Dispatches

Shea Hillenbrand was my VFP two seasons ago. Vice Favorite Player. If (now VFP) Jason Varitek was unable to fulfill his duties as favorite player, Hill was required to step up and assume the responsibilities of the position. I giddily sat at Camden Yards as the Sox took on the Orioles, pleased that our seats were on the third base side so following his progress in the game would be that much easier.

Then he was traded. Then he complained about being traded and bad-mouthed the Red Sox administration. Which meant I - a Sox fan fully aware of the less-than-ideal manner in which trades and negotions are handled by the front office, but also a strong proponent for making a classy exit - felt my esteem for him become just a little bit tarnished.

I was thinking about this - and the conflict of interest when you want a player on the opposing team to do well without making your team lose - as Shea stood in the box facing Wells in the seventh. Last night's game was the first in which I'd seen Hill live since those Camden games, and I'd offered a hushed "Yay Shea" in the first inning when he walked to the plate amid the loud and expected Fenway boos.

Next thing I know, Renteria is approaching the second base umpire. Millar is running over. Wells is stomping toward the umpire, who quickly gestures that he's thrown someone out. I thought it was Edgar, who had been decidedly high-strung all game. But Wells is being restrained by his teammates and Francona is using his head to push Wells away from the umps.

Huh?

I pick up my phone and dial as Wells throws the ball into center field (side note: haha).

"What the hell are you guys doing there, causing problems?" My mother is watching on television.

"I have no idea. What are the guys saying on TV? We have no idea what's going on. I thought it was Renteria at first!"

"The guys don't have a clue either."

"Oh good. It's not just us."

Wells storms away to a standing ovation, and Timlin trots out from the bullpen. Beth is staring at the scene with wide eyes.

"Well, this is more exciting than the last game!" she says with a laugh. Her only other venture to Fenway thus far this season was Boston's first shutout of the season.

By game's end, we had stared in disbelief as two Sox were thrown out, Ortiz came as close as he ever comes to stealing a base (a passed ball seconds after Beth and I joked about how he was due for a steal. "Two for you, Papi! Two for you!"), Boston chipped away at the early Toronoto lead, Manny saved the day with a two-run shot farther down the right field side, my boy Millar (who reached FP status last season) fired a foul shot into the section barely to our right and the 35,000-strong crowd endured potentially perilous appearances by Embree AND Foulke.

(The appearance of the former caused my phone to vibrate. When I picked up, I was greeted with a cackle of "You are SOOOOOO SCREWED!" The latter prompted me to make a quick phone call. My mother picked up laughing. No "Hello," just laughter.)

I kept my fingers crossed until the last pitch was delivered, the popup was hit and the ball squarely landed in the glove.
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Amid a break in the action:

"Why is Millar your favorite player?"

I paused before answering. "The thing I like about Kevin is the fact that he is the quintessential Boston player. He works hard, he plays hard and he seems to always have a fun time doing it. But he's not your typical major league baseball player. He's good enough at first base, but he definitely has flaws. He's not the most dynamic batter, but he can pull through when they really need him.

"He's the guy who you can tell makes sure to go out and do everything he needs to do to be his best, not necessarily The Best. But he brings so much to the team in terms of personality and makes the team that much more fun to watch. And I think he makes teammates have that much more fun playing.

"Besides, part of it is the name. You have Ortiz. Damon. And then there's Mill-AAAAAAHHHHHH. How much fun is it to yell out, 'C'mon MILLAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!'

"He's just my kind of player."
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I sat on a short wall Friday night, looking out into the hazy sky over the water. Fireworks crackled several times in the distance, and I was listening to music through a iPod earpiece in my left ear. Michelle had the other in her right, and we were singing along with her beach mix. A little Matt, some Ryan, a much-missed-recently Ani track followed by some Ray and Averi.

When I looked down to the stones below our perch, I could see the streetlight silhouettes bobbing their heads and dancing in time. I found it interesting to see such quiet and peace stretched out before me while traffic raced by behind.

We'd intended to stop by the beach for a few minutes, but the music was great and we were having fun singing along. It only stopped after Michelle realized I was avoiding the latest turn in our meandering conversation by singing along to "Geek in the Pink." My iDJ cut the tunes and made me cut to the chase. We lingered by the water until about 2 a.m., carrying on one of those discussions that only arise late at night when friends are feeling introspective.

As I tried to phrase my thought process properly, I looked over the water and saw a plane rise into the sky.

I wondered why anyone would actually want to leave this place.