SK: Last night’s win was just about as ugly as they get. I’ll take .500 on the road, especially on the West Coast, but we had a chance to come back 4-2, and in much better shape. I’m reading Moneyball now, and it’s really a jaw-dropping book. Lewis asserts, with no reservations whatever, that Art Howe is no more than the ventriloquist’s dummy on Billy Beane’s knee. Which leads me to wonder if that is now true in Boston—i.e., if Terry Francona is the dummy on Theo Epstein’s knee. And, if Epstein is following the Beane paradigm, then our team is in middling good shape assuming Theo is planning trades before the deadline. Beane feels good if he can go into the second half of the season six or less back. Still, I don’t buy into everything the book suggests, either from the standpoint of strategy, and certainly not from the standpoint of business morality.

SO: My main argument with Moneyball is that the modest success of the A’s is based on Mulder, Hudson and Zito, and it’s pretty much a matter of luck that they came up at the same time and fulfilled the scouts’ expectations. So many prospects don’t, but these three did. Otherwise, the no-running, no-fielding, big OBP club has trouble scoring when it doesn’t hit three-run home runs—hey, just like us! Billy Beane’s always crowing about his genius, but look at the Twins, who’ve put together a better, steadier club with even less money. They’ve lost core guys like Eric Milton and A. J. Pierzynski, yet they keep on keepin’ on. And for a solid club that knows how to play the game, I’ll take the smallball Angels any day, even with their terrible starters.

SK: I disagree. They were a certain type of ballplayer, picked for talent and affordability. And in the case of Zito, the scouts hated him. He was Beane’s pick.

All that aside, this year’s Red Sox team is a sick entity right now, and I hate it. I keep going back in my mind to one of those games versus the Angels. We’re down by at least three runs, and maybe five. There are two out, and the Angels pitcher is struck wild. There are two on for us and Pokey at the plate. He puts on a heroic at-bat, finally drawing a walk to load them for Johnny Damon, who swings at the first pitch he sees—the first motherfucking pitch he sees!—and lines out to center. The fielder didn’t even have to take a step. That’s just deer-in-the-head-lights baseball. Something going on around here, what it is ain’t precisely clear…but I’m not lovin’ it.