In my life, there are three things that have dominated my thoughts literally since I can remember. These subject matters ignite conversations inside my head which last for days. I have made myself a student of all of these activities, and consider them each to be stunningly, breathtakingly, beautiful. Many times I have argued passionately for these causes, even to the point of damaging relationships. God, baseball, and fishing are pillars in my life—irrepressible truths that I have always pursued.
In October 1999, I was lost. I knew that baseball was beautiful. I followed the game intensely. However, I hated my home team. I hated the direction the Cardinals were moving. See, I valued pitching, and the Cardinals had none. Ken Bottenfield should never have to be considered an ace in any lineup. Ever. The playoffs were happening, and I had no team to root for.
This was made more obvious to me when my eighth grade social studies teacher, another disciple of the game, asked me who I was cheering for. I told him that I did not have a team. I confessed that I held an irreparable animosity towards the Cardinals, and I was without allegiance. We then discussed the results of the Cleveland/Boston series we were both following that year. I left school that day determined to fall in love with one of these teams.
Frankly, I was leaning towards the Indians. I had cheered for them a couple of years ago, when they played the Marlins in the Series. I also really liked this kid named Manny Ramirez. He was an RBI machine, and he had one of the best swings I had ever seen (Griffey not included). He had knocked in 165 runners that year. That still stands as the only time a player has hit more than 160 RBIs in a season since 1938.
On the other hand, the Sox had Pedro. Pedro Martinez was the most dominant pitcher in the game. That season, he had struck out 313 batters, while keeping his ERA down to a minimal 2.07. He would eventually win the Cy Young Award for his efforts that year (and come in number two in MVP voting). Unfortunately for the team, Pedro was not going to be starting that night, and I was not going to be patient. The decision had to be made immediately.
The game started in a flurry. By the end of the third inning, the score was 8-7 Indians. It seemed like the slugfest would continue, with both starters out of the game. Then, my world changed. Pedro Martinez walked out of the bullpen, and everything stopped. Was this happening? How long could he go? Pedro Martinez proceeded to throw six no hit innings. This against a team which had scored over 1000 runs that season (best in the majors). The Cleveland Indians had four players with over 100 RBIs that year. In my eyes, Pedro Martinez was the greatest man on earth. His pitches were perfection, a work of art. I reached my decision.
I came into class the next day, and just looked at Mr. Eaton in disbelief. We both knew what we were thinking about. I’m not sure we ever really analyzed the game, just a couple of sentences.
“Some game last night.”
“Incredible.”
Then it was back to learning about the Oregon Trail.
That year I became a believer in the Boston Red Sox. I have followed them feverishly ever since. There had been a contest, and in the end, as is always the case, dominant pitching won. It seemed that Manny and I had taken separate paths.
Luckily, my heart would not be conflicted for long. In the offseason before 2001, Manny Ramirez signed an 8 year contract with the Boston Red Sox. Needless to say, I was ecstatic. My favorite hitter had teamed up with the greatest pitcher.
The Sox continued to improve over the next few years. In 2003, I watched every second of one of the greatest series’ I have ever witnessed. I laughed when Pedro rolled Don Zimmer to the ground during the brawl; I couldn’t sleep the night before game seven. When Aaron @!)#(*@!#()ing Boone hit that ball over the monster, I was crushed. Crushed isn’t a strong enough word. I was void of everything. I felt like I would throw up. I chucked my hat against the wall, and went to bed. My friends (I’m amazed I had any at this point.) sat awkwardly in my living room, wondering if this was some grand theatrics. Would I return from my room? I didn’t.
In 2004, the Red Sox weren’t messing around. They brought in Curt Schilling with the sole purpose of creating a one-two punch strong enough to crush the Yankees. It’s funny, because throughout that entire season, there was no doubt who we would face in the postseason. Then it happened.
I watched game one by myself. Game two was spent in the lobby of Andy’s residence hall. After the game (we lost), I sat on the bus ride facing a girl in a pink Yankees hat. That was worse than the game. Game three was on my couch at home. It was a Saturday night, and I had come home for the weekend. The game was unwatchable.
<me flipping through the channels>
<stop at animal planet> I hate animals!
<stop at MTV> I hate this band!
<stop at food network> Who the @!@# watches this?!
<stop at some political show> I hope that fool dies!
Mom: You don’t have to watch tv.
Me: shut up!
<flips back to Sox game to watch as long as I could bear> I hate Gay-Rod!
Game four was on as soon as I got back to campus. Then my roommate committed the only unforgivable act that has ever been directed against me. He asked me if he could turn off the TV, so he could go to bed! Are you freaking kidding me? We’re in the extra innings of an elimination game! I went to Sagar’s room. Ortiz home run! I erupt!
Joe Buck (at 1:22am): We’ll see you later today!
That night I did not close my eyes. We’re back in this… we’ve got Pedro for five. Schilling for six. Can Schilling pitch? He can’t possibly be that bad again. He’ll make it happen. Game six: the bloody sock. But wait, not so fast:
The Yankees are threatening. AROD ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?!! This can’t be real! This is ridiculous! Cheater! Haha, that’s right sucker. A-Rod swats balls. No runs, we win.
Game seven: time for a gut check. Not even close. Johnny Damon grand slam and it’s sealed by the second inning.
Then we entered the World Series. I was on cloud nine. Did these fools honestly believe that their minor league, AAA National League team could stop the momentum we had. Did you watch that series?! Honestly, did you watch it? That just freaking happened. We just came back from three games down. That doesn’t happen!
The four games went by so quick. I can hardly differentiate them. I can tell you that Manny was a beast though. He hit over .400 with a home run (Did I mention he has the most post season home runs of any player?) to lead the Sox to their first World Series in 86 years. MVP.
It happened again in 2007. The Sox were down versus the Indians. More specifically, the Sox were hanging their heads. They were about to lose their third straight game to go down 3-1. It seemed like no one on the team cared. However, Manny had a message to send. As his medium, he chose to crush a home run to deep center, completing the back-to-back-to-back with Youkilis and Ortiz. Then he celebrated. He watched his work, and he was proud. I was proud.
Alex was less than impressed, and made fun of him shouting, “scoreboard!” at the television set. Manny didn’t hear him. Neither did his teammates. You see, Alex missed the point. Manny’s blast set a fire under the rest of the Sox. They remembered that baseball was fun. They loosened up, and they won the next three. Manny hit over .400 yet again, and the Sox went on to sweep up their AAA opponent (aka Colorado Rockies) to take their second series in four years.
Unfortunately, I have always been aware that an end was evident. Manny Ramirez is growing older, and will eventually lose his edge. He would have cost the Red Sox $20 million for each of the next two years, and we all knew that wouldn’t happen. Boston doesn’t pay for tradition, it pays for performance. I knew this season would be a swan song, so when Mom and Dad went to Boston this summer, I asked for a Manny jersey. I knew he would be gone soon, but there is no number I would more proudly wear. Manny is a legend, and I have been blessed to watch him play.
Two weeks later he was gone. I had never paid much attention to the rumors… they happen every year. However, the day of the trade deadline I kept an ESPN window open behind my work.
“Manny deal a bust”
I smiled, I had at least another couple months. Then I checked just before I left to go home.
“Manny to LA, Bay to Beantown”
It was done. My favorite player was traded. Granted, he forced the hand. Manny Ramirez has been an abominable teammate the last few months, and that has been sad to watch. However, when he launches a baseball into the lower reaches of outer space, all is forgiven.
You can call him a showboat. You can call him a bad defender. I don’t care. Manny Ramirez is the most entertaining player in baseball. He is a first ballot Hall of Famer, and he will be missed.
He will be missed on those random afternoons in June, when I never get a call to ask if I saw Manny high five a fan before throwing back to finish a double play. Or the time he isn’t there to take a cell phone call inside the Green Monster between innings. I’ll even miss watching him misplay every ball that graces right field.
Most of all, I’ll miss watching him bat. You see, Manny Ramirez is one of the most disciplined hitters I’ve watched. He is always controlled, even in a two strike count. He rarely, if ever, gets beat mentally. Even when he misses, Manny is always balanced. He never looks awkward. When Manny stepped to the plate, I loved baseball a little bit more.
Finally, Manny Ramirez made David Ortiz one of the best hitters in baseball. Don’t get me wrong, Papi has immense talent, but do you really believe that Ortiz would put up those numbers without Manny Ramirez breathing down pitchers’ necks in the on deck circle? We’ll see.
I don’t want to give up on my team, but come the postseason, when Jason Bay has to come up in a pressure situation, you can’t tell me you wouldn’t rather see Manny Ramirez saunter to the plate.
Manny Ramirez #24
513 HR
1678 RBI
2329 Hits
.313 BA
