After an off century, the Boston Red Sox are making a little more of this one.
Sprung from their past, freed from the dramas and misfortunes that corroded a franchise seemingly born to be the New York Yankees’ valet, the Red Sox are world champions for the second time in four Octobers.
Remember when they’d settle for one, the now-I-can-die-in-peace era?
Turns out, you’ve lived long enough to witness the Red Sox as persistent winners, as budding dynasty, and just as the Yankees have fallen into a period of uncomfortable transition.
On Sunday night, about the time the Red Sox had their group hug at Coors Field, Scott Boras was spreading the news of Alex Rodriguez’s opt-out intentions, and Joe Torre was getting around to that honey-do list, and Mariano Rivera, Jorge Posada and Andy Pettitte probably weren’t sure if they were Yankees or not. The once veteran Yankees pitching staff seems sure to be decorated with the likes of Joba Chamberlain, Phil Hughes and Ian Kennedy, introducing growing pains to an organization that traditionally grows only payrolls.
And who’s going to play third in the Bronx? Mike Lowell? The Red Sox’s World Series MVP?
Not if the Colorado branch of Red Sox Nation has any say. More than an hour after Jonathan Papelbon blew that victory fastball past Seth Smith, fans bunched at the Red Sox dugout and chanted for their free-agent to be, singing, “Re-sign Lowell! Re-sign Lowell!”
