Trading deadline comin’ up. Comin’ at ya. Time to start sizing up Cory Lidle and John Lieber. And there’s that nervous feeling in your gut, because you know at any minute, you could flip to Boston.com and see the breaking news headline: “Sox trade Manny Ramirez for Alfonso Soriano” or “Papelbon for Dom DeLuise swap finalized” or some other bit of madness.
Here’s where I think the Roger-to-Boston scenario could become reality. A couple months back, when he had everyone in the free world wondering exactly where he’d end up, Clemens basically had to sign with Houston, lest his Texas citizenship be revoked for good. But now that the Astros are fadin’ fast — not to mention the fact that Rocket boasts a 2-4 record thanks to shoddy run support — a trade would allow Houston to cut its losses and gather up some potentially valuable prospects and give Clemens an escape pod to October. I don’t care how long he played snugglebunnies with Steinbrenner, I’ve always had a soft spot for the Clem, and would welcome him back with the full scale works. I’m talking shirtless manhugs, Steve Perry singing “Open Arms,” and Mayor Menino blessing Rog with the official “Free Beer and Nightly Choice of B.U. Chick” authority that is often granted to visiting dignitaries.
If we can’t have Rocket or Lidle or any other starting pitching that, say, hasn’t already been cast off by the Kansas City Royals, might I suggest a call to Minnesota to inquire about Boof Bonser?
I’ll be honest: I know very little if anything at all about Mr. Bonser. But if Theo can’t appreciate the possibilities of bringing a guy named “Boof Bonser” to town, then I’m not so sure I know what to think. Just say that name a couple times to yourself. Boof Bonser. Boof Bonser. Boof Bonser. It kinda rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it? And what exactly is “Boof” the shortened form of? Boofington? Boofswan? I could give a shit; I just know I want the guy in Boston. I want to see Yawkey Way full of young kids and hot chicks in “Bonser” T-shirts (or, perhaps he could pull and Ichiro and go with “Boof” on the back of his jersey. Holy god, even cooler!). I wanna hear Remy and D.O. chatting up the Boofster before each of his starts. I want to see Jim Rice and Tom Caron waxing eloquently about Boof during the pre-game show (“As we all know, Boof lives and dies on his breaking ball, so he’s gotta have that working for him.”) And after his first victory at Fenway, I want to watch as Tina Cervasio draws him close, waving her NESN microphone like some sort of magic wand, to deliver the million dollar line: “Welcome to Boston, Boof.” Cue sunset. Cue applause. Cue unstoppable awesomeness.
Theo, please: Bring us Boof Bonser.
In other news, is it just me, or does Mike Mussina — nice guy that he is, I’m sure — occasionally throw his teammates under the bus? I distinctly recall a couple post-game interviews after loses to the Sox in which he more or less called out some teammates whose miscues or lack o’ hustle helped contribute to the defeat. Most recently, there was this quote after an A-Rod F-up helped the Jays beat New York: “I know he’s played better. I know he’s disappointed in the way he’s playing. It’s just not him right now. We need him back the way he’s supposed to be. I thought he was going to throw to first and then I turn and saw him throw it to home. All he had to do was throw it on target and he was out by 20 feet.” I guess when you’re the smartest guy on the Yankees there’s a certain sense of entitlement, but jee-zus.
In the meantime, a big weekend series with our ’04 pals, the Angels, kicks off tonight with Jon Lester versus Kelvim Escobar. I would say a sweep would wipe away some of the jitters filtering through Red Sox Nation at this hour. Pitter, patter, let’s get at ‘er.
Lastly, gotta plug the new Cheap Trick disc, RockFord. Track-for-track, this is easily the best thing they’ve done in years, and if you saw them busting up Conan a couple weeks back with the single “Perfect Stranger,” you know they’ve got more spice in ’em than a warehouse full of Fall Out Boy. For all the goodness on parade here, however, I maintain that the band’s greatest-ever single is still “Say Goodbye”, a criminally-overlooked gem from 1997’s self-titled disc. Go. Listen to it now. The fact that this song languishes in obscurity while Sum 41 continue to move product is one of the great mysteries of our lifetime.
Coming next week: surprises. Stay tuned.