The timing of this column is probably going to seem a little odd to you. This is just me thinking out loud about what we’ve been missing lately, in these doldrums over the last month or so.
Who’s the king of the Boston sports scene? Well, that’s a trick question, because the correct answer would be Tom Brady. But you’re not here to read about Tom Brady, because this is a baseball website. And by the same token, I’m not here to write about Tom Brady, because this is a baseball website. So who, after Brady?
Obviously, the answer isn’t going to be a Celtic or a Bruin or … Revolute … what the heck do you call one of those guys, anyway? Whatever, I don’t care, because you know the answer isn’t going to be a soccer player. And although even the Patriots can’t dim the luster on Tom Brady’s brilliant star, as a rule the Pats prefer to encourage the team concept: individuals don’t matter, the team does. So after the inimitable Mr. Brady, it’s pretty clear to me that the king of the Boston sports scene isn’t going to be another Patriot. Therefore, the answer has to be a member of the Red Sox.
Who, then? Is it the mammothly powerful David Ortiz, officially designated as the greatest clutch hitter in the history of the ancient ballclub? Is it the fabulously rich and equally talented future Hall-of-Famer, Manny Ramirez? Is it Curt Schilling, our Knight of the Bloody Sock? Is it Jon Papelbon, already a cult hero among Red Sox fans, not to mention fantasy baseball enthusiasts? Is it our venerated captain, Jason Varitek?
None of the above. Who is the Reddest Red Sock of them all? Gentlemen, I give you Tim Wakefield.
He goes about his business.
If you didn’t know any better, you might assume the man to be just another ballplayer, one of the guys. You might assume that, and you’d be wrong. Because Wakefield is special. In a city where it’s a time-honored tradition to demand much of our athletes, no matter how great they might be, Wakefield is the man who can do no wrong.
The elder statesman of the Boston Red Sox, Wakefield is greatly loved by the fans. He is, in fact, the man after whom this website is named. Scroll down the page a little and look at the right sidebar. You’ll find several pictures there, Wakefield’s among them. Timmy was the original Firebrand of the American League. Deservedly so.
He’s loved on the field. He’s loved off the field.
You think I’m crazy. If there’s anybody whose star can rival Brady’s, then surely Ortiz, if anybody, is the king of the heap in Boston?
Ortiz is very well-loved. I don’t think he’s hurting here. He might even like it here a little. But the thing is, nobody has had any reason to knock Ortiz. Who wouldn’t love the man? It’s a no-brainer. All he does is hit the ball, usually very hard, and frequently out of the park. He often does so at critical moments when either the game or the season is on the line. His performance in a Red Sox uniform has been, in a word, impeccable.
Literally. So how can you tell what the city of Boston really thinks about him? Lest you forget, once upon a time we loved goofball Kevin Millar too, back when he still knew how to swing a bat.
Wakefield is the man universally admired and loved. By the fans. By the franchise, who accorded him the unheard-of privilege of a perpetual contract, the equivalent of a lifetime achievement award and a ringing character endorsement combined in monetary form.
But the proof is in the pudding, I say. What makes Wakefield different from any other sports figure in Boston is the acceptance he gets with the media.
I don’t care who you are, the Boston media is a tough crowd to please. The media had an infamously rocky relationship with Ted Williams — Ted Williams, for godssakes! They were prickly with Rice. They rode Roger. They rode Pedro mercilessly. They rode Nomar right outta town. They ride Manny for his lapses. Even Schilling gets his digs: he talks too much, he’s conceited, he takes the unpopular political platform, etc.
I don’t care how perfect you are, how many Cy Youngs you rack up, how many batting titles you win: the Boston sportswriters never forget. They never forgive, and they never forget. If they have a reason to dislike you, you will never be free from their ire.
And here’s the key. Ortiz is a charismatic figure who posts great numbers and always seems to come through in the clutch, so who wouldn’t like him? You couldn’t dream up a better ballplayer. But Tim Wakefield isn’t perfect — far from it. He’s a good pitcher, consistent from year to year, reliable, a hardnosed baseball player, but he’s nobody’s ace. You can count on him to be average or slightly better. Usually not more. Usually not less. Unlike Ortiz, he certainly hasn’t distinguished himself in his postseason heroics, with the notable exception of 2003, when (I’m still convinced) he would have won the ALCS MVP award, had we beaten the Yankees.
And yet it’s one of his postseason performances that best exemplifies Tim Wakefield, the spirit that makes the man who makes us proud. You know which game I mean, too. The ALCS game at Fenway in ’04 where the Yankees were stomping us silly and Wakefield — scheduled to start the next game in the series — offered himself as the sacrificial lamb. To take some weight off the rest of the pitching staff. So we would have a chance to win another day. Which we did.
The rest is history. And Wakefield was instrumental later in the series, too. But nobody in New England will ever forget that night in the Fens when Wakefield was the most selfless man in the world.
Bill Buckner once muffed a critical groundball in the playoffs, and to this day his name is an object of scorn to Red Sox fans. Tim Wakefield once surrendered a walkoff homerun in the playoffs, to the hated Yankees no less, and I doubt a single person in New England holds it against him.
Universally loved. Universally respected.
He’s not greedy. He makes a middle-of-the-road salary, though no doubt he could make more if he wanted to. He doesn’t. He’s happy to have the security of knowing that he will finish out his career in a place he can call home. He never gripes. He’s rarely — really almost never — hurt. He shows up to Spring Training in shape every year and runs out his drills dutifully, less like a tenured veteran and franchise elder statesman than a rookie unsure of a guaranteed spot in the rotation. He has good stretches and bad stretches, but the good stretches always outweigh the bad stretches in the end. He takes everything philosophically, never getting too down when things aren’t going well, never getting too high when things are going according to the script. He’s constantly notable for his charitable endeavors and other volunteer work in the community.
He has the respect of his teammates and fellow-players. He has the respect of his coaches. He has the respect of his organization. He has the respect of the media. He has the respect of the fans. None of this is contingent upon his performance on the field. It’s contingent upon one thing, and one thing only: Tim Wakefield being Tim Wakefield.
Brady is loved because he wins. Ortiz is loved because he hits homers. Wakefield is loved because he’s Tim Wakefield. I dunno about you, but I simply can’t imagine a better scenario than that. Tim Wakefield, I say, is a king in Boston. A king by popular election. A king by right. And a king by merit, too.
