Reviewing the 2010 NCAA Tournament and a look at the baseball season.

You can download this week’s podcast directly (running time 100 mins) or subscribe to the feed.

If you use iTunes, just click here and then click subscribe and iTunes will take care of the rest.

This week’s topics include:

• March Madness – what might have been
• McNabb traded to Redskins
• Baseball preview
• Tiger Woods’ new creepy commercial
• Miscellaneous: Tiki Barber trades up and what would happen if Ernest Borgnine met Larry Fitzgerald

We’re on . So follow us and make us feel special.

Hope you guys enjoy the podcast. If you did enjoy it, please give us a good rating on itunes so we can rise up in the rankings. If you didn’t, send us an email (editor@sportscolumn.com) and give us some suggestions. Thanks for listening.

By Ryan McGowan

Mariano Rivera notched his 500th career save last weekend against the Richmond Braves New York Mets.

Back in the 90’s, or even as recently as 2003, such an event would have been greeted in Red Sox Nation with snotty, sarcastic dismissals and whiny, insecure hating.  New England would have made a collective litany of excuses as to why this event was irrelevant, as to how Mo was overrated, and how 500 saves wasn’t anything to be proud of.

Thank God we’ve grown up as a fan base.  Now, at least, we can fully accept and appreciate Rivera for being what he is—the greatest closer of all time.   No strings attached, no questions asked.

Haters will point to the biggest criticism of Rivera—that he was somewhat of a freak of nature, that his success over the years has been merely the result of having one dominant pitch, the ungodly, unhittable cut fastball that continues to saw off right-handed bats like a Minnesota lumberjack.  They will say that Mo was never a pitcher, that he was instead some kind of an Ivan Drago-esque physical specimen whose Hall of Fame credentials were sown by an unfair physical domination rather than any kind of crafty, Maddux-esque cerebralism.  They are wrong; Rivera has always been not only a great pitcher but also a master competitor who ranks among the greatest sportsmen of all time.

Yankees fans can understandably brag about their closer, a man who might be the single most underrated superstar in professional sports over the past decade.  Sure, Billy Beane can spout his Moneyball company line about how closers are overrated and not worth the top dollars that many of them command, but Beane never had the luxury of looking into his bullpen in the 8th or 9th inning and seeing #42 come running out to “Enter Sandman” and see the utter dejection in the other team’s face.  In the deciding Game 5 of the 1999 ALDS, Pedro Martinez came out of the bullpen in the fourth inning against the Cleveland Indians with the score tied; by the looks on the faces of Indians fans and players alike, the game was pretty much over.  And it was only the fourth inning!  Pedro’s six no-hit innings get a lot of attention in baseball lore, but that was pretty much the effect whenever Mo came out of the bullpen over the years.  Almost every single night.   April to October.

In the grand heyday of the Sox-Yankees rivalry (probably between 1998 and 2005, where the teams finished 1-2 in the American League East every year and met in the playoffs three times), Rivera and Derek Jeter were the biggest constants in the Yankees’ methodical demolition of the Red Sox teams of that era.  He was ubiquitous.  It seemed like every time the Sox had the game won, their bullpen would falter, the Yanks would take the lead, and then out came Mo, and five minutes later the pinstripes were shaking hands on the field after another victory.  It was like clockwork.

It pissed me off beyond belief.

But Mariano, like Jeter, has never been a player that an opposing fan could hate.  Any fan, even a Red Sox fan, as long as he or she is a true fan of the game of baseball, appreciates what these guys bring to the table.  Rivera was never like A-Rod, who is just too easy to despise out of jealousy and schadenfreude, nor was he ever like Jason Giambi or Mike Mussina, guys who just seemed like corporate automatons who represented the faceless, Imperialist, Yankee brand.  He and Jeter have been the face of more than a decade of Yankees baseball, both triumphs and failures, and perhaps nothing exhibits that more than two famous examples of his failures over the years: the 01 World Series and the 04 ALCS.

Rivera blew the save in Game 7 of the 2001 World Series against the Arizona Diamondbacks.  He even committed a throwing error which was instrumental in the Yanks’ ninth-inning collapse.  I watched in my living room and cheered for the demise of the Yankees, even as I felt like an idiot in rooting for a ridiculous yahoo franchise like Arizona over the dynasty of hated New York.  As much as I childishly reveled in the D-backs’ victory, part of me hated that it had to have come as the result of a classy guy like Rivera having to choke it away.

Fast-forward to Game 4 of the 2004 ALCS, another Yankee ninth-inning lead, and another Rivera blown save which becomes a series-changing blunder.  This time, as much as I hated to have him be the goat, it didn’t matter.  He had inflicted so much torture on Red Sox fans over the years with that satanic cutter that the baseball gods decreed that the Sox must topple the great Mo Rivera to complete the exorcism that was the 04 playoffs.  For someone who had been involved in as many great victorious moments as Mo, it made him such a more compelling figure to have the human failures in big spots as well.  I guess if you pitch in enough pressure packed situations in do-or-die games, eventually you have to lose a few.  Closers aren’t gods, after all.  Mo might turn out to be immortal, but he wasn’t invincible.

That’s why I was glad to see the “ovation” that Rivera received from the fans at Fenway Park on Opening Day 2005, when the scheduling gods had mercilessly forced the Yankees to return to the scene of their monumental choke to watch the Red Sox receive their World Series rings.  Even better, Mo’s reaction was perfect—he smiled, he waved his cap, and he seemed to just get it.  If 2004 turned the Red Sox-Yankees series into a true rivalry rather than just a feud, than Rivera’s successes and defeats were all two sides of the same coin in such a riveting, ongoing drama as Sox-Yanks continues to be.

Which is why I don’t think Mariano Rivera gets enough attention for his greatness.  While fans and the media have been fixated in recent years on Barry Bonds, A-Rod, Roger Clemens, the steroids fiasco, and a horde of other black eyes for the game, Mo has just been relatively quietly racking up save after save, pushing forward into his late 30’s with the same excellence and professionalism that he showed as a fireballing phenom set-up man in 1996.

Mariano, you have been the yin to our yang over your career, and both the Red Sox and Yankees franchises and fan bases are better for it.  Baseball owes you, big time.  Besides, if you can inspire a stubborn Boston homer to write a ball-washing column favrellating you, then that’s got to count for something, right?

By Ryan McGowan

It’s only April, of course.  And I know that you can’t win the division in April (but you could lose it – see New York Yankees, 2007).

But is there any doubt after the Red Sox swept the Yankees (as well as their recent nine-game homestand) that the chasms between these two franchises are larger than they have been in a long time?

Bill Simmons has his “Levels of Losing,” but how about the “Ways of Winning?”  You want to find different ways to win games?  The Red Sox, over the weekend, proved they could win any way they wanted to.

Want a come-from-behind, last-minute, extra-inning thriller?  Friday night, Everyday Jason Bay (remember, the replacement for Every Fourth Day Manny Ramirez) deposits a two-run homer off the great Mariano Rivera over the center field fence to tie the game, followed up by the otherworldly Kevin Youkilis walking off the Fenway turf in the 11th.  Add in a curious Joe Girardi move in which Rivera was brought into the game with an 0-1 count in the bottom of the 8th, and the 2009 edition of the rivalry was on.

Want a slugfest, complete with major comebacks on both sides and lots of lead changes?  Saturday afternoon, the Sox and Yanks played the sixth-longest nine-inning game in major league history, an epic marathon that took 12 pitchers, 385 pitches, and 4 hours and 21 minutes to complete.  Boston rebounded from an early 6-0 deficit behind a Jason Varitek grand slam and six RBI’s from Mike Lowell to prevail, 16-11.

Want a tightly-played, every-run-counts, grind-it-out kind of win?  Sunday night’s game was a pitcher’s duel between the Yanks’ veteran Andy Pettitte and the Sox’ young sinkerballer, Justin Masterson (thrust into the rotation when Daisuke Matsuzaka went on the disabled list with a sore shoulder) until Boston’s confident young centerfielder turned the night into the Jacoby Ellsbury Show with an electrifying bases-loaded steal of home off Pettitte.  Throw in some great bullpen work by the home team, and the Yankees didn’t have a chance.

So what to take from this series?

I am sure that YankTank and the other resident Bronx sycophants around here will argue that it’s only April, that Cody Ransom and now Angel Berroa are obviously not A-Rod, that the Sox didn’t have to face their prize offseason pickup, CC Fatbathia.  Wait until they play in the launching pad that is the New Yankee Stadium, they say.  Wait until Sabathia mows down the Sox’ meek lineup like Hurley from Lost through a hot pocket.

But the Yankees’ problems stem much deeper than these superficial wounds.  The Yankees have been a dysfunctional franchise for years now.  They are a franchise built upon a faulty model of team-construction, one that has emphasized spending money on elite, big-name players plopped together into a lineup like a fantasy team.  Despite the best efforts of Brian Cashman, the psychopaths in Tampa who are either named Steinbrenner or who lick the boots of the Steinbrenners have continued to insist that the team can continue to plug holes through exorbitant free agent spending on the A.J. Burnetts of the world and the half-ass development of minor league mediocrity such as Ian Kennedy and Philip Hughes.  Does anyone in the Bronx remember the Watson/Cashman farm building foundations of the late 1990’s that produced Pettitte, Jeter, Posada, Rivera, Bernie, and only filled in the gaps with hungry free agents?  Apparently not.

Meanwhile, Theo Epstein has done exactly what he promised to do when he was hired as the 28-year-old wunderkind GM in 2002: turn the Sox into a scouting and player development machine.  While the Yankees were living and dying with bullpen monstrosities like Phil Coke, Jonathan Albaladejo, Edwar Ramirez, and David Robertson, the Red Sox were dominating with Jonathan Papelbon, Ramon Ramirez, Takashi Saito, and Michael Bowden.  Bowden is one of the top prospects in the organization; on 95% of the teams in baseball (including the Yankees), he’d probably be in the major league starting rotation.  On the Sox, he can’t even crack the bullpen.  Ask Clay Buchholz down in Pawtucket about the Sox pitching depth.

Epstein also has a giant wild card up his sleeve with the gradual rehab of future Hall of Famer John Smoltz, a playoff horse who should be hitting his peak around the time October rolls around.  Sure, Josh Beckett got lit up on Saturday, but does anyone not think he will once again pitch like a Texas-bred Jack Morris come playoff time?  And Matsuzaka will be his 125-pitches-an-outing self, but will still rack up wins and work his way out of countless self-imposed jams.

The Sox lineup as well has shown no signs of slowing down in the post-Manny era.  Bay and Dustin Pedroia are top-15 hitters in the AL, and Youkilis may still be the best-kept secret (and possibly best hitter) in the league.  So far, Ellsbury, Lowell, and Varitek are producing at levels higher than their 2008 production.  The only question marks appear to be the shortstop position (with hopes that Julio Lugo can recapture some of the offensive form that led Epstein to covet him three years ago) and, curiously enough, designated hitter, where David Ortiz’ 12-month slump has led some New Englanders to suggest the previously unthinkable – Trade Papi?

It says a lot for your franchise when your biggest problem is whether to move David Ortiz to the 5 or 6 spot in the order.  It’s a testament to the architects of the Red Sox Way: the ownership trio of John Henry, Tom Werner, and Larry Lucchino; Epstein and his army of stat-heads and sabermetricians; and manager Terry Francona, one of the best (if not the best) in the business who still gets grossly criticized by the self-loathing talk radio crowd whenever a bullpen pitcher gives up as much as a single run.  Together, this group has built a culture of winning, consistency, and professionalism that this franchise has never before seen.

As a fan, it makes it all the sweeter that this transformation of franchise culture has coincided with the crumble and fall of the Great Yankee Dynasty.  Watching the Sox and Yankees essentially switch roles over the past four or five seasons must have been like being Cro-Magnon Man, seeing dominance over the planet pass from the Neanderthals to your species, waving goodbye to the outdated, evolutionary overmatched predecessors in the Bronx and saying hello to the game’s new dominant organization in the Back Bay.

Of course, the Tampa Bay Rays and defending champs Philadelphia might have something to say about this.  But the clear fact from this past weekend is that the Neanderthals are all but extinct.  The Cro-Magnons have arrived and are here to stay.  Welcome to Boston, A.D. 2009.

Well, we have survived another year. Many things have changed, but most fire hydrants remain the same, at least where I live. I will be going out and getting drunk on this grand day. When the masses drink, I join. Who am I to question this sweet ritual?

I do not relish being out and about during the holidays. The bar is crowded. The garden variety alcoholic is more apt to throw hands, and why the hell not, it’s a special occasion. Every girl seems to have a boyfriend, and the couples are so damn happy. Bastards. I see bizarre styles, and wonder in vain if I could pull off those funky 2009 shades. No way in hell, I realize, no way in hell. And there’s always this lonely former Army lieutenant named Dan, sitting by himself in a wheelchair, covered in confetti and staring straight ahead, perhaps still lost in the jungle… Maybe he’d feel better if he were wearing a top hat.

At 3 AM, when the place begins thinning out, night clearly waning, a man can realize how fortunate he is. The malice is misplaced for a moment, replaced with reverie, blessings counted and appreciated. I have many good things in my life, as we all do. Sports are very important to me. And in the spirit of the shifting digits, I shall tabulate fifty personal blessings born of athletics. I do not intend to speak for all us, though our feelings may be similar, especially if your residence is in New York. Feel free to add your own.

May God bless you in this coming year, or, if you are an atheist, the flying spaghetti monster.

In no particular order:

1. Curtis Martin: Watching this guy battle for extra yardage, consistently turning broken plays into two yard gains, was simply a gift, bought to Jet fans by a mysterious, all knowing power named Bill Parcells. Martin is an artist at heart. His talent painted a beautiful picture.
2. Derek Jeter: For every fisted fastball looping over the second baseman’s head for a single.
3. Joe Torre: Yankee fans will never forget his dignity, or the way he scratched his dome, confounded, after a hardball question from Kim Jones on the Yes Network’s post-game show. ["Well..."]
4. Mariano Rivera: Trot Nixon might think a fastball on the outside corner is coming. But he has to protect against the cutter. There’s just no other choice. He’ll be damned if his bat gets splintered into a million different pieces… must cheat inside… and the crowd just exploded, the umpire burst into theatrics… outer half heat… It’s not fair. Never has been.
5. Kevin Mawae: Clubbed opponents in 2004 with the huge cast protecting his broken hand. What more could be said?
6. Pedro Martinez: His detailed explanation in a video vignette during the 1999 playoffs, regarding why his freakishly long fingers created the most deadly change-up in baseball history, is an unforgettable memory. I have no idea why.
7. John Sterling: So it’s June, and me and my friends are in the backyard, boozing it up and listening to the Yankee game on the radio. We’re talking about just how infuriating it is when Sterling blows a Home Run call that was, in fact, a harmless fly to the warning track. We’re really getting into it, doing impressions, laughing hysterically. And, as if by magic, the radio cackles, a familiar velvety voice prodding us to take notice: “Swung on and drilled to deep right-center field, Patterson back, a way back, it is high, it is far it is caught! At the wall…” And we go nuts. “HE GOT US AGAIN!”
8. Chad Pennington: I can still see perfect three yard leads to Jerald Sowell in my mind’s eye.
9. Carlos Beltran: Beltran drifting back on a lazy can of corn is poetry in motion. Ridiculously underrated by some Met fans, but what else is new in this city?
10. Alex Rodriguez: Breathtaking: A laser beam off the bat of Alex Rodriguez flying into the right-center field bleachers. The replays display a swing so effortless. Stop thinking please.
11. Laveranues Coles: Dashing over the middle, about to get obliterated by an incoming defensive back, he leaps into the air, prone…
12. George Steinbrenner: For investing in his team, and inspiring his sons to do the same.
13. The Boston Red Sox: For giving me someone so worthy to despise.
14. Scrappy, speedy, outfielders who don’t draw walks: And drive seam-heads crazy. General managers can’t get enough. Juan Pierre is the president of this club. Ichiro refuses to return the group’s phone calls, like a political idealist seriously regretting his decision to join the independent party. Telethons are held to get Tike Redman a job. They always bat leadoff.

15, Bill Simmons: Nobody ever wrote about sports the way he did and made a legitimate mainstream impact. This is victory for originality, whether you love his work or loathe it.

1. Amy K. Nelson: Underrated columnist who always churns out quality work, with a positive angle that doesn’t feel forced.
2. Jason Whitlock: Original thinker.
3. Scott Brosius: For becoming a deity to ignorant Yankee fans. The Scott Brosius cult will soon be open for business. We will sacrifice chickens to ensure the glorious return of our hero. I love this city.
4. Nomaas.com: The winner of the award for “Most utterly twisted message board that actually contains legitimate baseball insight.” The pictures on the front page are still funny, but they will never again return to the apex of 2005, which featured classics including the Yankees as “Goodfellas” [also starring Curt Schilling] “Tony Womack for a bag of M @ M’s” and my personal favorite: Mariano Rivera cloaked as “The Terminator”.
5. Replacementlevel.com: The best baseball blog on the web.
6. Baseball Think Factory: Keeps one linked up to the brilliant insights of columnists all around the country. Members of the site are allowed to chime in and praise these absolutely essential additions to the American cannon. Noted celebrities such as Rob Neyer and Keith Law are known to post and leave mere mortals absolutely star-struck. The site is a cyber playground for that fifteen percent Lee Elia was so upset at.
7. Herm Edwards: Undoubtedly the most entertaining coach in Jet history. From his remarkable press conferences to the shenanigans lesser coaches call “clock management”, Herm will be forever remembered as a paradox: how could a coach who plays to win the game be so damn conservative? One day we may understand.
8. The New York Knicks: They make me feel like a competent human being.
9. Ray Mickens: For giving me someone to blame whenever something terrible happens to the Jet secondary, to this day. [GODDAMNIT MICKENS]
10. David Barrett: The latter day Ray Mickens.
11. The old Jet jerseys from the 90’s: Shut up. They were awesome.
12. The interlocking NY: Keep hating. IT GIVES US POWER!
13. That asinine apple at Shea Stadium: So a guy hits a home run, and an apple protrudes out of a hat? What the hell? I love this city.
14. Yankee Stadium: Like Chris Moltisanti going to the movie theatre, the smell alone got me high. Goodbye, old friend.
15. Youtube: I am blown away by the sheer amount of sports miscellany located at this address. It’s great. You can watch the intro to some long forgotten NFC Championship. Relieve the absolute height of Jim Everett’s career! This is insanity to some people. The first youtube video I ever watched featured squeamish Todd Pinkston dodging a hit downfield in an Eagle-Redskin game. Joe Theisman was absolutely disgusted. By the way Modest Mouse fans, there’s new live material available. The Whale Song is amazing.
16. Brian Cashman: Undoubtedly carries briefcases full of money. We’ve come a long way. I hear Gabe Paul used to prefer brown bags with a green $ painted on. Cashman’s obscenely boring interviews are a real treat. Rumor has it they are used as a torture device at Guantanamo Bay. ["Again, if something makes sense..."]
17. Robinson Cano: The sweetest swing in baseball today. He will bounce back big in 2009. Sportswriters will attribute this to something ridiculous, like Melky Cabrera being off the team or something.
18. Joba Chamberlain: How could anyone who watched Joba out-duel Josh Beckett 1-0 this July cling to the laughable notion he belongs in the bullpen? What the hell is wrong with you people? He was a starter his entire career. His relieving stint was an aberration. He throws four pitches. You don’t put potential aces in the bullpen. Did the St. Louis Cardinals permanently place Adam Wainwright in the pen after he closed out their `06 championship? It’s like the Chewbacca defense. “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN OF THIS SUPPOSED JURY, IT DOES NOT MAKE SENSE!” [Head explodes]
19. Celtic Pride: Does anyone else find this abysmally reviewed, universally despised sports comedy strangely worthy of repeated viewings? Maybe it’s Marv. I think he’s one of the greatest actors of this generation. You think I’m joking?
20. Edgardo Alfonzo: How to determine whether or not someone is a true fan of the orange and blue: Ask them about Edgardo. Hardcore Met fans like Mike Lupica will undoubtedly respond with unconditional love.
21. Roger Angell: In terms of pure writing skill, the best sports scribe ever.
22. Tom Boswell: Second best, in my mind.
23. Joe Posnanski: The contemporary champion.
24. Alex Belth and Bronx Banter: Really captures something beautiful about the baseball season: the day-to-day minutia that becomes a definite part of us. I could never say that about football.
25. The SI Vault: Because who wouldn’t want to reminisce with that front-page article debating the merits of Akili Smith and Tim Couch for first overall pick?
26. Mikefrancesa.com: A good board, but let’s be honest, it’ll never deliver in the big spot.
27. Jackie Robinson.
28. Larry Doby: His achievement was not appreciated because people are obsessed with simplifying things. ["So Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier... and everyone lived happily ever after. Goodnight, you freaking mutant."]
29. The Baseball Network: I have high expectations. By the way, what the hell happened to ESPN Classic? Hey, I guess its destination TV for bull-riding fans everywhere.
30. Playmakers: A very good television show, the demise of which is a book, not just an article, in itself.
31. David Halberstam and “Summer of 49″: Brilliant man, amazing book.
32. Tony Romo: Hidden under the hype is an exciting, playmaking quarterback who will be the scapegoat for his team’s many deficiencies.
33. Free Agency: Without which, the Yankees would not exist. God bless America. Never forget Curt Flood.
34. Bud Selig’s face of detached bewilderment: Bud wants to know why these things keep happening.
35. Cold weather NFL Games: Fields frozen and raw… wide receivers hiding hands in pouches at every opportunity… muddied defensive lineman charging after a slow footed quarterback… it’s good to be here.

-Matt Waters

“Wise men speak because they have something to say; fools because they have to say something.” -Plato

Curt Schilling reminds me of the generic and requisite Real World stock character: the cantankerous jackass who falsely assumes his “candor” is anything more than pathetic and offensive white noise. The guy whose audition tape sounds something like, “I dont give a $%^& what people think. I just keep it real and say what no one else will say. I’m not afraid to go there.” And while he’s initially embraced by the other housemates, he ultimately alienates himself from the group, leaving him with nothing left to do but self-indulgent confessionals. Curt’s latest talking head piece criticized New Yorkers for reveling in the season-ending injury to New England Patriots MVP Tom Brady. Also mentioned in his radio broadcasted rant were shots at the Yankees and Jets, reminders of his Diamondback glory days circa the turn of the century, a guaranteed win for an NFL team he’s about as integral a part of as Elizabeth Shue is, and a fairly insane claim about the nature of Boston fans.

I swear to God, I’m shocked the guy doesn’t have a Facebook account just so he can update his status every day to reflect a new and fiery conviction. (“Curt…is reasserting his political affiliation. He’s Republican. A big one.” “Curt…damns yet another group of people to Hell.” “Curt…thinks electric toothbrushes are superior to the manual pieces of crap and judges anyone who uses them.”)

Indeed, the sidelined pitcher gives us many things to reflect on.

Tom Brady

When Tom Brady went down, my first emotion was actually acute distress, and for absolutely no other reason beyond the fact I had the Patriots winning Week 1 in my suicide pool–a pick 100% based on the fact I wanted to root for them only once and get it over with early on in the season.

Once they scraped out a W, I washed my hands of any “allegiance” to the New England Patriots. Any upset over the golden boy’s injury evaporated. And I was thrilled the potential AFC beast was dealt a second helping of some karmic retribution.

While many people have taken offense to Schilling’s attack on Brady revelers, he’s not wrong. Bars in NY erupted when the star QB limped off the field, but I can unequivocally guarantee that the vast majority of these rabid fans were not thinking of Brady’s physical duress or the medical implications. We’re sports fans before bedside nurses, just as Tom Brady is a professional athlete before he’s a vulnerable mortal.

No one was happy he was hurt. Period. No one actively hopes for an injury. But this is a game. It happens. Brady’s not invincible, and Belichick risked Brady’s health last year by gluing his starters to the field. Maybe a season of “Eff You, NFL” pass-plays guzzled up Brady’s luck.

So it’s awfully convenient for New Englanders to suddenly develop integrity and self-righteous compassion when one of their boys hits the ground. They’re looking down the barrel of a Brady-less season, chins quivering and revenge hopes dashed. And when the tables turned on them, instead of taking their lumps, they resort to categorizing New Yorkers as classless.

I might take such accusations more to heart if they were coming from a fanbase whose moral rubric didn’t advocate drilling baseball players in the head.    

Boston’s unerring commitment to human compassion was egregiously absent during the Up-and-In reign of terror Yankees suffered at the hand of Pedro Martinez. Where were these Class Crusaders when the Sox hurler sent Alfonso Soriano and Derek Jeter to the hospital? And during my trip to Fenway last spring, 35,000 fans weren’t exactly overcome with grief when Dice-K opened his Boston career by beaning Arod. In the words of Schilling, “the euphoria was palpable.”

And of course, nothing will ever reek of more class than Pedro throwing down 72-year Don Zimmerman by the head. Though seemingly indefensible, Sox fans doled out copious and zealous support.  

I’m not suggesting we offer a moment of silence whenever the heart of our lineup gets plunked. But good God, don’t make sweeping generalizations about New York’s honor and ethics.

The truth is, we don’t care enough about Tom Brady to celebrate his problems. Tom Brady is the same guy who was carved up by Big Blue’s D this past February. Hell, we love Tom Brady. Why would I want him out of commission? Without Brady, Super Bowl 42 just wouldn’t have been the same.

Brady-less Patriots at the Jets this Sunday

“The sad part is going to be when they beat the Jets next week. Then they are going to come up with something else.”-CS

How do I get in on this? If total lack of team involvement doesn’t preclude eligibility to guarantee a win, I’d like to toss my hat in the ring. I guarantee (aggressively) an Ohio State win over USC on Saturday. Done.

(What’s poor Matt Cassell thinking about all this? This is like some Saved by the Bell episode when Zach makes a bet with Slater or Valley, gets over-confident, and then ups the ante by putting his giant cell phone in the pot. Screech meanwhile is tugging on Zach’s sleeve trying to alert him to some crucial bit of information that will severely hurt his chances of wining. “But Curt! I haven’t started a game since high school!” “Not now, Matt, I’m in the middle of running my mouth off…”)

And then there’s Curt Schilling denouncing the practice of always having something else to complain about.

…

Too easy.

The New York Yankees

“The Yankees suck this year and they are bitter and mad and making excuses over that. I was front row and center when their dynasty ended. They want us to be as bitter and mad as they are. Unfortunately, it’s not gonna happen.”-CS

Yes, unfortunately, we’ll never hear Curt Schilling bitter and mad. Maybe someday…

I’d be lying if I said the Yankees’ season hasn’t severely deflated me. Of course we’re disappointed. But it’s skewed logic to connect a faltering New York baseball team and a weakened Patriots offense. If New England loses every game, it doesn’t help the Yankees. Bronx-haters may be well-versed in actively delighting in another team’s failure, but Yankee fans are still wrapping our heads around the threat of an empty October. Brady’s fall merely gave us a welcome respite from arrogant taunting. A temporary respite, I’m sure. But still. It was like finally plugging up a wailing infant with a pacifier.

Schilling isn’t false when he reminds us that he was on the winning side of the 2001 World Series, although it is an odd choice of series to wax smug about. I’d have gone with the 2004 ALCS over the ultimately lifting experience of the 2001 Fall Classic. But hey, semantics.

To that end, though, the words of Bill Belichick may prove apposite here: “If you live in the past, you die in the present.”

Which is not to be misinterpreted as a wish for Curt Schilling’s death.

*   *   *

Maybe Schilling is sloppily trying to lobby support for his return to the Sox, now that he’s on the tail end of his contract. Or maybe he’s getting cabin fever on the DL. Who knows what inspires the Most Judgmental and Opinionated Athlete Ever to update his blog of complaints. I don’t expect him to lionize opposing fans any more than I’d expect either presidential candidate to concede to the other, “Hey, you know, you’re right. I never thought about it that way.”

But it would undoubtedly behoove Schilling to loosen the stranglehold he has on hypocrisy, and to just accept the enjoyable (at best) and insidious (at worst) rivalry between our 2 cities for what it is.

There’s a fable that tells the story of a scorpion asking a frog to carry him across the river. The frog is scared the scorpion will sting him, but the scorpion assures the frog that if it were to sting him, they’d both drown. The frog agrees by this logic, and sure enough, the scorpion stings him mid-river. As they’re both drowning and about to die, the frog asks why.

“I’m a scorpion. It’s my nature.”

I live in New York. I’ve been conditioned to get irrationally furious at slow walkers, to live in an overpriced shoebox of an apartment, and to get territorial when non-native transplanted Yankee-haters forget what city they’re now calling home. I’ve been conditioned to put the Evil Empire on a pedestal and get wildly defensive when they’re constantly subject to contempt. And New Englanders should be able to empathize with this kind of fierce loyalty.

So on Sunday afternoon, I wasn’t celebrating the blow to Brady’s knee…just the blow to the outspoken hubris and arrogant drivel characterizing (much of) Boston’s fanbase.

As a New York sports fan, it’s my nature.

By Ryan P. McGowan

They say celebrities always die in threes, such as my personal favorite celeb death trio: Jacques Cousteau, Jimmy Stewart, and Gianni Versace in June/July 1997.   And since Bernie Mac and Isaac Hayes died within one day of each other, if you’re an overweight, middle-aged black comedian, I’d make sure you are within an arms’ reach of a defibrillator over the next few days.

Apparently, celebrities get overexposed in the media in threes as well.  Like George Costanza in velvet, I have ensconced myself in wall-to-wall coverage of Manny Ramirez, Brett Favre, and “Clark Rockefeller” over the past couple of weeks.
MANNY MEMORIES

One of my earliest memories of the often love-hate relationship between Manny and Red Sox fans came before he was even a member of the team.  During a historic 23-7 ass-kicking of the Cleveland Indians in Game 4 of the 1999 ALDS, Boston’s faithful (81 years removed from a World Series title) taunted Ramirez with chants of “Manny’s hit-less… Manny’s hit-less” as the powerful slugger suffered through a prolonged playoff slump at the hands of a Sox staff that boasted such stalwarts as Mark Portugal, Pat Rapp, and Kent Mercker.

Over 7 ½ seasons in Boston, Manny was often cantankerous, rebellious, bored, silent, gregarious, playful, brooding, insular, and sullen, but he was never boring.  As a fan, it was a joy to watch Manny hit just as much as it was infuriating to watch him loaf on ground balls to the shortstop and casually ask out of the lineup on the days of big games against the Yankees or Angels.  As a writer, Manny was a godsend.  Whether he was talking to the media or on a silent strike, there was always something to write about with regards to Manny.

If it wasn’t him discussing his desire to play for in New York or espousing the virtues of ending his career in Fenway Park, it was him coming late to spring training because his grandmother had died for the seventh time in five years.  If he wasn’t missing a game to become an American citizen and then running out to left field holding a miniature star-spangled banner the next day, he was high-fiving a fan in Baltimore while subsequently throwing out a runner at second base.  He might have been hitting an absolute moonshot of Francisco Rodriguez to walk off with a win in the 2007 ALDS or robbing Miguel Cairo of a home run in Yankee Stadium, with Cairo so sure his hit was gone that he rounded the bases and slapped hands with Kenny Lofton, oblivious to the fact that Ramirez had basically leaped into the stands to snag the ball out of the air.  There was never a dull moment with Manny.

It was sad as a fan to see the train wreck that became the last few weeks of the Manny Era in Boston, and it was interesting to see the legions of Manny Apologists (who had steadfastly defended each and every one of his seemingly innocuous but self-centered antics through the years in ways which became ever more ridiculous as time went on) gradually switch camps and come to the realization that the slugger had outlived his welcome in Boston.  As much as the Apologists tried to spin the July 31 trade as another example of the Red Sox front office’s lack of loyalty to the very players who brought two World Series titles this decade, the sad reality was that Manny ran himself out of town this time.  The team just couldn’t take his antics anymore.  And when it was reported that Scott Boras, Manny’s agent, told the Red Sox that if the team rescinded the trade that Manny would promise to behave for the rest of the year, it became more painfully obvious that the long-standing love-hate affair between one of the most eccentric and talented ballplayers ever to wear a Boston uniform had to end.

I am not one to wish ill will on anyone, especially someone who never did anything wrong to me personally.  As a fan, I was treated to 7+ seasons of Manny-centric entertainment that included four playoff appearances and two championships.  That being said, somewhere (if karma and the baseball gods ever conspire to reward the selfless, team-first attitudes that all of us sanctimonious, holier-than-thou sports media types claim to espouse) a negative fate will befall Manny Ramirez.  I’m just glad we got to soak him in during his prime.

BRETT’S JETS

Just when I thought I couldn’t despise Brett Favre any more, he pushed his way back into the spotlight with his ridiculous non-retirement retirement, a dynamic that we have seen in the outrageous precedents of Michael Jordan’s and Roger Clemens’ tantalizing ends to their careers.  

Favre was starting to remind me of the pathetic guy whose girlfriend breaks up with him, but he keeps calling her and texting her and “dropping by” her apartment just to say hi because he can’t bring himself to cut a clean break and move on, like ripping off a band-aid.  No one wants to be that guy, but sometimes we end up as that guy without trying to be.  Brett was that guy last week.

My dislike for Favre and the national media’s “favre-llatio” that accompanies his every move has been well-documented on our Poor Man’s PTI podcast, so I won’t go into it in great detail here.  However, I can’t be more delighted that the ol’ gunslinger ended up with the Jets, a team that desperately needed to make a big splash to avoid getting swept under the rug in the New York papers by the Other Team in Town that, oh, just managed to miraculously upset the mighty New England Patriots in February and ruin their near-perfect season.

The Jets-Patriots rivalry was getting a little stale, to be honest.  It was at its height in the late 90’s, when the defection of Parcells, Belichick, most of the other coaches, Curtis Martin, and many other players from Foxborough to East Rutherford was the genesis of the so-called Border Wars of that era.  The rivalry probably peaked in the 1999 season, and had been slowly deteriorating since, as the Patriots became the most consistently dominant team in the past decade and the Jets became the AFC East equivalent of the Washington Generals, save for a fluky win here and there, such as 2006 at Gillette Stadium.

So now all of a sudden, we Patriots fans have a new reason to become invigorated by the two-game series against our divisional rivals 200 miles south.  When Vin and I went through the Patriots schedule on last week’s show, we agreed that the Patriots would win both games against the Jets this season.  Now, with Favre at the helm, I’ll be even more motivated to suggest using New England’s fantasy defense that week and the 4-6 interceptions they are likely to pull against the Jets’ aging gunslinger.  

So Brett, I take back all my criticism of your lame comeback attempt.  Thank you for returning to the league and giving me another reason to bet next month’s mortgage on the Patriots, giving however many points Vegas wants me to give.  Thank you for giving Jets fans yet another reason to hate themselves this season after you go 8-8 and put Eric Mangini on the unemployment line, unable to find any coach that will employ him after he backstabbed Belichick last year with the overblown, so-called “Spygate” scandal. (Memo to all: there was no “spying” involved.  Everything that was scouted was seen in plain sight.)  And most of all, thank you for giving us two douchebag quarterbacks in New York to make fun of.

“CLARK ROCKEFELLER”

If you don’t know who “Clark Rockefeller” is, you are missing out on one of the most bizarre stories you are ever going to read.  I won’t recap all the crazy details of this chicanery (if you want to learn more, check both Boston papers for some great in-depth coverage), but the gist of it is that there is this guy who kidnapped his 7-year-old daughter and was caught in Baltimore.  

Upon further review, authorities believe that “Rockefeller”, as he called himself, has had multiple identities over the years, ranging from “Christian Gerhardstreiter”, a German exchange student who arrived at a Connecticut high school in the late 1970’s, to “Christopher Chichester,” an eccentric blueblood who is a person of interest in the suspicious deaths of a California couple in the 1980’s.  To complicate matters, “Rockefeller” claims that he has no memory of anything before 1993, and “Chichester” had claimed to have been a mute for 10 years in his life because of some traumatic event that happened to him.

I don’t want to comment too much on this story other than to say that you should read and absorb every piece of information you can about this story.  It is absolutely fascinating.  I have been filling my mornings lately with the latest Rockefeller/Chichester news, and it is unbelievably riveting.  

My question is if anyone has ever seen Rockefeller and the lead singer of Weezer together in the same room?  If Rockefeller can play the Roman god Mars for a local theater company, what’s to stop him from singing “Buddy Holly” at a college spring weekend?

I can’t wait for more details of this story to come out.  Maybe it’s because Manny is gone, we in New England have to fill the void in our lives that is lacking stories of quirky, schizophrenic characters who fled Boston in a futile search for a better life.  Maybe this whole Rockefeller frenzy was simply “Chichester being Chichester.”  Certainly Favre’s antics can be explained away as “Brett being Brett.” It would certainly explain a lot.

By Ryan McGowan

Vin has been heckling me for the lack of quantity of my writing lately.

And by “lack of quantity,” I mean I haven’t posted a column since February 2007 when I wrote some diatribe about how NASCAR, and by extension the South in general, sucks.

Even though I’ve been a loyal and regular contributor to Poor Man’s PTI, my absence from the printed word has been somewhat unexplained.   So I think I owe it to the readers and especially to my colleagues Vin, Trevor, R.J., Billy, Kris, et al, to explain my writing void.
Quite simply, there wasn’t anything to say.

Now, granted, there was plenty to talk about during the last year and a half.  There was plenty to debate.  And yet there was nothing to say.  How could there be, when the dominance and ultimate supremacy of Boston sports has left nothing else that needs to be said by the self-proclaimed “BostonMac”?

When the Patriots beat the St. Louis Rams in February 2002, the nation smiled and uttered a collective “Isn’t that cute” in the direction of the six New England states, pitying us and letting us enjoy our first championship since 1986 with the condescending aplomb of a dad who lets his eight-year-old son beat him at basketball to boost his confidence.  Wasn’t that a nice story, the national media said.  How quaint.

Unfortunately, something sinister was unleashed in that classic Super Bowl XXXVI game.  The collective, repressed arrogant entitlement of Masshole Nation was let out of the bag after nearly two decades of being buried under a supposed New York-inferiority complex.  And when the Grady Little-Aaron Boone incident happened in a chilly Yankee Stadium in October 2003, the nation assumed that the long-standing tradition of Boston chokejobs was simply continuing.  They couldn’t have been more wrong.  Game 7 of the 2003 ALCS, like Super Bowl XLII, turned out to be simply the exception that proved the rule.

In fact, Game 7 turned out to be the sports equivalent of the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand in 1914, an event which didn’t exactly start an era but is usually pointed to as the defining moment which jump-started one.  The results of that game set in motion a series of events that ended up with the Red Sox winning a feel-good World Series in 2004, then retooling their entire franchise and emerging dominantly triumphant with a wire-to-wire ass-kicking of the rest of Major League Baseball in 2007.  

It’s amazing to think about that 2004 season and imagine a scenario in which the Yankees were actually rivals with the Red Sox.  These days, Tropicana Field in St. Pete has become the new Red Sox House of Horrors, while a stop-in at the House that Ruth Built is seen as a breather, a soothing respite for a few days against a mediocre, heartless Yankee team that is a shell of its former self.  But can you blame them?  How can the Yankees have any spunk left when the Sox have systematically destroyed their will to play the game over the past four years?  As for the Rays, well, they’re just too young to know better.  It’s a Red Sox Century, and we’re getting used to it here in Boston.  I have to admit, it’s pretty fun.

But of course it hasn’t ended with the Red Sox.  The Patriots rolled through the NFL in 2003 and 2004, becoming a dynastic franchise and a model for excellence and awesomeness in life in general.  Whine about “Spygate” all you want.  There used to be a Facebook group called “Quit your bitching, the Patriots beat you because you suck.”  I couldn’t sum it up any better.  

Pipe down about the last three seasons.  Again, these have been the exceptions that prove the rule.  The 05, 06, and 07 Patriots were each one play away from FIVE consecutive Super Bowl titles.  In 05, it was Champ Bailey’s interception return that should have been a touchback and Patriots ball, leading to the inevitable Tom Brady touchdown to beat the Broncos, followed up by yet another playoff trouncing of the Steelers and a complete non-referee-aided dismantling of the Seahawks in SB XL.  2006 found the Patriots a mere 12 feet away from converting a first down which would have toppled the Colts and set up a Revenge Game for Super Bowl XX against the Bears, only the league decided they didn’t want Peyton Manning to take the hemlock so the powers-that-be made it a No Effin’ Way game for the Pats.  And we don’t have to get into the Eli Manning-David Tyree miracle that sabotaged the Perfect Season.  All I can say for that is, beware the Revenge Season.  A local Boston fan site has produced t-shirts that say “02/03/08.  Never forgive.  Never forget.”  Be afraid, NFL.  Be very afraid.

Championships are becoming so commonplace around here, I didn’t even find myself resenting the fact that I had to work on the day of the Celtics’ rolling rally last month to celebrate Banner 17.  I just figure we’ll have another one in October, commemorating the Sox’ second straight title, probably in an anticlimactic sweep of the Chicago Cubs or the Philadelphia Phillies, representing the JV Division, aka the National League.  Hell, I didn’t even go out for Game 6 of the NBA Finals.  I figured it would be more fun to watch this one at home, just for a change.  I’d gone out for all the other clinching games and, frankly, it was getting kind of boring.  I wanted to see what it was like to watch a title clincher in the comfort of my own living room.  I got to see KG basically mauling Michelle Tafoya live in the Greatest Postgame Interview of All Time.  I got to hear the splendor of the loudest “Nah Nah Nah Nah” chant of all time with five minutes left in the embarrassing (for the Lakers) fourth quarter.  It wasn’t bad.

So as you can see, there wasn’t a whole lot to say over the past few years.  The facts and evidence speak for themselves, and really require very little commentary on my part.  Yes, I’m a writer, but how many different ways can one man come up with new ways to say “Boston sports are on top of the world like no other entity since Alexander the Great ruled the entire Mediterranean world?”  I guess there are a lot of ways, but you don’t need me to keep reiterating these same themes to you all the time.

So that’s the story behind my hiatus.  Maybe I’ll be back for more now, maybe not.   All we need to know is, the sports world belongs to Boston; the rest of ya’ll are just paying rent.  Tell me how my ass taste.

There’s a place where major league players go when their careers go downhill.  It’s called the Independent League.  Home to Rich “El Guapo” Garces and some other fine characters.I was lucky enough to see the Coco Crisp vs. James Shields brawl live earlier this month.

Needless to say, the excitement level of the game dropped a tad after the big ruckus.  But just as I was settling in to stare mindlessly at the bouncing beachballs of the bleachers, a comment from a young fellow in the row behind me sparked my interest.

“Dude – do you remember El Guapo?  That guy was the man!”

I turned around and agreed with him.  Indeed, Rich Garces – or as he was known to most people, El Guapo – was the man.  But to most people’s surprise, including the lad I met at Fenway Park that night, chubby Garces is still an active baseball player.

After a solid run as the Red Sox setup man in the late `90s, his major league career fizzled out in 2002.  But a fat man with a semi-strong arm is never out of work for long.  Okay, that’s a lie.  Even so – Garces would get another shot.

But who would have guessed that the Venezuelan relief pitcher would make his great comeback in . . . Nashua, New Hampshire?  I know – not quite where you pictured him.  But hey – it’s pretty cool that NH (or the Shire as cool people like me call it) has a minor league baseball team – right?

Well, not quite.  We do have a minor league team (Toronto’s Double A squad) – but they play in Manchester.  And they’re called the Fisher Cats.  And they used to be called the Primaries.  Yeah, it’s a little messed up.

Garces, on the other hand, is playing in something called the Independent League (i.e. a bunch of washed-up old guys and a bunch of washed-up high school prospects).  El Guapo signed a contract with the Nashua Pride last year and helped them become the champions of the Canadian American Association of Professional Baseball.  I like to think of it as the XFL of baseball.

In all honesty, the Nashua Pride is a joke.  It’s exactly what you picture when you imagine a lame minor league organization full of ridiculous mascots (Monkey Boy was a personal favorite of my father), tons of gimmicks (they gave away dustpans on opening night), and on-field contests (I don’t even know where to start).  The people at my office even hate them (and we’re the only newspaper that covers them – in fact, we actually bet on how low the attendance will be each night).

Even after the Pride won the championship last year, the team on the absolute verge of extinction.  I assume a typo or something saved them.

But still, $5 tickets to the Pride look awfully good when you are browsing Stubhub for Red Sox tickets.  And plus, Nashua usually fields a team with at least a couple of interesting characters.  My fondest memories of the Pride came a couple years back when Dante Bichette decided to make a tour of duty around the Independent League.  Rickey Henderson did a similar thing recently, and now the roster includes El Guapo, Bobby Abreu’s brother, and a guy named Sandy Almonte – who I assume is just Danny Almonte undercover.

They still list Rich Garces at 250 pounds, and it’s just as ludicrous as it was back in his Boston days.  The big guy actually just joined the team the other day, because visa issues kept him in Venezuela for a while.

So thankfully – the Pride is ready to defend its title, El Guapo is back, and as a result – business is booming for the restaurants in Nashua.

by Matt Wells

So, baseball is around the corner, as we all know.  We’ve got our fantasy baseball teams lined up and we’re wearing our team colors to work, school, etc. (I’m not, but I know some die-hard baseball fans who will).

Just like at the beginning of every season, we all make predictions.  A-Rod will hit such-and-such amount of homers, Johan Santana will get __ wins in his new Flushing digs, Team X will finish with 80+ wins, etc.  There is one thing that I know for sure, though.  This year, the American League East will be a dogfight.
The Boston Red Sox, the defending World Champs, will open the season favorites once again.  Josh Beckett might be starting the season hurt, but he should return soon enough and in good form, as well.  Follow that up with Dice-K Matsuzaka, Tim Wakefield, Clay Buchholz (perhaps), Bartolo Colon (perhaps), and John Lester.  Of course, right now, I’m not sure who is making the starting rotation this year..just yet.  Throw in David Ortiz, Manny Ramirez, and Mike Lowell, and Jason Varitek, to name a few, and you have yourself a team that deserves to be favored to win their division.  With Jonathon Papelbon at the back end of that bullpen, the Sox are very strong once again.

Their rivals, the Yankees, are hit or miss right now.  It all hangs on the young arms of Ian Kennedy, Joba Chamberlain (if he starts), and Phil Hughes.  Veterans Mike Mussina and Andy Pettitte might have decent seasons record-wise, but they can’t carry teams like they used to.  The Yanks are still stacked with loads of offense in Alex Rodriguez, Bobby Abreu, Jason Giambi, Robinson Cano, and Jorge Posada.  But, can the young arms carry this team?  Can the veterans stay healthy?  Can Mariano Rivera continue to put up the dominant stats we’re accustomed to seeing?  One thing is clear, from my perspective, the Yankees days of winning the division are over…young arms or not.

The Toronto Blue Jays are a team to watch.  Building around offensive stalwarts Vernon Wells and Alex Rios, the Jays acquired Scott Rolen from the Cardinals this offseason and signed SS David Eckstein away from those same Cardinals.  The Jays also have an excellent starting rotation 1-3 in Roy Halladay, AJ Burnett, and Shawn Marcum.  The player to watch is closer B.J. Ryan.  If he stays healthy, the Jays could be serious contenders.  Even if Ryan gets hurt again, the Jays have the luxury of having another pitcher who can close: Jeremy Accardo, who saved 30 games in 35 chances last year.  The Jays, if they stay healthy and if the veterans produce, can contend for a wild card spot this year.

Speaking of teams to watch, the Tampa Bay Rays are armed with a new logo, new colors, and (very soon) a new stadium.  (I don’t like the new logo though.  What was wrong with the dark forest green?)  The Rays, due to their past years of futility and picking high up in the draft, have built themselves a fine team made up of mostly youngsters.  Evan Longoria,  the uber-prospect, will be a star as early as this year at the hot corner.  The Rays still have young starters in Scott Kazmir and James Shields.  Their offense, on paper, is incredible.  B.J. Upton, Carl Crawford, Carlos Pena, Longoria (if he produces like the projections say he will).  That’s not to mention that they have the young lefty David Price waiting in the minors.  He’ll crack the rotation next season, or maybe even this season if he gets the mid-season call-up he’ll be waiting for.  The only problem the Rays face is their division.  They would possibly be wild card contenders in the National League.  The future, finally, is bright for the Rays.  By the way, have you seen that new Sailboat Stadium?  It’s quite a modern marvel..waaaay better than the dark Tropicana Field.  Photos can be seen here: www.tampabay.com/2007/11/28/images/newballpark-400xshallow.jpg

The Orioles?  There isn’t much to say about the Orioles, who are destined for a last-place finish in 2008.  Miguel Tejada (Astros) and Erik Bedard (Mariners) are gone, and Brian Roberts may soon follow them out of Baltimore.  Here’s the only good news if you are an Orioles fan: the prospects the O’s are getting in these deals are solid players for the future (especially, if the Roberts deal goes through.  The Cubs are offering big-time prospects).  Good times are not here now, but things will get  better…eventually.

Yes, the AL East is going to be a dogfight.  And can you believe that only one team from this powerhouse division might make the playoffs?  The Indians (if the Tigers take the Central) and the Mariners (if the Angels take the West) might be battling New York, Toronto, and, yes, even Tampa Bay for the final playoff spot.  This…this is exciting.  This is baseball.

Enjoy.

So, it’s October time. Yanks vs Indians, Red Sox vs Angels. Alex Ferguson looks at the runners and riders…ANGELS VS RED SOX

PITCHING

Both sides have pitching to die for. The Red Sox, with a team ERA of 3.87, have probably the best pitcher in the league in Josh Beckett, and Curt Schilling’s also a seasoned competitor. Although the third pitcher’s a bit of a toss-up, do any of the Angels want to face Daitzuke Matsuzaka, or even Tim Wakefield’s knuckleball? And add to that a deep bullpen with the likes of Hideki Okajima, Mike Timlin and ubercloser John Papelbon. Beckett’s also
Having said that, the Angels aren’t bad either, boasting the American League’s fifth best ERA and useful starters in Bartolo Colon, John Lackey, Kelvim Escobar and Jared Weaver. Scott Shields and Fransisco Rodriguez also provide notable back-up in the bullpen.

HITTING

While the Red Sox are specialists at last-ditch victories, the Angels, to coin the Top Gun phrase, have a need for speed. The Halos have stolen 137 bases this year, with 68 of them coming from Chone Figgins and Reggie Wilts. They provide a superb base for big hitters Garett Anderson (.297, 80 RBI) and Vladmir Guerrero (.324, 125 RBI).
Having said that, the Red Sox sure can hit the ball themselves. In the regular season, they put up 867 of them this year, and are in the top 10 for average (.280), home runs and have probably the league’s best clutch hitters in David Ortiz and Manny Ramirez. Having said that, if Ramirez and Ortiz break down because of injury, it could spell disaster for Red Sox Nation.

NOTABLES

The Red Sox have home field advantage by virtue of having the American League’s best record, and have a 6-4 record against the Anaheim Angels. The Sox also have a winning record against every postseason team apart from the Yankees (8-10)….The Angels are 14-14 in September while the Sox are 16-11.

VERDICT: A hard-fought series which the Red Sox win in five.

INDIANS VS YANKEES

PITCHING

The Indians have two bona fide Cy Young contenders and Fausto Carmona (19-9, 3.06 ERA) and C.C. Sabathia (19-7, 3.21 ERA), and a strong third pitcher in Paul Byrd. Jake Westbrook’s not an awful fourth pitcher, either. We also like the team’s bullpen, led by Joe Borowski (45 saves) and Rafael Betancourt (1.47 ERA).
The Yankees have a reawakened bullpen, thanks to new wiz kid Joda Chamberlain and possibly baseball’s best-ever closer, Mariano Rivera. Andy Pettitte and Chien-Ming Wang are pretty good first and second game starters, but Roger Clemens’ injured hamstring could cause a headache. Mike Mussina’s been pitching well recently, going 3-0 with a 3.49 ERA.  

HITTING

There was no team in the major leagues who could hit like the Yankees this year. The Yanks are lead the AL in all offensive categories including average (.290), hits (1,656) and home runs (201). Having said that, they had an exceptionally potent offense last year and were beaten 3-1 in the ALDS by unfancied Detroit, so you never know. Alex Rodriguez, Derek Jeter and Jorge Posada are predictable leaders, but Robinson Cano (.374 average in September) is the one to watch.
Having said that, the Indians aren’t exactly slouches when it comes to hitting, ranking seventh in the AL in average (268), led by Victor Martinez (.301 avg, 25 HRs, 114 RBIs) and Grady Sizemore (118 runs). And be afraid of Sizemore on the basepads too, who’s got 33 stolen bases and will be more than ready to chance Posada’s arm.

NOTABLES

Cleveland finished 31-12 this year to win the AL Central, while the Yankees came back from eight games below .500 to finish 94-68 and claim the AL Wild Card…..the  Yankees have a 6-0 record against Cleveland, batting over .348 against the Tribe with 14 home runs and 49 scores…The last time the Yankees and Indians faced off in the playoffs was in 1998, when the Yankees won 4-2 in the ALCS… A year earlier Cleveland beat New York 3-2 in the 1997 ALDS, coming from 2-1 behind to win the Series after touching Mariano Rivera.

VERDICT: Another monster series that Cleveland wins in four, thanks to its superior pitching