Francona: The Red Sox Years (34 page)

The manager won the cribbage tournament.

The nocturnal Henry prowled around the plane for much of the flight. When the plane approached airspace over Alaska, Henry went to the upper cabin, where the press was seated, to better view the Northern Lights.

Flying over the North Pole, following the instructions of his medical team, a sleepy, hydrated Francona left his seat to stretch his legs. While he was walking toward the back of the plane, he passed a sleeping, reclined Dr. Ronan, who was wearing a Zorro mask and had two empty mini-bottles of wine on his tray table. So much for no alcohol and staying awake on the flight.

“That will always be my favorite memory of the Japan trip,” said Francona.

The Sox were given a day to assimilate to the time change, then played the two exhibition games, winning both. There were a lot of appearances for the manager and players. A lot of people bowing, just like in 2005, but this time it was a cultural exchange.

One local custom caught Francona by surprise when his eighth-grade daughter took a bullet train with Sue Farrell and Luke Farrell, the wife and young son of the Red Sox pitching coach. The Americans went to a natural hot springs
onsen.
Terry and Jacque were mildly shocked when young Jamie came home with tales of old Japanese men walking around naked at the spa.

“It’s on the city map as a sightseeing destination,” said Farrell. “When my wife got there, she was like, ‘Oh my God, where have I taken these kids?’ They might have had lunch, but the people eating weren’t wearing clothes. It was embarrassing.”

The day before the official Major League Baseball opener, Francona, Lowell, Pedroia, Youkilis, and Okajima agreed to a paid appearance at a reception for EMC at the club’s Hotel New Otani Tokyo. The manager, who had been told it was okay to dress informally, arrived wearing a sport coat and a pair of Dockers. Lucchino was not happy when some of the Red Sox players arrived wearing jeans. While the manager and his players noshed on sushi, sipped fine wine, and chatted amiably during the meet-and-greet with EMC clients and assorted dignitaries, Lucchino sidled up to Francona and muttered, “Don’t you even think about leaving!”

Pedroia overheard the remark and later asked his manager, “Does he always talk to you that way?”

The EMC event was a hit. The Sox players, even the ones in jeans, did a nice job making the fans and sponsors happy. Their reward came at the end of the function when EMC boss Joe Tucci produced a couple of fielding mitts and insisted on a ceremonial game of catch with Okajima. After catching a toss from Okajima, the exuberant CEO uncorked a wild toss that sailed past the outstretched glove of a sprawling Okajima and punctured a massive LED screen that had been showing a loop of the Sox 2007 championship run. Lowell and Pedroia doubled over in laughter. It was then that Francona decided the event had been worthwhile.

Opening day was Tuesday, March 25, the earliest opener in big league history. At lunchtime, when Francona would usually already be at the ballpark, he was part of a 15-person Red Sox delegation visiting the United States Embassy. The Sox were guests of US ambassador Tom Schieffer, the brother of CBS anchor Bob Schieffer and a former owner of the Texas Rangers along with President George W. Bush. Francona was noticeably uneasy at the embassy. The visit had him out of his game-day routine, and he wanted to be in the clubhouse, especially on opening day.

“I started to aggravate everybody,” he remembered. “I was at that luncheon and everybody was toasting, and I was standing at the back of the room waiting to get the go-ahead to go to the ballpark. It was two o’clock and I was still at the embassy, and I wanted to kill somebody. I wanted to be at the ballpark. My routine was all thrown off. I’m as big a creature of habit as anybody, and I was all fucked up. And I knew Larry was pissed. By the time we finally got to the park, it was late for me. I wanted to have our team meeting before the first game of the year, and I didn’t want it to be rushed. That’s an important meeting. So I was already in a bad place on it, and right in the middle of me trying to talk to the players, a couple of Japanese women came into the clubhouse holding trays of food. I lost it. I started yelling, ‘Get the fuck out of here.’ Fortunately, they didn’t know what I was saying, but they probably knew I was mad.”

It was just after 6:00
AM
in Boston when Pedroia singled on an 0–1 pitch to christen the 2008 major league season. Matsuzaka got the start and lasted five innings. The Red Sox trailed, 4–3, in the ninth when rookie Brandon Moss—who was starting in right field because Drew (who had homered in both Japan exhibitions) came up lame after pregame sprints—tied the game with his first major league homer. Manny hit a game-winning two-run double in the tenth and was rewarded with a million yen and a Ricoh color copier. Okajima got the win. Everybody was happy, including the commissioner, who’d made the flight to Tokyo several days after the Sox landed.

“I’m sure the sports bars in Boston were filled for this one, even though it started at six in the morning,” gushed Selig. “When I left my hotel today, I had to pinch myself. I thought I was in Boston. Everybody in the lobby waiting to come to the game had Red Sox paraphernalia on. It is remarkable. This is part of the internationalization of the sport, and to have the World Champion Red Sox here is really exciting. This is the ultimate.”

Game 2 was not as much fun. The A’s beat the Red Sox, 5–1, and when it was over, both managers were required to publicly thank the fans. It was custom. Francona’s speech to the Tokyo Dome crowd was brief and uncomfortable. He knew his bosses were watching.

“When I talked with the media after that second game, I could see Larry standing off to the side,” said Francona. “He wanted to see if I said something negative about the trip.”

“The whole spring was fucked up,” Francona said later. “We had guys going to Japan who pitched games that count. A couple starters had to be ready quicker than others. Beckett hurt his back and didn’t come with us. It was harder than you can imagine. There were rules coming out the yin-yang. Then you play two games that don’t count, then two that count, then you’re going back to the States to play more games that don’t count. I was all fucked up. It was good for baseball, but I was grumpy as shit.”

The nine-hour flight from Tokyo to Los Angeles didn’t make anyone less grumpy. And the circus was only beginning.

Four days after their final game in Tokyo—which had been a regular-season major league contest—the Sox were playing an exhibition against the Los Angeles Dodgers at the ancient Los Angeles Coliseum in front of 115,000 fans. It was the largest crowd in the history of baseball. It was also something of a freak show. Baseball’s Woodstock venue featured 92 rows of seats and a left-field fence that was 190 feet from home plate.

There were no serviceable locker rooms for the Sox at the Coliseum. The Sox gathered at Dodger Stadium after lunch, got into their uniforms, then took a bus to the Coliseum, where they disembarked in the middle of a massive crowd and stood while speeches were made. The players and staff entered the Stadium under the fabled stone arches situated beyond the makeshift right-field fence. The Dodgers, led by old friend Joe Torre, walked alongside the Red Sox.

As they walked down the crumbling stairs of the Coliseum, Torre asked Francona, “How’s your dad?”

“Great,” said Francona. “How many more times do we need to be introduced before we can get on with our season?”

They both laughed.

It was the first baseball game at the Coliseum since September 1961, when John F. Kennedy was president and Sandy Koufax struck out 15 in a 13-inning, 3–2 win over the Cubs. The hideous dimensions of the Coliseum created a rare baseball moment when Ellsbury was thrown out attempting to steal second base on a play in which the tag was applied by center fielder Andruw Jones. A rare 2–8 in your scorebook. The exhibition featured nine ceremonial first pitches, one before each inning. Given the number of non-sports reporters assigned to the hardball festival, it was not surprising after the game when one of the local television reporters addressed Francona as “coach.”

After the cotillion-like game at the Coliseum, the Sox had to play one last exhibition game at Dodger Stadium. Returning to Chavez Ravine inspired a nice memory for Francona. He made his managerial debut at Dodger Stadium with the Phillies in 1997, and Curt Schilling beat the Dodgers for the rookie skipper.

“It looked easy and from there it was sort of downhill,” said Francona.

In the spring finale, Clay Buchholz became the first big league pitcher to pitch spring training games in Florida, Japan, and California.

With the spring training schedule finally over, the Red Sox flew from Los Angeles to San Francisco to resume their regular season in Oakland. Boston beat the A’s two straight. Then it was on to Toronto for another trip through customs and yet another opening day. The Blue Jays swept the Sox, three straight. The Sox made six errors and were outscored 17–6 in the final two games in Canada.

“On that last day in Toronto, one of their guys hit a one-hopper to Mikey Lowell’s left,” said Francona. “Mikey took one step to his left and just fell down. And I was thinking,
I’m with you, Mikey.

“All the baseball people were uneasy about that trip. We were set up to have heavy legs, set up for us to get our ass kicked. It just seemed that everything we were trying to do was secondary to this trip. It was stop, start, stop, start. It was a total circus. We had cement in our shoes. It was the worst road trip in the history of the game.”

“It was pretty bad,” said Epstein. “I was always trying to protect the integrity of the baseball operation and our competitiveness. As GM, I’m also part of the broader management team, and I understood where they were coming from. In the end, if we missed the playoffs by a game, all this goodwill would be undone. The only way to successfully market a baseball team is by winning. But we’re the Red Sox. We’re not going to be able to avoid a trip like that. I just wanted us to mitigate the damage. It was what it was.”

“I think it was bad,” said Ortiz. “We had just finished winning the World Series. I know this is business and the team made good money at the time, but any team was going to make good money. That trip got everybody out of control.”

The Franconamen were 3–4, resting in the cellar of the American League East, when they went through customs one last time to get ready for their 2008 home opener at Fenway and yet another series of pregame introductions.

They returned to Yawkey Way to find a new and improved clubhouse, equipped with as much space (the ceiling was raised) and as many amenities as a 97-year-old structure would allow. Architect Janet Marie Smith was at the top of her game, and Henry was still vested in making improvements to the place the Sox had anointed as “America’s Most Beloved Ballpark.”

Bill Buckner, the goat of the 1986 World Series, came back to throw out the ceremonial first pitch for the home opener. It was a cathartic moment for the graying first baseman, and his warm reception was another sign that the angst of eight decades had evaporated. In 2008 Boston was Titletown—proud and unapologetic. Bill Russell, Bobby Orr, Tedy Bruschi, Danny Ainge, and Johnny Bucyk carried the Stanley Cup, a Patriots Lombardi Trophy, one of the Celtics’ 15 championship buckets, and the 2007 Commissioner’s Trophy. The Red Sox were introduced individually and lined up on the baseline for the eighth time in less than three weeks. Tom Werner appeared with Neil Diamond on a video version of “Sweet Caroline,” and Steven Tyler sang “God Bless America.”

Tyler had a moment with the manager before his performance. Spotting the ubiquitous bag of Lancaster, the rocker asked Francona if he could have a pinch.

“Sure, but watch out for this stuff, it’s pretty strong,” said Francona, a big Aerosmith fan.

“Thanks,” said Tyler, no stranger to stimulants and pharmaceuticals. “I’ve done a lot worse.”

Later, there were reports of a green-faced Tyler running through the clubhouse to spit out his chew.

The Red Sox beat the Tigers, 5–0.

The Sox were leading the American League East by a game on May 19 when Lester no-hit the Kansas City Royals at Fenway Park. The manager was among the last to embrace the tall lefty, and a photo of that moment adorns the den of Francona’s home.

Interviewed on live television after his on-field celebration, Lester said, “He has been like a second dad to me. He cares a lot about his players. It’s not just what they can do on the field.”

“That was a private moment that got played out in public,” said Francona. “A kid grows up in your organization, you feel a little more paternal toward those guys. Then you take what happened to him with the cancer. The whole story was too good to believe.”

Things started to turn ugly with Manny Ramirez less than a month later. Manny was in the final year of his eight-year, $160 million pact. He had shown unusual commitment during the 2007–2008 off-season, working out at Athletes’ Performance Institute in Arizona and arriving at spring training in timely fashion. He skipped the Sox trip to the White House in late February (“I guess his grandmother died again,” quipped President Bush), but for the most part Ramirez was engaging and upbeat with teammates and reporters.

On June 5, the night the Celtics were scheduled to play the Lakers in Game 1 of the NBA Finals at the Boston Garden, Manny slapped Youkilis across the face while the two argued on the top step of the Sox dugout during a 7–1 win over the Tampa Bay Rays. There was a bench-clearing incident in the second inning after Crisp was hit by James Shields, but the intramural spat involving Manny and Youk received far more attention.

“I was going to the bathroom when that happened,” remembered Francona. “I came up the steps, buckling my pants, and I heard something and I said, ‘What the fuck? Can’t a guy even take a piss?’ They were all talking about who hit who and all that. I said, ‘If you guys want to beat each other up, go down the tunnel. Either hit each other down the tunnel where nobody can see you or better yet, just go play.’”

Three weeks later, on a Saturday afternoon at the end of June, Sox traveling secretary Jack McCormick was sitting at a computer in a corridor near the visitors’ clubhouse at Houston’s Minute Maid Field, making phone calls and filling out ticket orders for the Sox interleague night game against the Astros. McCormick, a former Boston police officer, had been on the job during Francona’s entire tenure and was one of the manager’s best friends in the Sox entourage.