This is already a spring in which a young pitcher has died, likely the result of a drug banned by more enlightened sports; an old, throwback has embarrassed baseball by writing that he was half in the bag from the prior evening’s carousing when he tossed one of the 15 perfect games in history; an inveterate gambler seems certain to return to the game and embarrass it more, and the only disagreement among the growing chorus of voices regarding rampant steroid abuse by players is not if, but how many.
So why should Bud care that Red Sox boss Larry Lucchino put a little mustard on what is already the most contentious rivalry in sports by dubbing the Yanks “The Evil Empire.” It is, after all, pretty mild stuff by modern trash-talking standards. And it is certainly preferable to Boston fans’ longstanding chant of choice–the adolescent and, sadly, inaccurate “Yankees Suck!”–which echoes around Fenway Park when the Bronx Bombers come to town. The verbal jab by Lucchino Skywalker, as some have now dubbed him, at least has the virtue of having some relationship with the truth.
OK, the evil may be a wee bit of stretch, especially with Darth Vader, uh, I mean the Boss, back home when the Red Sox and Yankees met Tuesday for the first time this season. Try as this Red Sox fan might, it’s hard to find anything insidious in the regime of manager Joe Torre and his Sancho Panza, Don Zimmer. Or to work up a visceral antipathy to the collection of classy pros and good guys that are the core of the Yankees. Dare I even suggest that the statute of limitations has run out on Boston’s most celebrated turncoat; at 40 and on the cusp of 300 wins, Roger Clemens, deserves the respect from all quarters that his historic achievements warrant.
But if evil is not readily apparent, the empire surely is. And it is a fit subject for a little punnery, as well as a little mockery. Even more so since George Steinbrenner proclaimed a new era of budget restraint–then promptly dispatched his minions on a global mission to corral the best hitter out of Japan, Hideki Matsui, a.k.a. “Godzilla,” and the best pitcher out of Cuba, Jose Contreras, at a tidy sum of $17 million a year. If that doesn’t smack of empire-building, I don’t know what does. The Yankee payroll will top $150 million this year, which could exceed baseball’s second highest by as much as 50 percent.
But the really big number in Steinbrenner’s world is not $150 million but rather two–the two long, tortuous campaigns he has now endured without a championship. It is so unsettling that King George seems intent on squandering all that generous revisionist publicity–you know, Boss mellow–that has been showered on him in recent seasons. This year it’s been “meet the new Boss, same as the old Boss,” and that’s led to the most contentious Yankee spring–a little Bronx Zoo deja vu–in years.
In what would have made a hilarious Seinfeld episode, Steinbrenner chose to point the stubby finger of blame at his two most popular Yankees. He warned Torre that his job was not secure and scolded shortstop Derek Jeter that he needed to cut back on outside activities in order to reinvigorate his game. Perhaps that counsel would have been better directed at David Wells, an all-time Boss favorite, whose hurly-burly of a new book makes abundantly clear that he loves the nightlife–and that the Yankees start him in a day game at their peril.
Beyond the verbal fireworks, the Yankees actually have some real problems, or at the very least question marks heading into the season. They are an aging, even ancient, ballclub. The starting lineup will likely include only three players in their 20s. In the starting rotation, with Clemens now 40, Wells soon to be and Mussina now 34, nine-year-veteran Andy Pettite is called “the kid.” And ubercloser Mariano Rivera, 33, has shown signs of breaking down, revealing the wear and tear of eight long seasons.
The Boss is well aware of the peril, which is where $150 million comes in quite handy. That’s a number that buys a lot of contingency plans. You can add a Godzilla to a lineup already replete with monster bats. And a Cuban hero to a rotation that, on the day he was signed, already boasted seven proven starters (in a league where many teams would be happy with two).
Contreras was the subject of a bidding war (and ultimately a finger-pointing war) between the Red Sox and Yankees. Steinbrenner dispatched his young general manager Brian Cashman and essentially told him, “Bring Jose back in pinstripes or don’t bother coming home.” So it was fitting that Contreras was the starting pitcher for the opening salvo of the ancient rivalry. Afterward, Contreras insisted that he was unaware of anything special about the matchup. “I’m new around here,” he explained through a translator. “I look at the Red Sox like I do any other team.”
There is truth, perhaps inadvertent, in that claim. It is the Red Sox and their fans who obsess about the Yankees, not the other way around. The Red Sox remain, by the standards of the Yankee empire, just another baseball village–and not even a particularly successful one. Empires never fret over villages. Which, perhaps more than anything, explains why it is necessary for the Red Sox to append “evil” when referring to that empire. If some sinister force isn’t responsible for this perpetual mismatch, any alternative explanation is just too painful to contemplate.
