Monday, August 27, 2012

Regarding the Red Sox...

We stopped wearing our Red Sox caps this season. Like many long-time fans, we're unhappy with the team and the management, and we're still smarting from last September. I'll never be reconciled to the hiring of Bobby Valentine, which had my Mets-vicinity relatives further south roaring with laughter, disbelief, and pity.

Having Red Sox caps in the first place was a stretch for us, since we never wear anything with words, messages, pictures, or noticeable logos. We must have cut that class in fashion school. We don't understand why an adult would wear an Ellsbury shirt, for example, unless he is Ellsbury. We're old-fashioned, with the emphasis on old. 

But baseball caps are easy to throw on when we're out doing errands on sunny days, and it's hard to find a plain one. Wearing an embroidered "B" also garners a rare modicum of courtesy from venders at Haymarket, we've found: we are more often granted permission to choose our own fruit. But we can't wear the "B" with anything passing for team spirit these days. My husband saw the Hood blimp hovering over our neighborhood the other night and, instead of enjoying it, he said it reminded him of "a fly attracted to garbage." Wow — tell me how you really feel.... But I see his point.

The recent trade with the Dodgers might help the situation somewhat, but I'm not getting my hopes up. It's certainly not going to restore my loyalty, which will require a bigger housecleaning beyond players. That would be years down the road, if it happens at all. I can wait. It took me about 15 years to recover from 1986; after what went on with my blood pressure that October, I decided the Sox were too stressful to follow.

In the meantime, I have a suggestion for a replacement for Bobby Valentine.

Somewhere in New England, there's an old-school nun who is perfect for the job. A nun with a couple of decades of teaching experience in middle school and/or high school. A nun who is also from a multigenerational Sox-fan family, of course, with intimate knowledge of the game and maybe some Little League or high school coaching experience. She can be any size or shape, as long as she's got enough disciplinary experience under her belt to strike fear into the hearts of evil-doers without saying a word. If she likes to carry a stick, or smack her charges with the massive wooden rosary hanging from her waistband, that's fine with me. (I was taught by nuns who relied on both successfully, as well as a nun who kept a big metal police whistle on a cord that she whipped around like a lasso.)

Chances are that this sister's order has already taken on the pope and his minions, who've been attacking American nuns in recent years — seemingly for being female and having working hearts and brains, along with independent ideas about serving God and humanity. Nuns need to be fearless and crafty to survive these days, it seems. I believe that's also what it takes to manage a baseball team.

Having a nun in the dugout would improve motivation, respect, and discipline better than anything else I can imagine. You can be certain that, if a nun had been managing the team last week, there would have been 100% attendance at the Pesky funeral.

It seems impossible that things can get any worse, so what could it hurt to give a nun a tryout?

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