BRING OUT THE FIVE IRON
By Bill Smith
When I was younger, I foolishly thought that playing golf would be fun, so I bought some cheap clubs, took a couple of lessons from an old pro(?) whose time had certainly come and gone, if it every came in the first place. Armed with my new found knowledge, spiffy clothes and a bag of 8 clubs, I hit the links. Lo and behold, one of life’s hard lessons was about to be learned. I stunk to the point the driving range paid me to stay away. I plugged along, reinforcing the definition of insanity expecting different results from doing the same thing ( a lot) .
With my innate impatience and temperament I quickly reached the club bending stage. Constant disappointment is not good for the pyche; but in my Sisyphean quest, I did find a bright light.. The five iron, however, is not such a demanding mistress. Continuing with that metaphor, you might say it was closer to being a lady of the evening. The five iron.
Most golf clubs are unforgiving and are engineered to maximize your embarrassment for the tiniest of mechanical errors. Not so with a five iron. When you strike a ball with a five iron, it doesn’t go that far but you get a golf shot that is pretty to look at, doesn’ slice, hook or burn worms. You feel inspired, rejuvenated-you can actually play this game. The problem arises when you realize this heady feeling of success is ephemeral and with any other club you still stink. So over time, to keep myself from leaping from the precipice over a game that was supposed to be fun, when things got particularly frustrating, I would take out my trusty five iron and it and I hit beautiful golf shot.I Its contextual uselessness mattered not. It felt good. It kept me going. It was sunshine on a rainy day.
If you replace my golf game with the Red Sox’s attempts at righting a rudderless ship, the analogy is disturbingly apropos. We need good news. We need to regain our swagger. It has become painfully clear that the Red Sox organization is in for a rough off season. Instead of seizing the day however, the day has seized the front office . We are inundated with news of the devaluation of the team, vacuous leadership decisions, exposure to public ridicule-doom, gloom, agony and despair. The time has come for management to dust off its own old five iron and use it to gain a little self respect.
Since the end of the season, I have not been able to find one truly positive story about us and it’s beginning to doubtful that I will any time soon. So, you guy upstairs, do something, anything good. Give us some good, positive news. Show us some spunk. If Tim Wakefield wants to threaten to take his talents elsewhere. Let him. Remind him of what we lost by waiting for him win 200 games. David Ortiz has been an outstanding hitter, the key words are “has been”. He’s old and odds are that his effectiveness will dissipate to our detriment next year. We need retooling and sentimentality should not cause any pause in making the necessary, albeit, painful decisions. If popularity were the deciding factor, Johnny Pesky would still be playing. Please recall that these players have been paid millions of dollars over the years. They ain’t gonna hit the welfare role any time soon. If only management, those who must be obeyed, can make a decision, even a tiny one, that is sensible and positive, a beam of light would herald good news and start to staunch this spate of bad ink. Oh Captain, my captain. Take note. If we do not get some good news, any good news, in the very near future, you had best ready your petard for hoisting.
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