We hope to return to our daily missives on The Carmine Hose—without fear or favor from the NOG (inappropriately-named "New Ownership Group"). Stay tuned, we hope we will once again keep you informed and entertained covering Red Sox baseball.
-Ernie Paicopolos, Editor-In-Chief, FenwayNation
Capping an All-Star season, the 24-year-old Devers clouted 38 home runs and knocked in 113, while hitting .279. He also collected 37 doubles and tallied 318 total bases. His 62 walks were the highest of his career. Mostly, he transformed himself from an exceptional young player into a superstar.
The 25-year-old Whitlock delivered a stellar 1.96 ERA in 73.1 innings for the 2021 Red Sox. Picked up last December in the Rule 5 Draft from the Yankees, Whitlock became the "go-to" bullpen arm for multiple-inning relief appearances. He faced 298 batters and struck out 81—walking just 17.
Congratulations to Rafael and Garrett!
Sydney, Australia—I've never given much thought to the game of soccer. I've never given so much as a rat's narrow behind about it, to be honest. But this latest brouhaha over in the Old Dart is relevant to any one who's ever handed their hard-earned to the ticket takers down on that street outside Fenway Park - I forget what they're calling it these days.
The British soccer fan has been quite a bit het up lately. Why? Well, partly because of the pallid presence of John Henry, owner of a little outfit called the Fenway Sports Group. FSG owns the Liverpool Football Club and - for those who don't know - Liverpool has a fan base whose passion rivals that of Red Sox Nation - and probably even exceeds it. The Club uses a song from the musical Carousel as its motto and its anthem - You'll Never Walk Alone - and they belt it out louder and stronger than poor old Sweet Caroline every chance they get.
John and his pals somehow got the bright idea that they could futz with English Football - soccer, to you and me - and no one would much care. They made the fatal assumption that soccer fans would docilely accept a European Super League comprised of the highest-priced teams and happily kick over even more dough at the turnstiles for the privilege. The idea was simple: the best clubs would form their own competition within the game's existing structure. But it goes a little deeper than that and the concern down here and elsewhere is that John and his fellow MLB owners might try and pull the same gag with Baseball. As Nick O'Malley (Masslive.com) neatly puts it, imagine if the Yankees, the Dodgers, our own beloved Red Sox and 'other big-money teams joined a separate league with the top Korean and Japanese teams to start their own playoffs and World Series that they’d play for, in addition to normal Major League Baseball. Smaller market teams would get a chance to play, but the big-money teams would always have a seat in the playoffs.'
Sounds pretty sleazy, doesn't it? I mean, wouldn't that make the Fall Classic essentially a bit of a joke? If a bonehead like your Downunder Correspondent can see it, surely the stock-ticker minds of Henry et al had to have seen it too? Well, no, actually. It looks like they didn't.
One of the Super League cabal members, Real Madrid president Florentino Perez, said they came up with the plan because young people are 'no longer interested in football' due to 'a lot of poor-quality games'.
I found some interesting research from a fan-intel outfit called Ear to the Ground. They're based over in the UK and while they're not exactly Polity Research, the data they gathered shows that Florentino doesn't have a firm handle on what those Real Madrid fans are feeling. According to the Ear guys, almost 90% of soccer fans think Perez - and his super-rich pals - are simply full of it. As one of the Ear guys put it: “It’s about knowing what your audiences care about, and the role you play for them,” (This is Owen Laverty, director of fan intelligence) “We know there are smart people working across all of these clubs, but it feels like these decisions about a breakaway league were made in boardrooms by individuals who were disconnected from the real world and potentially misunderstood the values of the people that this mattered to the most - the fans…" Ear to the Ground is very likely making some serious scratch from simply identifying what's important to sports fans and acting accordingly. And if John Henry hasn't already taken steps to go and do likewise, well - he might not be as smart as he thinks he is. Owning a globally recognized sports franchise - like the Boston Red Sox - is not just having some awesome money-making machine, it's a deadly serious responsibility. John Henry and the other super-rich MLB owners have a duty to the Game and an obligation to the Fans. And you wanna know something? Up until this Super League debacle, I felt reasonably comfortable with Henry's stewardship of our club.
Now, I'm not so sure. How about you?
Anyway, author Gary Morgenstein has managed to pull off this rare feat. His new novel, "A Fastball For Freedom" is Book Two in the "Dark Depths" series of novels that began with the amazing, "A Mound Over Hell". Protector-of-all-things-baseball (and pretty good pitcher) Puppy Nedick is back—but the year 2098 is not a fun place for lovers of baseball (or freedom, for that matter). Puppy (and his ex-wife) are on the run from 'The Family'—the religious dictatorship that now runs America. He's been branded a traitor for trying to keep baseball alive.
What makes Morgenstein's books so compelling is the character portrayals—they're complex, but they're also identifiable as they weave their way through the treacherous, dystopian times in which they live. And I'm not just saying this because there's a new character in the mix named 'Ernie The Wizard' (well, maybe a little bit). And, as with the first novel, Morgenstein is not afraid to take on political correctness—and strike it out with a backdoor slider on the inside corner. How refreshing is that in our timid times?
The bottom line is that if you love speculative fiction and you love baseball, this is a must-read. Can Puppy fight a new oppressive regime, save the planet from global conflict—and save baseball? You'll just have to read it. You can order the novel HERE.
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It just goes to show you that one of baseball's oldest chestnuts—'it's a marathon, not s sprint"—is as true today as it ever was. Speaking of which, the team announced a new Patriot's Day uni that honors the tradition of the Boston Marathon. It's unusual (to say the least) with yellow and blue colors. But, we like it. We'll be running a poll soon to see what our readers think.
We will soon have a full review of the new novel, but here's a sneak peek at a few exclusive snippets dealing with Boston and Fenway Park:
Zelda walked quickly along Boylston Street toward the hammering humming. A BT tank was parked to the side as if unsure about being there; fans passed by quietly, bumping into her with muttered apolo- gies. More scarecrows hung on both sides of the street mutely proclaiming “Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of a Fastball” and, at the corner of Yawkey Way, “All baseball fans are created equal.”
The scarecrows were nothing compared to the light.
It was as if the illumination were coming from underground, bathing the construction site like an up- side down volcano. Workers in red B baseball caps scurried up and down immense steel ladders, while others dug with shovels and picks into the frozen ground. Buckets of concrete flew by on wheelbarrows pushed by singing fans in Red Sox warm-up jackets; from somewhere, a medley of Mooshie’s songs played. Makeshift stands stood patiently amid stacks of paint cans. Zelda thought it was a viewing area, but she was the only one just watching. Everyone came to work at the only place in America, along with the site of the new Wrigley Field in Chicago, where the 10 p.m. curfew was lifted.
“What’s going on?” Zelda asked an old woman in a floppy t-shirt.
The woman sighed disapprovingly at such an idiotic question, gesturing at the huge, hand-lettered red sign atop a flag pole jammed defiantly into the ground: “Welcome to the New Fenway Park.”
“Hopefully we can re-open next summer if everyone pitches in,” she said accusingly, heading off with a paint brush.
A BT tank squatted at the north end of the construction site, bored soldiers sprawled on the front of the vehicle occasionally exchanging good-natured suggestions with passing workers about how best to build a ballpark.
All around the site, the lights of Boston went out for the ten o’clock curfew, setting off a loud cheer of pride. For a moment, BT ’copter blades lost their stealth and glittered. Zelda hushed Diego, stirring noisily to tell the whole world he had gas, and edged toward a trench of concrete being poured into the ground.
“What’s this?” Zelda asked a heavy-set man in a Yaz sweatshirt.
“It’ll be the home plate side.” He pointed to some rickety chairs off to the right. “There’s a seat over there for you and the baby.”
“Thanks, but if everyone else is helping, we can, too.”
