Time for Sox fans to play the blame game
 
I think it's safe to say "The Year To Be Here" tagline has become slightly questionable.
The Red Sox are not going to the playoffs. Period. I don't want to say it as much as you don't want to believe it, but it's over. Cliff Floyd may be quoted as saying this team can still win 100 games, but if Oakland couldn't win a 21st in a row, I don't think the Sox are either.
So in the melodramatic relationship we craft each September into, it's time for we fans to start collecting our things and playing the blame game. And in the past week, no one's been causing more crying fits and thrown pillows than Manny Ramirez.
The sports radio lines were afire with gossip yesterday, as every rumor monger, backstabbing best friend and self-appointed pundit kissed and told.
"You know how Manny didn't run out that grounder? I heard he told someone it was because he was still in love with Cleveland!"
"Well I heard when he was out at The Trop the other night, you know, that place downtown? I heard while they were doing this tribute to Sept. 11, Manny was totally not paying attention! Just pacing around the dugout like he didn't care at all!"
"I heard he just blew right by his boss. Walked by him like he wasn't even there."
"Seriously?! He's such a jerk. You should dump him and get with a real man! Like that Sosa guy? He's from the Caribbean, got the cutest smile … what a dream!"
Am I exaggerating? Maybe. But am I really that far off?
No one seems to know for sure just what Manny was doing during Wednesday night's pre-game ceremony, since the number still motivated to watch a Rays-Sox game seems equal to those dozens in attendance. Having to guess, I'd figure if an hour's worth of callers and press couldn't pinpoint where a guy the size of Manny was, someone's blowing smoke.
Still, why not blame Manny? Highest paid guy on the team. Doesn't run very hard. Still not putting us in the playoffs. Strikes out sometimes.
Never seems to get excited. His pants are baggy. Girl's hair. Breastfed until he was four years old.
He's having an awful season too. His .337 batting average is only second in the AL. His home run and RBI numbers? Barely in the top 20. Maybe if he hadn't dogged that broken finger injury for so long, he wouldn't have 150 to 250 less at-bats than the likes of Alex Rodriguez, Miguel Tejada and Alfonso Soriano.
This region, myself included, has a real problem with superstars. We're near orgasmic when we get one. The second coming is here, to save our souls and take out the Yankees/Jets/Canadiens/whomever. The Nomar's, Pedro's, Drew's and Bill's. They start hot, and the expectations go higher and higher.
Then it doesn't happen. They suck. They choke. Boo. Get them out, they stink. As irrational as the prelude was, the epilogue is worse.
Manny Ramirez went to the playoffs straight seasons with the Cleveland Indians, from 1995 through 1999. Only in the fifth of those trips was he the team's dominant statistical leader, leading in average, slugging, RBIs and the rest. Even then, he was a cog in a machine with Jim Thome, Roberto Alomar and a strong pitching staff. He's one of the most fearsome hitters in the majors today, but he can't do it all.
Is he making too much money? If so, he didn't make the offer. Is he dogging it? If so, maybe his new manager isn't creating the right chemistry on the lineup card. Sox fans were warned of "That's just Manny" entering our lexicons, and here we are.
The 90-something win season the Red Sox seem destined for would win the NL Central and have a shot at that league's wild card, but won't claim squat where they are. That's sports, plain and simple. You can try to explain it, but there's little more to do than shrugging shoulders and moving on.
Kind of like a jilted love affair.
Jon Couture is a copy editor for the Standard-Times.
This story appeared on Page C1 of The Standard-Times on September 13, 2002.
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