Well, the results are in, and over 70% of RSN who responded feel that the Red Sox made a mistake in not re-signing Trot Nixon. Though my head understands it, my heart will have a harder time letting go. But on a happy note, I was able to get tickets to see his return to Fenway Park on Memorial Day, no doubt to a thunderous ovation when he first comes to the plate. There won’t be a dry eye in the house.

Sadly, I read on SI.com today where Barbaro, the winner of last year’s Kentucky Derby, finally succumbed to complications suffered when he broke his leg at the Preakness last year. I’m definitely not a fan of horse racing for that very reason-IMO championship-caliber horses are bred to be far too large for their legs to support, and these types of injuries are simply unavoidable. I can’t enjoy a race knowing that any minute another bone may snap, ending an animal’s life for no good reason. Kudos to his owners Roy and Gretchen Jackson for making a valiant effort to save their friend, though, and hopefully some good can come out of this for another horse someday.

Finally, Curt Schilling has apparently done an about face and says now that he will NOT retire after the 2007 season as previously indicated. Apparently the sight of the geriatric Roger Clemens continuing to rake in millions for working about a month out of the year is too much for him. One place Curt says he won’t go is to the Yankees, though.

"Where I’m going to play beyond 2007? I hope it’s Boston, but I will go out and find a home to pitch," he said. "I hope it’s here, but there’s also that possibility [of pitching elsewhere]. It would not be to New York."

Of course, we’ve all heard that song before, haven’t we, Sox fans?

In the meantime, let’s hope Theo gets an extension signed soon.

I must say, I laughed out loud when I heard this on a sports talk show this morning. Talk about putting the cart before the horse!

I’ll have to admit my bias here: I have no use for Roger Clemens. Zero. Zilch. Zip. If the truth be known, I was never a big fan of his when he was the ace of the Sox staff-oh, I admit I liked the winning, but otherwise I always thought he was an arrogant *****. Time has pretty much borne me out there.

John Henry has already indicated the Sox would again be making an effort to sign Clemens. They also did so last year, as anyone who watched that NESN special of the 20th anniversary of the 20-strikeout game ad nauseum is well aware. Some naive Sox fans continue to postulate that Clemens will surely come back to Boston because he wants to break Cy Young’s Red Sox career win record, and have his number retired properly in Fenway Park when the time comes. Of course, all this was also the case last year, and he chose to stay in Houston anyway. My own guess is that the Rocket is not the most sentimental guy in the world (just the most egotistical), and little of that means anything to him. If it did, he’s had plenty of opportunity over the years to make it happen. At this point, he’s about the attention, the convenience, and most of all, the dough.

So, Sox fans, let’s root for the Yanks to sign him, as they’re clearly making serious plans to do. They’d essentially be trading one geezer for another, and it’s been a while since Clemens regularly faced the heavy hitting lineups of his old foes in the ALEast. Remember, Roger, you won’t be in Kansas-er, the NL-anymore, and I’m thinking we’ll see at least a doubling of that 1.97 ERA.

(Hmmm…the thought of that might be enough to make him just stay ensconsed in Minute Maid, work two days a week, and continue to collect his millions. At that rate, he could keep pitching ’til he’s 50, and we could see this saga stretch out for a loooonnng time to come…)

Pats’ season is over. The vaunted defense let us down…the Colts, who couldn’t buy a TD in the two previous playoff victories, ran all over us like paper dolls! It was ugly, man…we really missed Junior Seau and Rodney Harrison last night.

Oh, well.  We’ll still have Brady, Seymour, Maroney, and a couple of first-round picks (better use ‘em on a defensive back and receiver, IMO). Better luck next year. Same to the Saints, my second-favorite NFL team since I lived in the Big Easy for a while in the early ’90s. What an awesome run those guys made of it! They kept attention focused on that great city that still has such a long way to go. You Nawlins guys know I’m on your side always (well…unless you’re playing the Pats).

Congratulations to Lovie Smith and Tony Dungy for simultaneously being the first African-American men to coach Super Bowl teams. That’s kind of cool. And I don’t really hate Marvin Harrison, as much as my brother insists he’s a wus who’s afraid to take a hit and that’s why he’s never open in the slot

Still, I doubt I’ll turn SportsCenter on much for the next couple of weeks, not because I’m bitter, but because the thought of any more Manning exposure then we’re already subjected to makes me want to barf. I may not even watch the game because of it. Maybe if he actually is a Super Bowl winner he’ll gain some much-needed self-respect and not feel the need to constantly sell himself like some hooker.

Now for my Super Bowl prediction? Last I heard, the Colts were one(!) point favorites. So, naturally…

GO BEARS!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Phil Rogers had some interesting comments concerning the JD Drew and Barry Bonds’ deals in the Chicago Tribune today, the biggest point of which was "…you wonder how much longer it will be before some open contentiousness rears its head between Drew and the Boston Red Sox. Ditto Barry Bonds and the San Francisco Giants."

The speculation being, of course, that both clubs may be looking to back out of the very expensive promises they made to two very talented ballplayers who both come with as much baggage as the Queen of England on a month long safari. It’s no skin off my nose whether Bonds plays another year or not, but I am obviously very invested in the outcome of the JD Drew saga, especially now with Trot signed elsewhere.

ARE the Sox looking to back out of the deal they made with Drew and superagent Boras back in early December, a lifetime ago? Representatives of both club and player say no, it’s just language, it’s 90% done. Should be finished by the end of the week.

Hmmm. They said that last week.

And the week before that.

Of course, Nick Saban also assured the world he was not going to Alabama. Johnny Damon publicly announced he would never consider going to the NY Yankees. In another realm, George W. Bush staunchly declared Donald Rumsfeld would be his defense secretary through the duration of his administration.

So public posturing means nothing except that you are buying time. I actually expect that JD Drew will be in a Boston uniform on Opening Day, but it wouldn’t really surprise me if he wasn’t, either. Neither the Red Sox organization nor the fans seem to have approached this Drew signing with a great deal of enthusiasm, frankly. I worry less that he will not be signed than he will be signed and already have a simmering resentment towards the club and its’ fans because of the off season dramatics. We already have an inkling that this may not be the easiest guy in the world to get along with. Let’s hope this doesn’t make it worse.

League or conference championship games are often more interesting to watch, because that’s where the drama of a long season of head-to-head competition often comes to culmination. Very often, the teams that play in these series have months or years of competition between them, whereas the teams that meet for the final title hardly know each other There are some notable exceptions, of course, like the Yankees and Dodgers of old, or Mets of new, or the great Celtics-Lakers rivalries, but usually that’s how it unfolds, at least to me.

Especially for those of us in New England.

Today is the football equivalent of a Yanks-Sox ALCS, and history, as it was for the Bombers for so many years, is on our side. But as 2004 so aptly demonstrated, history can be rewritten, and in dramatic fashion. If the Sox can unthrone the Yanks so ignomiously, then there’s no reason the Colts can’t do the same to the Pats. Mystique is a very overrated commodity when you’re actually down there playing the game.

The Colts are a 3-point favorite, virtually a dead heat in their own dome. I personally don’t see playing in the RCA Dome as a huge advantage for Manning and his crew. Tom Brady, as has been noted ad nauseum, is undefeated in domes, and in all reality the opposing team gets the same advantages as the home team in those situations (and for those of you who live in other parts of the country, it is downright frigid in New England today). Now, of course that might actually be a significant handicap for the Pats who also excel in winning games in wind, snow and arctic temperatures (remember that playoff game against Tennessee a few years ago? Four degrees at gametime, and Frank Sinatra croning "Summer Wind" over the PA). But I don’t see location as a huge handicap.

The secondary could be a huge handicap-Harrison was downgraded to "out" yesterday-but after watching Asante Samuel (who laid one of the most vicious hits on a receiver I’ve ever seen during the last postseason meeting of these two) pick off QBs all year and then Ellis Hobbs come up big when he needed to on a play last week, I have faith they’ll perform well. Remember, the Pats won a SB with Troy Brown pulling duty in the secondary a couple of years ago…

Matt Light is simply going to have to imagine that Dwight Freeney is Shawne Merriman doing that "Lights Out" dance over his QB for inspiration. It worked last week. Why tamper with success?

The Pats also cannot count on the Colts to hand them opportunites on a platter the way the Chargers did last week. There’s not a Drayton Florence hothead in the bunch that you can count on for an extra 15 yards, and Tony Dungy will most definitely not hesitate to use his kicker when the situation dictates it. Bad coaching and sloppy play will just not occur. In order to win this game, the Pats will have to play much more cleanly than they did at Qualcomm.

All in all, though, I think this is the Patriots’ game to lose. I just don’t see the sense in ever casting a vote against a Brady-led team. No, he won’t win them all, but you know he gives you a better chance to win them all than any QB in the league, including the one on the opposite of the line today.

My prediction? Pats 24, Colts 20.

6:30p, RCA Dome. Be there or be square.

Peter King has once again picked the Colts to beat the Pats this weekend. If this keeps up-and there’s no reason to exect it won’t-Peyton Manning should be spared the indignity of a colonoscopy for the rest of his life. If anyone wants to know what the inside of his GI tract looks like, they will only have to ask King.

The Patriots have been the underdogs in all 4 AFC championship games they have participated in, two against the Steelers, two against the Colts, including this year (although the Colts as a 3-point favorite AT HOME can’t be considered a prohibitive favorite…unlike the two-touchdown favorite Rams).

What do oddsmakers know about football?

Evidently, nothing.

GO PATS!!!!!

Dear Trot,

Man, this s*cks.

This hurts, buddy. More than I imagined it would. More than Johnny Damon ever did.

I have been watching this game a long time, and I don’t often get too sentimental about ballplayers. They come and they go, and usually, when their time in a Boston uniform is up, I thank them for their service and move on. But this time, with you…it’s different. I’m depressed and morose. I feel like I’ve been ****** punched, even though I knew it was coming. I had held out a faint ray of hope that perhaps you would be resigned and share duties with Wily Mo, but when the Drew signing was announced I knew you were a dead man walking. But, still, when I read today you had signed with the Indians, it hit me like five tons of bricks. I almost cried. I’m getting choked up as I write this.

Oh, yes, I know there will be those are saying you’re too injury prone; your production has dropped off; JD Drew is a perfect 5-hole guy, and you are not; you can’t hit lefties; you aren’t right for the Red Sox anymore.

But they’re wrong, even though all of that may be right. You and the Red Sox have always been a perfect match.

I remember the day they announced your signing, in 1993, the 7^th pick in the draft. Boy, did they beat the drums for you at the time. We were all excited to have such a promising up-and-comer in our farm system.

I remember watching you many a time in the Boston dugout after a strikeout or a bad play, with a scowl on your face. You were so intense, took every play to heart. I don’t know if I’ve seen you smile five times in all the years I’ve watched you, but that intensity is part of what makes you so endearing. I mean, is there any other player in the history of baseball who got tossed from a game while he was on the DL?

I remember that homer you clubbed against Clemens in 2000. What a great game that was. Top of the ninth at Yankee Stadium, Rocket and Pedro matching each other pitch for pitch. I remember leaping out of my seat cheering when that ball flew out of the park. That was only one of many big hits you had off my arch enemy Clemens, the greatest pitcher of his generation.

I remember that ongoing NASCAR competition you had going with Sean and Jerry a few years ago. That was a riot, even though I know absolutely nothing about NASCAR. But it was great because it gave us a little taste of who you were and what you liked outside the ballpark. We fans like a little of that information. Did you miss Sean when he left? I know I did…

I remember the 2004 World Series. That was a great time, wasn’t it? I can see you now lacing that ball off the right field wall at Busch Stadium to give the Sox a 3-0 lead. You did yourself proud in that series, hitting .357 while all the world watched. Congratulations on coming up big when it mattered most.

I remember the ovation you received as you ran off right field for the last time as a Red Sox outfielder. I remember your gracious words to the press afterwards. A lot of players, knowing they were going to be cut loose, would not have been so kind. I think I can speak for all of RSN when I say I was amazed by your seeming lack of bitterness. But you knew the fans loved you, and that’s who you were speaking to.

So, goodbye, Trot, my favorite Dirt Dog, and good luck. But only for now. I hope to see you back in a Red Sox capacity some day, on the field or in the broadcast booth. Please know we love you and will miss your dedication, work ethic and passion every day. We can replace the body in right field, maybe even with someone who’s technically a “better” ballplayer, but your heart and soul will live on forever in the Fenway Faithful.

And don’t wash your hat in Cleveland, either.

Much love,

Lisa

Please forgive my prolonged absence from this board. In the offseason, I have been indulging my other two favorite hobbies-politics and holidays. I know you will understand.

New Year’s is a time for looking to the past as well as planning for the future. I was speaking with some "Red Sox" friends recently (people with whom the primary thing I have in common is Red Sox fandom) and the conversation turned, as it often does, to the 2004 season and what a great time it was for Red Sox Nation worldwide. My friend mused about collecting the individual memories of that season for a book. I had to laugh, because for me, what I most remembered was the feelings it evoked, not necessarily where was I while I watched Varitek feed ARod leather. I thought about what I remembered, and this is what I came up with. Please indulge me in a bit of nostalgia. Hope it strikes a chord with some of you!

The first thing I most remember is that, having lived first through the debacle of ’78 (the year I truly became a diehard), the monumental heartbreak of ’86, and then the almost surreal events of ’03, I was pretty jaded about the Red Sox chances. I wouldn’t let myself think anything else-years of disappointment had served my defenses well. I remember the headlines of the Globe the day after Aaron Boone ruined my life. "Heartbreak Again," it trumpeted. A bitter Dan Shaughnessy declared in disgust, "And so a new generation of New Englanders has learned the risk of rooting for the Red Sox." He was right. I had sat there excited the night before, watching pre-8th inning, thinking, "We’re going to the World Series." Jesus, hadn’t I learned anything? Why had I allowed myself to be swept away by emotion-again? I remember Theo’s trip to Arizona over Thanksgiving, coming back with the big prize, Curt Schilling. I remember the signing of then-premier closer Keith Foulke. I remember saying to my Red Sox fanatic brother, "If they don’t win it this year, they never will." He agreed with me. This was it, the biggest, most flagrant push we’d ever seen. But after all, this was still the Red Sox. We’d both been burned too often to get our hopes up monumentally. The sight of Jorge Posada standing on second base celebrating was far too fresh in our minds. I remember the agonizing drama that was Alex Rodriguez in the off season. I remember wondering when-not if-our new shortstop would be signed, and what would become of Manny and Nomar? I remember being blown away when it was announced that after all that, ARod was going to the Yankees. The Yankees. We’d been outfoxed again. (I also remember that Nomar seemingly never got over it, the fact that baseball, at its’ heart, is a serious business run by men, not boys). I remember the perfectly underwhelming first half of the season. Before anyone took the field, the buzz had been all about perhaps 110 wins this season (although hope had sprung eternal after a hot April, a true Red Sox fan always knows that is a sign of nothing-sooner or later our enthusiasm will be crushed along with our pennant hopes, usually not until much later in the season). Nobody was saying that now. Derek Lowe, never a paragon of consistency, was abysmal. Garciaparra was out again. Scott Williamson was turning out to be a wus. Curt Schilling and David Ortiz were carrying this team on their backs. These guys were the great white hope? Not so much, I thought, disappointed again. The Red Sox, by July, were unraveling in front of my eyes. I remember July 24, when Bronson Arroyo plunked Alex Rodriguez. I remember ARod barking at Arroyo going down the first base line, and I remember Varitek stuffing his glove into Rodriguez’ face and **** breaking loose afterwards. The game went into the bottom of the ninth, and was won by Bill Muellar with a homer off Mariano the great. I remember thinking, take that, you bastahds. Didn’t I hate those Yankees, who were still about ten games up in the standings. I remember watching Nomar Garciaparra walking out of the limo and into Chicago as its’ newest Cub, I think on ESPN the night the trade was announced. Holy ****, I thought. They traded Nomar. For all the trade talks and rumors, I never thought Nomar would ever play for anyone but the Red Sox. I was blown away, and also anxious. What was this bucket of balls he had been traded away for? An inferior shortstop and a guy with an impossible name? What the ****? Surely a 75% Nomar was worth more than either of these guys!! What was Theo Epstein thinking? Why put all this money into the team just to tear it down? I remember mid-August to mid-September. It was hard to believe I was watching the same team. The Red Sox won 25 of 30 games, reminding one of an earlier era of "Morgan magic." The Yankees were playing .500 during the same stretch…I remember going from 10 games back at the end of July to a mere two at the end of September. Of course, fool that I am, I was caught up, again, in Red Sox hysteria. I had forgotten cardinal rule #1 of being a Red Sox fan-The Red Sox always lose. I remember they made it through the first round of the playoffs with relative ease. Of course, it wouldn’t be the Red Sox without a little bit of drama, so ably handed to us in game 3 in the form of a late-inning game-tying grand slam from Vlad Guerrero and then, finally, a walk off homer off the bat of David Ortiz to clinch the series. But if the truth be known, I really wasn’t worried about dispatching the Angels. I knew that would happen, and it did. I remember keeping a very close eye on the Yankees-Twins series. I remember telling myself that I’d much rather the Red Sox face the Twins than the Yankees in the ALCS, because I just couldn’t go through again what I went through last year. Of course, I was lying to myself. I and the rest of the baseball loving world knew the path to redemption went through Yankee Stadium. But I kept trying to convince myself otherwise, until, of course, the Yanks finally dispatched the Twins. Then the adrenaline started. Out with the "Yankees ****!" hats! That lasted approximately…maybe three days, until after savior Schilling’s underwhelming performance in game one, and then the complete and total humiliation ON HOME SOIL that was game 3 (I’m still mad at FOX for doing a propaganda interview in the monster seats with Howie Long about football in the middle of such a slaughter). They didn’t deserve to win if they were going to put us through that, I thought. Before game 4 I remember saying to my dearest friend (whose baby’s first outfit was a little Red Sox sleeper), "I hope they lose tonight. Get it over with. I can’t take any more of this." She agreed. She was also the one I was talking to when we heard they had done a procedure on Schilling’s foot and he was going to come back for game 6. I said, "Who cares, if he can’t do anything better than what he did in game one?" Like so many Red Sox teams, this team was no different than the 85 losers that had preceded them. When it mattered most, they invariable let us down, and in agonizing fashion. This year was going to be no different. But still, I watched. Even though I knew they were going to lose again. I remember watching Dave Roberts score the game tying run after Bill Muellar had made the great Mariano look, as someone noted previously, "like Charlie Brown on the mound." I rememeber Papi’s walk off dramatics, but mostly I remember thinking, "Well, at least we weren’t swept. I hope they don’t clinch at Fenway." I still was laboring under no delusions that we would come back and win, but it was nice the guys showed some heart, finally. Especially Lowe. It’s about time he finally showed up this year, I thought. I remember pensively watching the last, late extra innings of game 5. Mariano the goat again! I remember watching David Ortiz foul off about 10 pitches before poking a hit into center field to score Johnny Damon. I remember Joe Buck’s words-"Damon running to the plate, and he can keep on running to New York!" For the first time since game 3, I allowed myself a little bit of hope. I remember looking at Curt’s sock and thinking, "What is that? Is that blood?" I remember the K-ALS he had written on his sneaker in anticipation of the attention his foot wou ld receive, and thinking it was kind of cool. I surely remember Alex Rodriguez slapping the ball out of Arroyo’s glove, and knew that’s what had happend before the umpires made their call. I was furious-Jeter scoring, Arod at second because he cheated, in front of everybody. I was distraught. I couldn’t believe this was the play that was going to end our season. I remember being positively elated when Joe West finally rung him up, and contemptuous as Arod stood there on second base with his arms out as if to say, "What? What did I do?" I remember thinking, The pathetic fraud! I remember my friend **** saying the next day, "No matter what, we’ll all be wiped out tomorrow morning, either because we’ve won a pennant or because we’ve been taken for a ride again." (I was getting up at 5:00 am every day to get to work, even though games weren’t ending until the wee hours sometimes. I also remember being very sleep deprived). I remember, even though game 7 was, by any measure, a blowout, not allowing myself to believe it was actually going to happen until the final out was recorded. This was the Red Sox and Yankees. I knew there was every chance in the world the Yankees were going to come back and put eight runs on the board in the last of the 9th with two outs. And then…it was over. Jason Varitek was in Alan Embree’s arms. "New York, New York" was blaring from the PA system. The Yankees were walking into their clubhouse, and the Red Sox and their fans were spilling out onto the field of Yankee Stadium as the winners of the AL pennant. I cried. No, in fact, I sobbed. It wouldn’t be the last time. I remember mostly that the Cardinals had no chance. A team with 105 wins during the regular season and they played as if they’d never seen a baseball diamond before. I remember marveling as Mark Bellhorn, of all people, hit his third home run in as many games. I remember Pedro finally-finally- looking like the Pedro of old, in what I knew was his last game in a Red Sox uniform. I remember David Ortiz, relentless, who seemingly had made it his personal crusade to exorcise the demons that lived inside every Red Sox fan old enough to say Carl Yastrzemski. I remember watching Derek Lowe and thinking, it’s like the high strung little boy became a man right in front of our eyes. I remember him saying after game 3, "I know a lot of times they’re waiting for us to stumble and fall. I hope they’re not waiting for us to stumble and fall now. I hope they’re excited…we’re one step away." I remember being more excited than I think I’d ever been in my life before game 4, and I will always remember the words of Joe Buck that night…"back to Foulke…Red Sox fans have longed to hear it! The Boston Red Sox are world champions!" I remember watching ESPN into the wee hours. I remember Boomer saying to Peter Gammons, who could barely contain himself on the panel, "Hey, Peter, did you hear? The Red Sox won the World Series," and Gammons answering, nearly through tears, "If you’re not from New England, you have no idea what this means." He was right, of course. This was our Bastille Day. I remember thinking that Peter Gammons symbolized a nation that night, and I cried. But not before calling everyone I knew. Did you hear? They won! Oh my freakin’ God, they won! Of course, I remember that they were all crying, too.