The Red Sox Have Done It Again
Out of a combination of love of baseball and proximity to Boston, I have been to Fenway Park three times this week. Each time, the same question pops up, and each time, I can’t help but think of the same answer. The question is, how the heck do the Red Sox do it? The answer, I think, is more or less that they do it by being the Red Sox.
I mean, look at this team. The lineup is full of stars. The bullpen is full of big arms with E.R.A.s in the ones and twos, even if some of them don’t always look like it. The rotation has been the Sox’s weakness so far, but anchored by Chris Sale and David Price, it will solidify as the season continues. The scary thing is that they seem not to have reached their full potential yet. Once all parts of the Red Sox machine are finely oiled and working in tandem, this team will be unbeatable.
Tuesday night, I watched Chris Sale strike out 17 Colorado Rockies in seven innings. He looked so strong that given another two innings, I have to think he would have broken the MLB single-game strikeout record of 20. But Sale has been fragile, and Alex Cora yanked him after the 7th. The Sox’s pen let the Rockies tie it, and in the 11th, as the temperature dropped even further below the game time mark of 42 degrees, the Rockies scored again. As it started to rain and Fenway park rapidly emptied, Andrew Benintendi flied out to end the game.
Despite the flyout, though, Benintendi is one of my favorite Red Sox, and one of the best answers to my question. Where do the Red Sox find players like him? He is a young centerfielder, not yet 25, who looks endearingly like a bulldog. From what we have seen of him, he seems likely to bat .290, with a .366 On-Base Percentage and 20 home runs and stolen bases a year, until the earth crashes into the sun.
That’s Benintendi, and while we’re at it, how the heck did the Red Sox find Michael Chavis? The young second baseman, still just 23, hit a ball so high and far on Tuesday night that the entire Fenway crowd lost sight of it, and the umpires decided, after deliberating, that it simply must have been a home run. He has jumped from nowhere into the American League Rookie of the Year conversation. On Wednesday I was back at the stadium, and in the bottom of the 10th, Chavis delivered a walk-off single. Then Sunday, my goodness, he hit another bomb. It took off like a rocket ship. Over the Monster, over the Monster seats…I think it might have cleared the rooftops across the street from the Monster, for all I could see of it.
The question — how do they find these guys? — is everywhere. There is Xander Bogaerts — Zandah! — the shortstop the Red Sox will count on for a .280/.360/.500 season. Bogaerts is a top-five offensive shortstop in baseball, but somehow, for the Sox, he seems routine. There is J.D. Martinez, perennial MVP candidate: how did the Red Sox manage to get Martinez, one of the best pure hitters in baseball, for vastly less money per year than the Phillies paid for the perennially slumping Bryce Harper? There is Christian Vazquez, an unheralded catcher somehow batting .300. There is Rafael Devers, the 22-year-old with the 12-year-old face, who has already shown his power, and is now batting .300 as well. And, of course, there is Mookie Betts, reigning American League MVP, one of the greatest ballplayers Boston has ever seen.
The real answer to the “how do they do it” question is probably boring: smart people, good development practices, a strong analytics team. I can’t help but think, though, that there’s something else going on: people just play better in Boston. It’s not outlandish to think that in this beautiful town, home of the oldest, greatest baseball stadium in the country and maybe the most passionate fans, there’s something that pushes players up a notch. It would certainly help explain all the career years players seem to have the moment they play for Boston. And likewise, it must help explain how even as a New Yorker, I can’t help but love this Red Sox team.
Anyway, I left Fenway after Sunday’s game, a 4–3 win over the Astros, and took the train back to my apartment in Providence. Later that night, I heard a loud noise from the living room. It sounded like a window breaking. It turned out to be nothing, a pan clattering on the stove, but just for a moment, I entertained the notion that it was a Michael Chavis home run ball, finally, reluctantly, coming in for a landing.