So I have by far the least baseball expertise among our editing brethren (you can blame my Babe Ruth coach for making me hate the game as a child and turning to basketball instead- WHY DIDN'T YOU LET ME PITCH YOU FUCKWIT), but here are my After A Night of Sleeping On It thoughts on the Manny trade. There will surely be more to follow from your Mass Hysterians, (once APND stops shaking uncontrollably from the bar exam, I'm sure he'll have something to say) but I figure we can get the baseball retard out of the way first:
- I'm gonna miss the big galoot - Sure he was surly, a clubhouse cancer and more aloof than Dino Radja on a bender, but the fact remains that the Red Sox still lost one of the best hitters in history, and a man who helped lead them to two World Series wins. I tried to express vitriol and anger at the man, I truly did, but, even at the end, how can you hate someone so blissfully unaware? Sorry to use a cliche, but it's like Manny got rabies and started biting people, so Pa had to take him out back and shoot him. In a town that loves its quirky characters, Manny was King Space Cadet, our beloved retard who happened to turn it on at the plate like that scene in Old School where Will Ferrell drunkenly rattled off the political argument. A man is gone. Attention must be paid.
- Given the circumstances, we didn't come out too bad - Manny didn't exactly make trade leveraging easy for Theo, essentially placing a giant sign around his own neck stating "GOING OUT OF BUSINESS SALE, ANY OFFER WILL BE LISTENED TO." He turned the Red Sox into Bob's Discount Furniture, minus the awful claymation commercials. That sorta makes it hard to ask for the moon from, say, the Marlins, when the other team knows that you basically HAVE to get rid of the guy. So to get Jason Bay, a 900+ OPS guy and a multi-time All-Star, well, that's not too bad, all things considered. And I'm not too broken up about losing a AAAA outfielder (Moss) and a reliever who never met his potential (Hansen). Not great, but better than Jeremy Hermida, that son of a bitch who has sandbagged my fantasy teams two years in a row.
- I feel bad for Jason Bay - He's spent the last five years in Pittsburgh, where "media pressure" consists of a high school newspaper reporter with a Fisher-Price microphone. He's from Trail Canada, population 7,320, a place that's largest minority population is Aboriginals. Given that he's Canadian, he's probably ridiculously nice and polite. Suffice it to say, Jason Bay may be slightly unprepared for the Shaughnessy-induced hell which awaits him, not to mention the pressure of replacing Manny Ramirez, he of the 510 career home runs and two World Series rings.This could end poorly.
- The Red Sox Got Worse, And Will Not Make the World Series - Now, I hope I'm very, very wrong in this (probably blasphemous) prediction, but nothing about this trade makes me think "oh yeah, that's the key to overtaking the division and finally beating the even-better Angels in four out of seven games." Manny Ramirez, 36 years old and all, is a better hitter right now than Jason Bay. Statistics aside, opposing teams fear him more than they will Bay, and his ability to hit in pressure-filled environments will probably not be replicated by Canadian Not Manny. Meanwhile, the team failed to address giant fucking glaring weaknesses at shortstop, middle relief, catcher, and at the back of the starting rotation, all of which have already started to bite us in the ass, and show no signs of getting better. Like I said, I hope I'm wrong here.
- I miss the old Peter Gammons - You know, the one that would fill the Sunday Notes column with trade predictions that would come to fruitition months later? The Peter Gammons that Billy Beane called for trade gossip in Moneyball? The guy whose every word we would all hang on every time he would appear on our TV screen? It seems that Peter Gammons is gone, as evidenced by the fact that he was caught completley unaware when the most notable player on his hometown team, the team that he covered for years and years, was traded to the Dodgers, and Rock And Roll Andrew Jackson found out the same time we did. I personally blame Norby, global warming, cancerous cell phones and Axl Rose, not necessarily in that order.