If they don’t make another single move this winter, the Sox have at least secured the Tiumverate of Awesome Names by snagging guys named Boof, Marco and Fabio. Actually, the surnames ain’t bad either: Bonser, Scutaro and Castro sounds like the sort of law firm you’d want on your side if Heidi Watney’s people ever found you going through her laundry basket (again). And “Bonser and Castro” is easily the title of the greatest buddy cop flick never made (more of that coming on Monday).
But in all this sturm und drang over things like “bridge year” and “keeping up with the Yankees” and “Theo needing to make a big splash,” I hear a lot of people yelling about how if the Sox put out an inferior product, they risk the fans all walking away.
And to that, I say, no motherf@#king way.
The Red Sox could start Peter DeLuise at first, Ernest Borgnine in left, and Verne Troyer at DH and still sell out the park seven days a week and twice on Sunday. Remember those folks who tried to start the “fans’ strike” back in the early 90s? Remember how the fans actually boycotted baseball games as a form of protest against rising ticket prices, player greed and outlandish salaries? Neither do I. Because they didn’t.
Because on a hot summer’s say in Boston, there’s simply no better place to be than Heidi Watney’s laundry hamper. And if you can’t be there, you go to the ballpark. That’s just the way it is.
Do I hope the Sox make at least one big score before the 2010 season? Yes sir. Especially if that score is named “Adrian Gonzalez.”
But is it a deal breaker? Hell, no. I was onboard back when the biggest offensive upgrade they could sell me was Jack Clark (“He’ll hit at least eighteen million home runs in a park like Fenway, I tells ya. Maybe nineteen million!”). If the freshest face on the team next year is Marco Scutaro, I’ll still be wedging my goofy white ass into those grandstand seats, warm beer and foam hand at the ready. And so will you.
We take the good times, we take the bad times. If Theo and crew wanna take a year off to weed out the folks who snag all the good seats and don’t know Dante Bichette from Juliette Binoche, I’m fine with it.
We’ll still be there, cheering our asses off. Because that’s what we do.
Cue Lou Rawls.