Month: August 2012

In recent days, President and CEO, Larry Luccino has spoken about the 2012 soap opera that is the 58-62 Boston Red Sox. When Mr. Luccino talks about the Red Sox, he uses the term “brand” quite a bit. The Sox used to be a baseball team, but now they are an asset in the portfolio of John Henry, and job 1 is maximizing financial return on that asset. That’s fine, but the management has seriously lost their way to achieving that goal. Let’s get back to the brand thing. A definition I like is, “a brand is the essence or promise of what will be delivered or experienced.” For a major league baseball team, that promise is good baseball. What’s wrong with the Red Sox is that good baseball has fallen off their list of brand attributes. Here’s what the Red Sox brand is actually delivering today:

– Fenway Park – a 100 year old theatre of nostalgia
– Commemorative bricks – Yours for $100…
– Miller Lite for $7.75
– A phony sellout streak
– A Neil Diamond song in the 8th inning whether you like it or not

The baseball? Well, it’s always about pitching, and this year, top starters Josh Beckett and Jon Lester have been largely ineffective. Their new closer, Andrew Bailey, was injured in Spring Training, and didn’t throw a pitch until August. Clay Bucholtz has pitched well for the last month, but in general, the Sox pitching has been perfectly imbalanced. On the rare occasion when the starters have not dug an early game hole, the bullpen has buried the team late. The offense has also been inconsistent, and has lacked the big hit needed to win close games. Injuries have played a part. Bailey, Carl Crawford, Dustin Pedroia, and most recently David Ortiz have seen pine while mending, but the Yankees lost Mariano Rivera for the season, plus CC Sabathia, Andy Pettite, and Alex Rodriguez have seen DL time. The Yankees are 71-48, 13-1/2 games ahead of brand Red Sox.

The most disappointing thing about this team is the attitude of many of its players. Beckett and Lester never seemed to recover from the fried chicken and beer meltdown of 2011. Beckett wears a smug FU face on and off the field, and Lester has spent the season whining about balls and strikes, usually right before he gives up a bomb. He’s not focused. They’re not focused. During the season, Pedroia told the manager, “that’s not how we do things around here,” Ortiz complained about his contract. Beckett focused on golf while on the DL. Underachieving Adrian Gonzalez texted the owner to complain about the manager. The owner said he really didn’t want to sign Carl Crawford. Kevin Youklis got old and got traded. Maybe that satisfied Beckett, who seemed focused on finding a “snitch” in the Sox clubhouse. Bobby Valentine? He’s no more the problem than Terry Francona was last September when the team went 7-20.

Long time fans of the Boston Red Sox hung in with their team through Bucky Dent, Bill Buckner, and Grady Little leaving Pedro in too long. The immense goodwill earned by the team in 2004 erased 86 years of futility and fan frustration. The Fenway circus of the last 150 games dating back to September have burned all of that goodwill into hardened discontent. The owners of the “brand” have another long climb to restore what really matters: their baseball team.

Until then, anyone want to buy a brick? They’re marked down to $75.

Walking down 58th

Earbuds Misunderstood – They opened with that!
Construction curtains star
Seven strides East to city glare
Along steel canyon base
“I think I might just crawl back in bed” sings the moment
I Turn my head
A homeless man lay
sleeping.
Or dead.
Could I get him a job?
Not another thought,
past the Subway without decent food
do these grates ever confiscate
People?
Starbucks wait unemployment line deep
That’s fine
IPad and Times are mine
“venti” still ad word
Leave it LOWER CASE
Sips of rejuvenation
Sunny steps up
Past
girls in their summer dresses
Only one in mind
Strike
that
heart

cigarette light flashes
back under construction cloak
Front lighting the toll
Looking older than she should
Walking down 58th

This week I’ve been with my Dad in Florida. His heart is failing. No, not the one that pumps blood through his physical form, the one that makes the gift of this life exhilarating. After each day of appointments, meds, finances, puking, legalities, and expressions of surrender as Dad approaches a slow, sad end, I’ve escaped to the streets. By any objective measure I’m obese, but cognitive dissonance spares me from seeing John Candy in the mirror. This week I was reminded of how much work I have to do. Prior to a run, I was so excited to don my genuine Roma AC futbol shirt purchased at the recent tilt versus Liverpool FC at Fenway, but tugging it on revealed something resembling a ground pork product crammed into a transparent casing. Yeah, gross. Still, I got out there, just not as a Jimmy Dean ad.

Music helps push one foot in front of the leaden other, and it’s amazing how heel strikes in sync with the music. With nothing but faint breathing competing with crashing sonic vibration, I get lost in the music, although the bouncing soft cauliflower in my head is always working. Always taking me places. Good and bad. I haven’t yet figured out how to unplug that particular computer. Woven between thoughts like crochet are drums, bass, keyboard, guitar piercings, and the words. With blood elevating the senses, and circumstances magnifying emotion, the poets words comfort. Today one song stopped me in my tracks. Fuck that it did, I just needed that cliché for effect. I kept plodding, and the words were so fucking great. One by one, they calmed and filled me with hope. With every step, more of my life left behind me, but I’m damned well going to try to make the most of them. My heart is wide open.

One by One
words by Woody Guthrie

One by one the teardrops fall as I write you
One by one my words come falling on the page
One by one my dreams are fading in the twilight
One by one my schemes are fading fast away

One by one the flowers fading in my garden
One by one the leaves are falling from the trees
One by one my hopes are vanished in the clouds clear
One by one like snowflakes melting in the breeze

One by one my hair is turning gray
One by one my dreams are fading fast away
One by one I read your letters over
One by one I lay them all away

One by one the days are slipping up behind you
One by one the sweetest days of life go by
One by one the moments stealing out behind you
One by one she’ll come and find not you or I

One by one I hear the soft words that you whispered
One by one I feel your kisses soft and sweet
One by one I hope you’ll say the words to marry
One by one to one by one forever be