We've reached a critical juncture in this Red Sox season. Not that the days and months leading up to this point have been anything close to enjoyable, but don't you get the sense that this whole thing is on the verge for taking a serious turn for the worse?
Joe Haggerty's story about John Lackey and the beer is one thing. The Herald's report on Beckett, Lester and Buchholz playing golf yesterday in Cleveland is another. Boston Dirt Dog's noting that Beckett closed down the Beantown Pub two nights before he got shelled against the Ranger is yet another. It's just all just too familiar, like we're heading down that same rocky road.
As always, winning will cure all. If the Sox can make a little run, even just pick up a few games over these next few weeks, the insanity will subside. But right now, it's all so volatile, and if these guys don't change the trajectory of the season, and quickly, stuff's gonna 'splode.
First of all, Bobby V.'s a ticking time bomb. If it gets to the point where he and the Sox part ways, he'll have no problems airing this team's dirty laundry and giving his side of the painful story. He'll have his own show on the YES Network within a week after his firing: "Ripping the Red Sox with Bobby V!" And in turn, you know the players and owners will take sweet pleasure in fighting back on the record or anonymously in the media.
Second, and speaking of the media, the antennas are officially up. Tis the season to blow this kind of stuff out of proportion. Whether or not there's a story, there will be a story. It won't stop, because it can't stop.
Then there's the fact that the players more specifically, the pitchers have once again turned the corner. And believe me, I'm not one of those guys who overreact to this kind of thing. But at this point, it's so clear that they don't care. Even more, they seem to be going out of their way to stir this stuff up. Drinking, golfing, partying before starts. It's all just so specific to everything they've already been criticized for. Like Beckett and Lackey are sitting around in their hotel room the night before a game and thinking: "OK, what can we do next? What's reeeeally going to drive these guys crazy?"
All that's left is for Beckett to bust into the clubhouse tonight with five buckets of KFC.
"Hey, booooys! Who wants original recipe?!"
Eh, what the hell?
I'll take a drum stick, Josh.