Trot’s back in town tonight, so we serve up some of the many reasons we loved the guy (as originally appeared in previous posts and our articles for Barstool Sports):

He was hell with his fists: Trot’s a two-fisted, double-flushing tough guy in the finest sense, and if he was born in another era, I could totally see him fixing a plate of knuckle sammiches for the likes of Cy Young and Joe Jackson, showing up hungover and black-eyed with Babe Ruth, and helping General Patton keep the Communists at bay. Was there ever a player who was quicker out of the dugout to stick his cleat up another guy’s ass? Yes, Trot was hell with his fists. And when you’re facing the Yanks in a critical series in mid-summer, that’s a good thing to have on your side.

He owned Roger Clemens: I don’t know if the numbers truly back this up and to be honest, I could give a shit about going and looking them up. But it always seemed that when we needed a big hit off the Rocket, Trot was the guy who got it. His now-legendary, two-run shot that won the Clemens-Pedro throwdown at Yankee Stadium in 2000 was one of the greatest Red Sox Moments of all time.

He was a gamer: He runs blindly into poles, over walls and into fellow outfielders. It’s the sort of work ethic we like to see in our players, and Trot was all about it. While other guys were injecting themselves with growth hormones and testosterone, Trot was simply gobbling down the wheat toast and fistfulls of Vitamin Awesome. The kind of moxy that can almost make you overlook his annual “tearing of the ass mucles” and those painful at-bats in key situations.

He was born to be a baseball player: Is there anyone — and I mean anyone — who looks more out-of-place when he’s out of his baseball uniform than Trot Nixon? Whenever I see him on TV in his street clothes or a suit, it’s like seeing a grizzly bear wearing a stove pipe hat and monacle. It doesn’t make a lick of sense. In fact, Trot shouldn’t even be allowed to purchase suits and ties. To the point that his photo should be hanging in Casual Males and Mens Wearhouses across the city, with the words “Do Not Serve” under it. He should just stick to the baseball uni 24/7 — on the field, raking leaves in the yard, shopping for exotic meats. And on those rare occasions when he can’t wear the cap and cleats, give him one of those red Captain Marvel outfits with the lightning bolt across the chest. Because, y’know, the suit just doesn’t look… right.

The Nixon era has ended in Boston. But the original Dirt Dog is not forgotten. Welcome back home, Trot. You did us proud.