Red Sox Rule by Michael Holley

Author:Michael Holley [Holley, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780061630811
Google: zwEtSw1aw1QC
Amazon: B0046LUEGE
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2009-03-24T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 7

Breakthrough

Hey, how’s your dad?”

No matter where they were or what was at stake between their teams, their conversations always began the same way. Joe Torre would ask Terry Francona about his father, and the son would tell Tito that a former teammate was saying something nice about him. Torre and Francona would have their talks on the phone or sometimes in person, but usually out of fan and media view. They knew what the script was supposed to be, and if people knew how much genuine respect they had for each other—that they actually cared about the well-being of family members—hell, that just might ruin the whole movie.

They’d check in before a series began, before all the drama and storylines sucked them in, too. They’d keep it light, encourage each other with caveats—“Joe, I don’t want you to win, but I wish you well”—and then get into their Yankees and Red Sox characters.

Torre would be sitting in the dugout with his blue Yankees cap pulled low, the brim straight-out-of-the-box stiff, and his arms folded over his chest. On warm days, when he wasn’t wearing his jacket with “Yankees” scripted across the front, you could see the watch on his wrist; as epic as some of the Yankees–Red Sox games were, who could blame Joe for keeping track of his hours? Whenever he decided to take a trip to the mound, his steps often seemed robotic, like a machine that needs its hinges oiled.

“Joe, you look like shit,” Francona once kidded him. “You walk the way I feel.”

At Fenway, Francona could be found sitting near the dugout stairs. He’d have a huge wad of tobacco, neatly wrapped in bubble gum, stuffed in his jaw. He’d watch the game and also rock to it. He’d have on a red fleece jacket, which he wears now to stay warm, but in Philadelphia he wore it because it infuriated his critics. “It could be a thousand degrees and I’d have it on,” he said. “I wore it because I knew it pissed people off. That’s stupid, but that’s how it all began; the more it aggravated people, the more I wore it.”

Torre and Francona would take their positions and rarely glance in the other dugout. They both knew the history of the series: one Yankees–Red Sox game in 1978 capped a huge collapse for Torre’s close friend Don Zimmer, who was Boston’s manager; one game in 2003 had become the tipping point for Red Sox ownership and upper management to bring in Francona; four games the next year led to the greatest comeback—or collapse—in baseball history; and five games in 2006 had inspired the Red Sox to spend so much money that they wound up outbidding the Yankees—outbidding the Yankees!—by $18 million for the right to negotiate with Matsuzaka.

Neither manager ever came into these games unprepared. As friendly as they were, they were constantly looking for the edge that would make a difference in a close game or the inevitable close season series.

As

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