Hey, Henry & Lucchino! Stoop Down and smell your Sox

If you are expecting that the Red Sox will make a significant trade before the deadline, ask your doctor to adjust your medication.  If you cannot smell the Red Sox, ask the doctor for a prescription for a decongestant.

The only “ace” on the market, Greinke, is now an Angel and unless the Fenway Brain Truss acquires a proven ace, like Felix Hernandez, let the Youth Movement Games begin.

The Sox are still adrift in the “Doldrums of September,” when Captain Bigelow Tea-To went MIA and the Three Pitchers of Beer left the bridge for the galley. The B-movie script, where a new Captain at the helm charges in to “shape up” the crew, became ridiculous when players became Spoiled Millionaires.

Simply declaring that the team has “turned the page” did not change the subtext of spiteful resistance and subtle sabotage; the Three Pitchers of Beer have managed to contribute 10 wins and 17 losses; maybe Lester is trying too hard; maybe Beckett is subconsciously undermining himself. Maybe. But, the price for each win was about $3 million.

"In 1933, Tom Yawkey bought the franchise for $1.2 million."

Gentle Ben is paralyzed by denial; he cannot admit that his first season as GM is already over.
Maybe the owner and the CEO are “ready and willing” to try to give the Sox a shot at the Playoffs, but they are certainly not “able.” Making money does not qualify a person to own and run a Major league baseball franchise; nor does it make a MLB Commissioner.

But, no worries, for the depressing duration of this season, the Millionaire and the CEO will be happy to sell out games —and the Fenway Faithful.

Once the fans have filled their seats and their coffers, the Brain Truss will roll out the “Youth Movement” marketing plan.

Maybe call it the “Next Generation Champion Red Sox.” ©EarlNash. Ben could then take a look at keeping his top prospects and trade to fill holes accordingly.

While Ben will be glad to “move on” to a new management solution, Bobby Valentine may move back to putting his baseball knowledge, intelligence, and linguistic loquaciousness to better use, resuming his career as MLB Media Maven.

The root of  what’s rotten with the Red Sox is NOT a risk-adverse, maiden-voyage GM, or even Bigelow Tea-To for allowing a fecund field for team necrosis, or Valentine unable to fumigate the melodrama malaise in the clubhouse, or even the complete failure of Beckett and Lester; the problem is the Fenway Brain Truss [John Henry and Larry Lucchino], who are out of their league, and allowed a pustule to form and fester, until the putrid odor spread over Red Sox Nation.

If you are stuck with Red Sox tickets and you must go the Fenway, take a clothes pin for your nose and point at John Henry and Larry in their air-conditioned luxury box.
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