| projo.com | The Providence Journal |

	June 22, 1998

It reminds me of some of the most memorable transactions in Red Sox history.

And it scares the hell out of me.

-- In 1977, the Red Sox decided they'd had enough of Ferguson Jenkins and traded him to the Texas Rangers for John Poloni. They had just promoted three promising young pitchers to the big leagues (Don Aase, Mike Paxton and Bob Stanley), and figured they could easily withstand the loss to Jenkins. Aase (shipped to the Angels in the Jerry Remy trade, with no pitcher coming East in return) and Paxton (to Cleveland in the Dennis Eckersley deal) never made it back to Boston; Stanley went to the bullpen. Jenkins won 18 games for the Rangers in 1978, 16 games for them in 1979, and won 71 games overall for the remainder of his Hall of Fame career. Poloni never escaped McCoy Stadium. Lack of quality starting pitching is a very large reason the Red Sox lost the 1978 pennant race.

-- In June of 1978, the Red Sox decided they'd had enough of Bernie Carbo and sold him to the Cleveland Indians. They had a young, left-handed hitting outfielder named Garry Hancock ready to make the jump, and figured Hancock could do Carbo's job at half the cost and one-tenth the aggravation. In the remainder of his big-league career, Carbo would come to the plate 272 times and bat .279 with 7 homers and 30 RBI. In 254 at-bats with the Red Sox, Hancock would hit .228 with 4 homers and 26 RBI. And in the playoff game against the Yankees, with the Sox trailing 4-2 and the tying runs on base with two outs in the seventh inning, Don Zimmer had as his pinch-hitter not Bernie Carbo, who had a short, sweet left-handed stroke and wouldn't be overpowered by Goose Gossage, but Bob Bailey, the 1978 version of El Guapo. If there was a human being on the planet less likely to get a hit off Rich Gossage than Bob Bailey -- old, fat, slow, with a swing that could barely catch up to a changeup -- he (or she) would most likely be found in an intensive-care unit.

-- That offseason, the Red Sox decided they'd had enough of Bill Lee and traded him to the Montreal Expos for Stan Papi. There were no young pitchers waiting in the wings who they figured could step in; they'd simply had their fill of The Spaceman and were determined to get rid of him at any cost. Lee went 16-10 for the Expos in 1979; we won't even discuss poor Papi. But we will point that only once in the last 20 years -- Bruce Hurst, 1988 -- have the Red Sox had a left-hander win as many as 16 games in a season.

In each of these cases, the Sox were faced with two issues: 1) Their personal dislike of the player, and 2) Their need for the skills he possessed. In each case, the Sox decided that No. 1 was more important than No. 2. In each case -- well, in two of the cases; they didn't even make the pretense with Lee -- the Sox convinced themselves they had viable replacements waiting in the wings. In each case, they were wrong. In each case, the Sox jettisoned the player and received, perhaps, 4 cents on the dollar in return. And in each case, they paid a steep price.

I'm not here to make the case for Jim Leyritz the person. He is, by all accounts, an overbearing egomaniac who is barely in touch with the reality of his talents. I'm sure things will be a lot quieter, and a lot more pleasant, in the Red Sox clubhouse now that he's gone. And if you're inclined to believe that "chemistry" is an important factor in pennant races, this truly is addition by subtraction.

But in 1993 the Sox had a similarly spunky team that was unexpectedly in the pennant race. They were doing it with mirrors -- their regulars included Billy Hatcher, Scott Fletcher, Scott Cooper and Andre Dawson -- and, toward the end of August, people were screaming for reinforcements. And I'll never forget a respected baseball analyst going on television on August 22 and strongly recommending against making a trade. "This team has great chemistry," he asserted. "You don't want to mess with this chemistry."

That team went 15-24 from that day to the end of the season, and not only fell out of the race but also finished under .500. All the chemistry in the world wasn't going to make up for some very basic team weaknesses.

Jim Leyritz has skills -- the ability to hit with authority from the right side of the plate -- that the 1998 Red Sox desperately need. To give him away (and that's what this is, a giveaway) because you don't like him . . . well, why do the names Ferguson Jenkins, Bernie Carbo and Bill Lee leap to mind?

I'm not saying they should have kept him. I'm saying they should have gotten something for him. Carlos Reyes is a dime-a-dozen middle reliever whose American League ERAs are 4.15, 5.09, 4.78 and 5.82. Dario Veras might be a decent pitcher, someday, but this is not the time to be trading veterans for prospects (and I use that term loosely), not when you have a legitimate contending team. As for Mandy Romero, he's here because they're short of catchers at Pawtucket. Period.

Leyritz, on the other hand, is creating more runs per 27 outs (7.0) than any Red Sox hitter except Mo Vaughn (9.0) and Reggie Jefferson (7.3). His .904 OPS is also third on the team. His .385 on-base percentage is second. He's a valuable piece of property. Not only did they not get anything for him, but they opened a hole that Billy Ashley, no matter how much he may have improved this year, is unlikely to fill. This team doesn't generate a whole lot of offense to begin with; to deliberately make it worse because the guy is a pain in the butt . . . I'm sorry, but this move has "Haywood Sullivan" written all over it.

(And it isn't like the Sox should have been at all surprised by Leyritz' whining and complaining. He's been this way his entire career, everywhere he's been, when he thinks he's being underutilized . . . and since he considers himself to be a hybrid of Mickey Mantle and Johnny Bench, he feels that everyone has underutilized him. If you're not surprised when a duck quacks, you shouldn't be surprised when Jim Leyritz moans and groans.)

Again, don't misinterpret this as sympathy for Leyritz. He's not as good as he thinks he is; he's not even close. As for what Dan Duquette may or may not have told him, please. Every "promise" (and I use that term loosely) made to a player is prefaced with the understanding that whatever happens on the field can change the circumstances. Circumstances changed when Leyritz impressed no one with his catching skills in spring training, and Jason Varitek made a quantum leap forward. To not do what's best for the team because of something a general manager might have said in a five-minute conversation in November . . . even someone with Leyritz' self-absorbed tunnel vision has to see the folly in that. How would he have liked it if, say, Mo Vaughn had gone down with an injury but Leyritz wasn't allowed to fill in at first base because he was told "we promised Reggie Jefferson he'd play first if Mo got hurt"?

But there are better ways to solve these problems. In 1978 the Sox had had enough of Rick Wise, too, but they held onto him until they could make him the centerpiece of the package for Eckersley. That's how you get rid of pains in the butt: Wait until you can turn him into something you need, without opening a hole on the roster.

The Sox did neither of those things. They got virtually nothing for Leyritz, and lost one of their few potent right-handed bats. Unless Billy Ashley is a lot better than everyone says he is, there's no way the Sox come out ahead in this deal.

It reminds me of some of the most memorable transactions in Red Sox history.

And it scares the hell out of me.

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