The Nomar Entry
I was never a great fan of Nomar Garciaparra, but Boston was. The city of Boston loved Nomar, perhaps more than they loved the Red Sox themselves. Maybe it was Ted Williams who began the decade-long love affair, when he bestowed Nomar with his blessing to be the greatest player - even better than himself - for the Sox. I don't know what started it; maybe it was just his raw talent. When he won the Rookie of the Year in 1997, he could beat the other team at hitting, fielding, running, strength, mentality, you name it, he was better at it.
He won the batting title twice, he shattered so many records held by former Red Sox players, he flirted with .400. He held batting clinics in Boston during the off-season, he held the Nomar Bowl, he set up charity funds, he had the Dunkin' Donuts dugout. Every kid in New England owned a Nomar jersey. Girls who didn't know the difference between a baseball and Tiffany's diamond at least knew enough to get a tiny pink Nomar t-shirt. The infamous J.P. Licks' Cherry Garciaparra. They were practically ready to leave a space between retired numbers 4 and 8, ready for Nomar's 5 when the day would come. Somewhere, between his rookie of the year season and last October, Boston adopted Nomah as their treasured icon.
Then it all went wrong.
There are two sides to every story, but this one seems especially complicated. Did the Sox get too greedy? Suddenly, when Alex Rodriguez became "available," Nomar no longer mattered. I had an analogy a while back, comparing Nomar to a guy not interested in a desperate girl. Someone commented on that. "You make it seem like the girl was totally devoted to the guy in that scenario, that she just wasn't picking up the clues. But it's not like that. To be a true comparison, the girl would have to be seriously contemplating on cheating on her boyfriend, and her boyfriend would have to find out in the school newspaper or something cheesy like that." And aside from the fact that only in Saved by the Bell were these gossip items actually published in a newspaper (actually on that shitty radio program hosted by none other than Zack and company - did you notice, by the way, how in every high school show, the characters run everything? Zack ran the school store, the radio station, the yearbook, etc. and David Silver ran the radio station on 90210... I'm getting distracted.) Bottom line: The Sox were ready to ship off Nomar last December. It wasn't a change of heart that had Theo keeping Nomar around. It was, as it always is in baseball, about money: the deal with A-Rod fell through. So, to revise, in a way, it's as though the girl said, "I like the guy I'm with, but you know, I really like Steve. So I'll go after Steve. Please Steve, date me. PLEASE. No? Umm, okay. I'll go back to Mike. Mike, I love you buddy, you are the best. You just hadn't been paying much attention to me, but now I'm back, so love me again." So I suppose the Sox, being the girl in the scenario, take some responsibility. Not surprisingly, Nomar wasn't that quick to forgive the Sox, and I doubt Mike would be all that crazy about picking up with that girl again. (The names Mike and Steve have no significance, and I'm a little worried about the detail of the analogy.)
There's the other side, that says Nomar rejected a 4-year, $60 million dollar contract back in the winter, after the 2003 season, when even Angry Bill was optimistic and excited about the upcoming season. Kevin Millar maybe said it best: "He turned down $60 million dollars. That's a lot of money each season. That says something about happiness." Okay, so maybe that wasn't saying it BEST, but coming from a teammate, even one as outspoken and candid as Millar, you have to assume that it's at some level being more polite than honest. In other words, Millar was really saying, "Nomah's not gonna feel like cowboyin up for us anytime soon." The press depicted Nomar as miserable, his departure after the 2004 season inevitable. Dan Shaughnessy wrote that Michael Moore would be happier to attend a Bush family reunion than Nomar was playing with the Sox.
I don't know. Part of me wants to believe that Nomar would have signed with the Sox after 2004, that he would have seen how much love Boston has shown him, how much they want to give to him. But the realistic part of me knows that was impossible: Nomar wasn't coming back. Nomar was never very outgoing with the media, but this season, he's barely been quoted in any reporter's column. He's rarely smiled while in the dugout, or while at-bat. When the team beat the Yankees last Saturday in dramatic fashion, it might have been the first time I'd seen Nomar excited this season.
Does that make him a bad guy? Shaughnessy seems to think so. In his column Sunday, he wrote, "He can say whatever he wants in front of the camera and he can flash that insincere smile, but make no mistake: he hates Boston and he hates the Red Sox and you should be glad that he's gone. If you are a Red Sox fan, he is not your friend." I hate to believe it, but it feels better. It makes the pain of having Nomar gone a little less intense when I can think that he hated Boston, that he didn't want anything to do with the people who loved him so much.
But I can't convince myself of that. I believe that Nomar hated the Red Sox organization for trying to trade him. But who wouldn't? The Sox and Nomar (okay, Nomah) are synonymous. He helps the popularity of the team, no doubt. Change that. He helped. It's tough. I can't imagine a Sox team without Nomar. I was sure he was going to end his career - many, many years from now, and with a ring to show for it - with the Red Sox.
Instead, he leaves. Shaughnessy was so quick to condemn the guy, to bring up his pessimism, his isolation in the clubhouse, his extended injury. But a month ago, he was writing a different column. Nomar had a grand slam for the Sox, but Shaughnessy was more impressed by Nomar's contribution off the field: Nomar had bought a widescreen tv for a homeless shelter, where four men gathered religiously to watch their Red Sox. Say what you will about the guy, but my guess is that the four men will miss watching number 5 on the TV he provided for them, when they next gather to watch the Sox.
I don't think the Sox will miss Nomar as a hitter or a shortstop. After the 2001 season, he went from being the best to being one of the best. The Jeter-Nomar argument got tired, because someone could just shout "A-Rod!" and that was that. When Nomar sat on the bench and watched the now-infamous Jeter dive into the stands, it became clear to everyone that Nomar Garciaparra, the baseball player, was fading. Whether it was his attitude or his injury or his general skill that had taninted him, it seemed like it wasn't going away. Now, not surprisingly, nobody's all that shocked at the Nomar trade. You have to get something for him, everyone says. He was leaving, they say. Better to get Doug Mientkiewicz (good luck to the people learning to spell that) and Orlando Cabrera than nothing in the fall. And I have to agree.
But at the same time, I can't imagine the Sox without Nomar. Perhaps more precisely, I can't imagine Nomar without the Sox. I went to the Cubs website today and saw Nomar in a Cubs uniform and hat. The catcher already wore Number 5, so Nomar had to settle for Number 8. It wasn't right. He's not home, it seems. Boston was his home. Maybe your home isn't perfect, maybe you hate some of the rules, maybe you hate some of the chores, maybe some days you want to go anywhere but there, but at some point, at some deep level, it's your home. Something draws you back. I like to think that Boston is a home for Nomar. It's not perfect, and he has had some rough days, but when it was all over, Boston loved him. Even at the height of the trade rumors, people weren't ready to give up their icon. Even then, when the management dangled A-Rod in front of us, we weren't biting. Not all of us. You can't trade Nomar, people said. He is the Red Sox. You can't change that, not even if you write bad stories about him, not even if you ship him to Chicago and convince the fans that he would have walked anyhow. It doesn't matter. There was love for Nomar in Boston - pure, untainted, overwhelming love.
I hope that when Nomar returns to Boston, as a player from any major league team, that Boston remembers this love. And when Nomar comes back to Fenway Park, whether as a part of the Cubs, Dodgers, Angels, or, yes, even the Yankees, I hope that Boston welcomes him back home. It's not as cut-and-dry or black-and-white as the Sox management and Boston media want you to believe. The Nomar story is tied with all sorts of mitigating factors, some of which cloud good judgment and rationale. But, in the end, I hope that Red Sox fans don't forget the parts of the story that made Nomar become Nomah, that made him become the face of the Red Sox, and that ultimately made him an irreplaceable part of Boston's heart.
Sometimes, hearts choose to love money-hungry assholes. That's just how it is.
He won the batting title twice, he shattered so many records held by former Red Sox players, he flirted with .400. He held batting clinics in Boston during the off-season, he held the Nomar Bowl, he set up charity funds, he had the Dunkin' Donuts dugout. Every kid in New England owned a Nomar jersey. Girls who didn't know the difference between a baseball and Tiffany's diamond at least knew enough to get a tiny pink Nomar t-shirt. The infamous J.P. Licks' Cherry Garciaparra. They were practically ready to leave a space between retired numbers 4 and 8, ready for Nomar's 5 when the day would come. Somewhere, between his rookie of the year season and last October, Boston adopted Nomah as their treasured icon.
Then it all went wrong.
There are two sides to every story, but this one seems especially complicated. Did the Sox get too greedy? Suddenly, when Alex Rodriguez became "available," Nomar no longer mattered. I had an analogy a while back, comparing Nomar to a guy not interested in a desperate girl. Someone commented on that. "You make it seem like the girl was totally devoted to the guy in that scenario, that she just wasn't picking up the clues. But it's not like that. To be a true comparison, the girl would have to be seriously contemplating on cheating on her boyfriend, and her boyfriend would have to find out in the school newspaper or something cheesy like that." And aside from the fact that only in Saved by the Bell were these gossip items actually published in a newspaper (actually on that shitty radio program hosted by none other than Zack and company - did you notice, by the way, how in every high school show, the characters run everything? Zack ran the school store, the radio station, the yearbook, etc. and David Silver ran the radio station on 90210... I'm getting distracted.) Bottom line: The Sox were ready to ship off Nomar last December. It wasn't a change of heart that had Theo keeping Nomar around. It was, as it always is in baseball, about money: the deal with A-Rod fell through. So, to revise, in a way, it's as though the girl said, "I like the guy I'm with, but you know, I really like Steve. So I'll go after Steve. Please Steve, date me. PLEASE. No? Umm, okay. I'll go back to Mike. Mike, I love you buddy, you are the best. You just hadn't been paying much attention to me, but now I'm back, so love me again." So I suppose the Sox, being the girl in the scenario, take some responsibility. Not surprisingly, Nomar wasn't that quick to forgive the Sox, and I doubt Mike would be all that crazy about picking up with that girl again. (The names Mike and Steve have no significance, and I'm a little worried about the detail of the analogy.)
There's the other side, that says Nomar rejected a 4-year, $60 million dollar contract back in the winter, after the 2003 season, when even Angry Bill was optimistic and excited about the upcoming season. Kevin Millar maybe said it best: "He turned down $60 million dollars. That's a lot of money each season. That says something about happiness." Okay, so maybe that wasn't saying it BEST, but coming from a teammate, even one as outspoken and candid as Millar, you have to assume that it's at some level being more polite than honest. In other words, Millar was really saying, "Nomah's not gonna feel like cowboyin up for us anytime soon." The press depicted Nomar as miserable, his departure after the 2004 season inevitable. Dan Shaughnessy wrote that Michael Moore would be happier to attend a Bush family reunion than Nomar was playing with the Sox.
I don't know. Part of me wants to believe that Nomar would have signed with the Sox after 2004, that he would have seen how much love Boston has shown him, how much they want to give to him. But the realistic part of me knows that was impossible: Nomar wasn't coming back. Nomar was never very outgoing with the media, but this season, he's barely been quoted in any reporter's column. He's rarely smiled while in the dugout, or while at-bat. When the team beat the Yankees last Saturday in dramatic fashion, it might have been the first time I'd seen Nomar excited this season.
Does that make him a bad guy? Shaughnessy seems to think so. In his column Sunday, he wrote, "He can say whatever he wants in front of the camera and he can flash that insincere smile, but make no mistake: he hates Boston and he hates the Red Sox and you should be glad that he's gone. If you are a Red Sox fan, he is not your friend." I hate to believe it, but it feels better. It makes the pain of having Nomar gone a little less intense when I can think that he hated Boston, that he didn't want anything to do with the people who loved him so much.
But I can't convince myself of that. I believe that Nomar hated the Red Sox organization for trying to trade him. But who wouldn't? The Sox and Nomar (okay, Nomah) are synonymous. He helps the popularity of the team, no doubt. Change that. He helped. It's tough. I can't imagine a Sox team without Nomar. I was sure he was going to end his career - many, many years from now, and with a ring to show for it - with the Red Sox.
Instead, he leaves. Shaughnessy was so quick to condemn the guy, to bring up his pessimism, his isolation in the clubhouse, his extended injury. But a month ago, he was writing a different column. Nomar had a grand slam for the Sox, but Shaughnessy was more impressed by Nomar's contribution off the field: Nomar had bought a widescreen tv for a homeless shelter, where four men gathered religiously to watch their Red Sox. Say what you will about the guy, but my guess is that the four men will miss watching number 5 on the TV he provided for them, when they next gather to watch the Sox.
I don't think the Sox will miss Nomar as a hitter or a shortstop. After the 2001 season, he went from being the best to being one of the best. The Jeter-Nomar argument got tired, because someone could just shout "A-Rod!" and that was that. When Nomar sat on the bench and watched the now-infamous Jeter dive into the stands, it became clear to everyone that Nomar Garciaparra, the baseball player, was fading. Whether it was his attitude or his injury or his general skill that had taninted him, it seemed like it wasn't going away. Now, not surprisingly, nobody's all that shocked at the Nomar trade. You have to get something for him, everyone says. He was leaving, they say. Better to get Doug Mientkiewicz (good luck to the people learning to spell that) and Orlando Cabrera than nothing in the fall. And I have to agree.
But at the same time, I can't imagine the Sox without Nomar. Perhaps more precisely, I can't imagine Nomar without the Sox. I went to the Cubs website today and saw Nomar in a Cubs uniform and hat. The catcher already wore Number 5, so Nomar had to settle for Number 8. It wasn't right. He's not home, it seems. Boston was his home. Maybe your home isn't perfect, maybe you hate some of the rules, maybe you hate some of the chores, maybe some days you want to go anywhere but there, but at some point, at some deep level, it's your home. Something draws you back. I like to think that Boston is a home for Nomar. It's not perfect, and he has had some rough days, but when it was all over, Boston loved him. Even at the height of the trade rumors, people weren't ready to give up their icon. Even then, when the management dangled A-Rod in front of us, we weren't biting. Not all of us. You can't trade Nomar, people said. He is the Red Sox. You can't change that, not even if you write bad stories about him, not even if you ship him to Chicago and convince the fans that he would have walked anyhow. It doesn't matter. There was love for Nomar in Boston - pure, untainted, overwhelming love.
I hope that when Nomar returns to Boston, as a player from any major league team, that Boston remembers this love. And when Nomar comes back to Fenway Park, whether as a part of the Cubs, Dodgers, Angels, or, yes, even the Yankees, I hope that Boston welcomes him back home. It's not as cut-and-dry or black-and-white as the Sox management and Boston media want you to believe. The Nomar story is tied with all sorts of mitigating factors, some of which cloud good judgment and rationale. But, in the end, I hope that Red Sox fans don't forget the parts of the story that made Nomar become Nomah, that made him become the face of the Red Sox, and that ultimately made him an irreplaceable part of Boston's heart.
Sometimes, hearts choose to love money-hungry assholes. That's just how it is.
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