Heart of the Nation

I turned on the TV this morning to check the Red Sox score. Hazel Mae was speaking in reverent tones about baseball’s universal appreciation of David Ortiz. They cut to Terry Francona, post-game, looking completely drained and defeated. They interspersed clips of Reggie Lewis falling to the floor in a Celtics game and Tedy Bruschi talking about leaving the Patriots. Oh no. No. Oh my lord.

I held it together long enough to learn that Big Papi had been scratched from last night’s lineup at the last minute- not for the stomach flu as had been previously speculated- but because his heart was racing the way it had during the Yankee series when he went into the hospital for tests. Ultimately, Papi flew back home last night for more testing, therefore missing the entirety of the Oakland series, at least. Fair warning: I will personally kick the head of the first Boston sportswriter that suggests this might be the ghost of Jimmy Foxx trying to keep Ortiz from breaking his single-season team homer record.

When last night’s game started, I was both resigned and depressed. I hate excuses for poor performance- I’d rather just be angry and accepting, in rapid succession. But that Red Sox team yesterday was unrecognizable. If you were the opposition, and you got to pick five hitters that you felt could do the most damage- the five hitters you least wanted to face, you’d probably pick these guys: Manny, Papi, Trot Nixon, Jason Varitek, and Wily Mo Pena. You’d live with facing a lineup where your biggest threats were Kevin Youkilis and Mike Lowell. Well, Oakland got their wish last night. All five of those guys were out with one sort of ailment or another. Our DH last night was Mark Loretta and his gimpy quad. Youkilis played right field. Our catcher, first baseman, left fielder, and second baseman were all playing somewhere else as of a month ago.

The icing on the cake for Oakland’s dream scenario was Kason Gabbard. He didn’t fall apart, despite the really lousy field conditions and particularly mound conditions (Thanks, Al Davis!) but the ultimate result, a 9-0 victory over the Sox, was just about predestined. I’m a little sad about that, and I feel really bad for Terry Francona. This second half has been really hard to take. It’s been disappointing, frustrating, and sad.

But please, not this. Jerry Seinfeld famously pointed out that sports fans are really just “cheering for laundry” and whoever happens to be in your team’s uniform at any given time. This is different. Big Papi is different.

There’s a guy out here in Northeast Connecticut who drives around in a pickup truck with the license plate “TED 406” and a custom stencil job on the door that says “Ted Williams IS Baseball.” I thought he was a crackpot, and actually, I’m probably right. But his tense is wrong. Ted Williams WAS baseball. Now, it’s David Ortiz.

There is nobody who better embodies the joy, excitement, and possibility of this game than Big Papi. There is no one who can bring hope within the context of the game than Papi- the one player you feel gives you a shot at victory every night. To go even farther, there is no player I would ever root for if he put on pinstripes- no player but Papi.

So now, we can all just sit and wait and hope and pray. The season, at least this morning, at least this series, has completely fallen away below our feet. Please let him be ok. Please restore him to health. Restore him to his family. Restore him to his team. Restore him to the nation that needs him- the nation who knows the problem can't possibly be his heart.