Every sports media outlet is talking about The Blockbuster Trade. Why wouldn't they? Three members of the Red Sox, toting contracts with obscenely large numbers, are on the brink of exiting stage west, destination Los Angeles. The buzz is deafening. And the opinions come down on both ends of the spectrum, though rest assured, everyone has an opinion. I've yet to see someone invested in Boston's baseball franchise (emotionally, that is) simply shrug in disinterest.
Two of The Big Three can be difficult to swallow, given the talents they possess. As much as it was nice to think of Carl Crawford no longer running willy-nilly all over us, it was even more appealing to have him actually doing it *for* us. Adrian Gonzalez brings both a bat and glove to a team that are difficult not to desire. Though I was far more excited for the latter, I could see the pieces both could bring to the organization. They arrived with much fanfare and a loud cha-ching. We speculated. We salivated. We wanted the zeroes on the paychecks to make us cheer, though we cringed a little.
Here's the thing though. The money was tempting, too tempting to pass up, so they came. But I believe they came with some quiet reservations tucked in their back pockets. They came from low-pressure, minimal-attention ball clubs. Maybe they thought they knew what they were getting into in Boston. Maybe they had a clearer idea of the reality they were accepting, but thought they could handle it anyway. But those quiet concerns have a way of whispering loud in our ears, and louder still, when things don't play out to the best outcome. For all the talents they can offer, a place like Boston demands that a player not just tolerate the environment, but thrive in it. Thriving seems to manifest in two ways: you have the guys, the Mike Lowells, who seem to tune out most of the noise with some kind of Zen immunity, and you have the Dustin Pedroias, who seem to fuel themselves on the swirl of energy and emotion, motivating themselves with the pressure and even challenging it to bring more. But for a player who suddenly feels scrutinized down to the cellular level, who feels chased down, misunderstood, claustrophobic from the crush, no matter how much they can bring to the table, those talents won't benefit the team, the potential will go unrecognized. It just stands to reason that a player who is neither happy nor comfortable will be able to reliably produce. I don't believe it was for lack of *wanting* it to work. If you can't thrive, you simply wither. And what a waste at what a price.
And then the final piece. One Mr Joshua Beckett, who arrived amid the gorilla-clad drama of Theo Epstein's first exit from Yawkey Place, a deal placed under "temporary management" and eyeballed skeptically by Theo upon his return. Beckett descended at the heart of drama, he pitched with post-season drama, he appears to have been a ringleader in the beer-and-fried-chicken drama, and now, he departs with as much drama as ever. Is he a good pitcher? I know he once was. I know he pitched us to a second championship. I know his swagger was once a quality over which we grinned and in which we trusted. But there comes a time when you dig a hole so deep, there's no climbing back out. He could not have righted this ship. And his attitude was poisonous. I don't think the Red Sox could have survived another two years of this anger and arrogance.
There was a lot of money tied up in these three players. Money that no longer yielded much promise of a return. It was time. Time for them-- two for whom the environment was hostile, one who made the environment unhealthy--and time for us. They exit as they entered: amid breaking news voices, high-dollar contracts, and top prospects changing hands. Only this time, instead of raising what is already a ridiculously overblown payroll, the Red Sox are paring things down.
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