Blame It On The Rain

The Red Sox are surging, having won 7 of the their last 10 and three in a row, and despite recent outbursts of pessimism (mea culpa, mea culpa) I am guardedly optimistic. I say guardedly because the team seem to have got their collective act together before the All-Star break, only to start backsliding again. In this respect the Sox are like that girl - you know, the one who treats you bad to the point where you cry 'no mas' and intend to kick her to the curb, but then she comes around, screws you seven ways from Sunday, and leaves you thinking 'well sure, maybe this can all work out after all.'

Regardless, I have resolved that no matter how the Red Sox fare through the remaining games of the season, I will enjoy these games in general and the presence and play of my favorite Red Socks. Such as...

Doug Mientkiewicz. His name is a Red Sox blogger's* dream - it positively screams screams for a nickname. Some of the ones I've seen so far: Mintyfresh, The Freshmaker, Mwejiefoefirz, Malphabet, Minkybitch or The Minkybitch (but ya gotta say it with affection.) Plus, it shoooore is nice to see some purty defence around first base.

Kevin Youkilis. Another grand name - the cheer for Kevin (Yooooook!) is more than an adequate replacement for Merloni's cheer (Loouuu!). Plus, it sounds just like a well-known slang term for vomitting. Bonus! His big, big, long head ,with it's overpowing jaw, reminds of Dudley Doright. Youk has been hitting up a storm lately. This is only speculation but it's my theory that Manny, who currently in a bit of a slump, carelessly left his swing laying around the clubhouse and Kevin picked it up and ran with it. Would be nice if they could share though.

Bronson Arroyo. Mellow to the point of appearing unflappable out there on the mound. When he smirks it's like pitching is a running joke he's letting us in on...

They say they never roll the scoops, because there's always something goin'
(Surf City, here we come)
You know, they're either out surfin' or they got a party growin'
(Surf City, here we come)
Well it's two swingin' honeys for every guy,
And all you gotta do is just wink your eye!

Manny Ramirez. Nobody else alternately delights and frustrates fans like Manolito. There's the Bad Manny, who fails to run out ground balls, inexplicably drops routine flys, and is..casual..about his presence in the lineup. This the guy who infuriates fans and in the past drew lots of fire from the Boston sporting press. But if we have one thing to thank Millar for, it's his role in drawing Manny out. In years gone past we heard teammates defending Manny and his gaffes, saying that while shy he was a great guy and well-like in the club house. This season Manny has let that previously hidden side of himself shine through, and at times it's been a joy to watch. I'm thinking of the catch he made in Tampa Bay: crashing into the left field wall, sliding down the wall into a flailing tangle of arm and legs... and then popping up with the ball. He looked not only like a magician who had just pulled a rabbit out of his hat, but a magician who was every bit as surprised and delighted as his audience that the rabbit was actually in his hand. This the Good Manny, who makes baseball fun (as it should be, since 162 games is long time to be cranky); he is the Jester of this team.

Pedro Martinez. If Manny is the Jester, Pedro is the Clown Prince of the Red Sox. Some object to his antics in the dugout; I could give a damn because first of all, I enjoy then immenselly, and second, the man is all business when he steps between the white lines. I mean 'all business' in the sense of 'mowing enemy hitters down because as others have noted, Pedro carries that sly sense of humor with him to the mound:

And Pedro--that crazy Jeri curl, waggling his index finger at the Tampa Bay batter after almost being hit by a foul ball, that finger strange and double-jointed, swinging like a pendulum at the knuckle, recalling Roger Angell's description of his hands as "lizardlike". That smile, always like the cat that swallowed the canary.

Tim Wakefield. Wake has been around forever at this point; he seems like an older brother now. I like the way that his facial features sometimes arrange themselves into a hound-dog sort of look. I can't even tell exactly which features give this impression - maybe it's his eyes which seem to droop to me - but they do. Especially after a tough outing and let's face it: on the days that he starts there's always the potential he will suck in a capital S.U.C.K kinda way but I never hold it against him. How could I after last year's performance in the ALDS? Wake is Deputy Dawg, the current Yankee Killer of the Red Sox.

Allright, that's enough for now.

*Yes, I know I'm not an 'official' full-time Red Sox blogger. This dump has never had a primary focus, save what my obsession is on any given day.