesting stat for you guys: It has been shown that there is a very high correlation between the number of starts made by the first 5 starting pitchers to start the season for any given team and that team’s success. The Yankees began the season with CC, AJ, Hughes, Nova and Colon (in that order). Those 5 ultimately made almost 83% of the team’s starts, which is a very high number (better than Phillies) and correlates with a great season. Boston’s “first 5” (Lester, Beckett, Buchholz, Dice-K and Lackey) made 68% of Boston’s starts. Not bad but not nearly as good.
 
         As I’m finishing this rant, the Mets just scored 6 runs in the 9th inning in St. Louis, to come back to beat the Cards, 8-6. They had a bunch of tremendous at-bats in the 9th inning, notably by Tejada (a future star, for sure), Turner (a future average player, for sure) and Willie Harris (a future nobody, for sure, who had 2 great at-bats in the  9th inning). The point is, this is what makes baseball the greatest game.  The lousy Orioles torture the Red Sox, The Mets nearly sweep the Braves last weekend and now give the Cards a bit of revenge for past abuses, the  desperate Rays have all sorts of trouble taking even one game from the Yanks, the Braves losing to the Marlins. Baseball is the only sport where with all the marbles on the table, the team with nothing to play for consistently dominates the team getting ready to go to the post-season. (Remember Mets-Marlins? And the year after that?). You got to love that aspect of the game. It does not go down that way in basketball and football, where “intensity” is productive, whereas in baseball, it can actually be counter-productive.

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