In Praise of Tito

“The players make the manager, it's never the other way.”
Sparky Anderson

At the risk of sounding ridiculous; Terry Francona did a hell of a job this year.

I’m not just saying this because he managed to get the Red Sox into the postseason. Even if they’d lost 2-of-3 to the Yankees last weekend and Cleveland swept Chicago and all the Sox players were busy with their agents trying to weasel out of appearing on “The Red Sox Celebrity Cruise,” I’d be saying the same thing.

Francona got a 95-win season out of roster comprised of a leadoff hitter, two sluggers, nitwits at the end of their careers, batting practice pitchers, waiver-wire signees, injury-prone veterans, free agent busts and a dozen Pawtucket call-ups. Tito made a decent meal out of the Alpo that was in his grocery bag this year, and for that he deserves credit.

I admit it sounds odd to hear that from any Sox fan. I don’t owe Francona anything. I’m not one of the beat writers who are afraid of cheesing off the manager because they have to face him in his office everyday. And I’m not some glad-handling talk show host who won’t rip him because he comes on the show once a week. If everyone in Sox Nation wants to tear him a new butt after every loss, be my guest. I’ve got no dog in the fight. But I’ve seen bad managing before (I lived through the Don Zimmer Era), and this isn’t it.

But for the most part, when fans have jumped ugly on Tito they’ve been dead wrong. Consider the Sox bullpen. The strength of the 2004 champs was their starting rotation, their left-and right-handed setup guys, and their closer. Easily ninety percent of the team’s problems this year can be traced directly to the horrible state of their relief corps. You can argue all season (believe me, most of the people I talk to have) about how the manager didn’t bring in the right guy at the right time, and that’s why they lose.

And all year long my question has been, “What right guy?” Who exactly has been getting the job done? Last week I blew a pint of coffee out my nose because a guy said, “Why didn’t he bring Jeremi Gonzalez in the fifth inning? He’s been getting the job done all year.“ He has? Where was I? Who were Tito’s reliable options? Have I been missing diamonds hidden in the dog crap that’s been coming out of the bullpen since April?

Francona didn’t come into the year saying, “Hey, guys, you know that way I used you last year…and you know how that won us a championship…well this year, we’re gonna do everything different!” He started out the year going completely by the book. In the eighth inning he went to Mike Timlin against righties and Alan Embree against lefties. Timlin did well. Embree, in an amazing coincidence, observed the first year of steroid testing by losing three feet off his fastball. From Opening Day on, Embree pitched like he was Eddie Cicotte throwing the 1919 World Series.

Then there was Keith Foulke. Francona handled him exactly the way he did last year, when he had one of the all-time great Octobers. Unfortunately, it took the manager about two weeks to realize that every time Foulke came through the bullpen gate to put out a fire, he was carrying lighter fluid. By then, Embree and Foulke had combined to blow about ten leads, Curt Schilling was on the disabled list and the weakness at middle relief had been exposed. This started a chain reaction that lasted all season. By September, the Sox pitching staff was like the German army in 1945, with 65-year-old men (think Mike Stanton) and teenage boys (Craig Hansen) being pressed into combat wearing uniforms that were ten sizes too big for them.

Like Tito, Mike Scioscia won 95 games with the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim of Orange County of California. He did it with Francisco Rodriguez (45 saves) being set up by Kelvim Escobar (45 hits in 59.2 innings) and Scot Shields (98 Ks). Let’s see him do that with Lenny DiNardo, Chad Harville and Mike Remlinger.

Of course, this is the Red Sox, so 162 games of pitching staff chaos is only one problem out of hundreds Francona had to face. Kevin Millar is still playing, but his bat retired over the winter without telling anyone. But sitting him down isn’t the obvious solution. One, because an unhappy Millar is always a threat to rip apart a tight-knit team. And two, because the Karaoke Kowboy’s bat slumps and comes back more than John Travolta’s career. So Francona stuck with him, hoping “Look Who’s Talking Too” would turn into “Pulp Fiction.” In August he briefly heated up to “Get Shorty” -level, but then it was back to “Battlefield Earth” and he finished with only 9 HRs and 50 RBI.

Another problem was the one can’t-miss, blue chip big free agent sign the club made last winter. Not that Renteria was terrible. But forgive Sox fans if we grade on the curve here. I always thought he was a pretty good shortstop, but the way Theo and the Trio went after this guy, I for one was waiting to be dazzled. I‘m still waiting. It’s fair to say he’s been a disappointment, a 99 Restaurant meal at Morton’s prices. Hell, none of us in good conscience could even chant “Ed-gar’s bettah.”

Even the few guys who did step up and have great seasons presented problems for Francona. Johnny Damon had possibly the best year of his career, and proved that he’s a certifiable tough guy. But for every time he ran into an outfield wall this season, he ran into a bank of microphones and talked about how disappointed he is with his contract talks and how much he’d love to play in (Your Town’s Name Here). When he talked about his contract to the NY Post in the last week of the season, it probably made it a two-pouches-of-Red-Man day for Tito.

David Ortiz developed a troublesome knack for bitching about called strikes and talking too much about the MVP, but I’m picking nits. He’s simply the best clutch hitter I’ve ever seen. And if Francona had hit him behind Manny in the batting order like Ortiz wanted, he would have seen his last good pitch to hit around Mother’s Day.

And of course, one of the key items on the job description for any Red Sox manager is to be the ringmaster of the Cirque de Ramirez. When Manny had his typical mid-season nervous breakdown, Francona handled it properly. Some people wouldn’t have been satisfied if he did anything less than toss Manny out of the Hood blimp. But Francona verbally slapped him just enough, sat him down for a couple of games, then brought him in to win a game when we needed him.

So this Bud’s for you, Terry Francona, for a great regular season. I’ve got your back. For now. Mess up in the playoffs and I’ll be jumping on you along with everyone else.