In our business we call it "the nut graf". It's the paragraph that basically tells you what the story is all about.

The nut graf was far down in Sean McAdam's column today, but it -- more than Nomar Garciaparra's injury, more than Manny Ramirez in right field, more than The Trials of Carl Everett -- may be the nut graf for the 2001 Sox:

Exactly one game into the 2001 season, (Jimy) Williams already finds himself under more scrutiny than he has been in his first four seasons in Boston, a condition which existed even before he by-passed (Scott) Hatteberg and (Dante) Bichette yesterday afternoon. Over the course of a six-month season, managers are going to guess wrong. But Williams can't seem to distance himself from controversy. It's followed him since he arrived in Fort Myers, like chewing gum stuck to his shoe.

As many of you know (and are vexed by), I've been a Jimy Williams supporter over the years. He's never been a great chess player -- as yesterday clearly demonstrated -- but I don't think the nuts and bolts of running a game are a manager's most important job; his most important job, I feel, is creating an atmosphere in which it's possible to get the most out of his people. Besides, for all the screaming about Jimy's perceived strategic blunders, I resubmit what I found last October: There's no quantifiable evidence that the Red Sox, over the long haul, are losing games they should win because Jimy Williams is their manager. And if you don't believe that, then you have to shoot down the numbers that show otherwise. I'm more than willing to listen, but I'm not going to listen to "He did this stupid thing in this game" and "He did that stupid thing in that game". If you're going to give him 0 percent of the credit for the decisions that work, which is the case with most of his detractors, I'm not going to let you get away with giving him 100 percent of the blame for the ones that don't. Prove to me that, in the long run, the numbers are wrong, that the Red Sox should actually be winning more games than they are. Because every formula we have says they're winning just about as many as they should, and that certainly is inconsistent with the notion that Jimy Williams is an idiot.

In any case, that's not my point. I feel Williams' (considerable) strength as a manager has been in his dual ability to gain (and hold) the respect of the players, coupled with a knack for keeping controversy outside the clubhouse door. While we can argue the value of "chemistry" until the cows come home, no one can argue that Boston -- like New York, like Philadelphia, like other baseball-rabid cities -- is a place where the slightest ember can spark a roaring blaze. Williams has never let those blazes engulf a season.

Until now.

While everyone is howling about the indefensible decision to let Darren Lewis bat -- twice -- with the game on the line yesterday, I'm far more troubled by other things. Williams' actions this spring have contributed to, rather than stopped, the turmoil . . . and I'm not even talking about Carl Everett.

Why, for instance, weren't Jose Offerman and Dante Bichette at least warned that their jobs might be in jeopardy? (And judging by what happened yesterday, when neither got off the bench, is it unreasonable to at least worry that they've been placed in the Izzy Memorial Icebox?) If two projected starters can have the rug pulled out from underneath them so quickly, wouldn't that spark some glances over the shoulder from other regulars?

Why did Trot Nixon lose his job because Manny Ramirez didn't want to play left field?

Why was Tim Wakefield told he'd be a starter, then two weeks later told he'd be a reliever?

It's not so much that I disagree with some of the moves, per se. I think the bullpen is where Wakefield belongs. I have zero sympathy for Offerman, whose only real value -- being a firecracker at the top of the order -- is buried under the 10 extra pounds that have him running like Dick Gernert. (On the other hand, I think playing Troy O'Leary over Trot Nixon is Webster's definition of insanity, and why not use Nixon instead of Scott Hatteberg as the left-handed part of the DH platoon if you're going to take three-quarters of the job away from Bichette?)

Then add in Everett . . . a situation, by the way, in which I think Williams is absolutely right. And the loss of face Williams suffered when Ramirez recanted his decision to move to left field.

The net result is this never-ending swirl of chaos -- Camp Chaos, we called it in a recent headline -- that's not necessarily new to the Red Sox.

What is new, though, is that Williams is causing, rather than calming, at least some of that chaos.

And there's a price to pay. Remember a few days ago, when I adamantly insisted on the bulletin boards that the closer you were to the situation, the more you sided with Williams in his collisions with Everett? The real point of that was that Williams had the support of most of the players. Well . . . maybe that's not as true today, just a week later. Maybe, to paraphrase Casey Stengel, the five guys who hate Williams are starting to gain the ears of the five guys who are undecided.

There could be any number of reasons why things are different now. Maybe Williams is tired of fighting battles, such as the ones with Everett, he doesn't think he has to fight. Maybe the Ramirez situation was too reminiscent of the defining incident of his Toronto stewardship: The refusal of George Bell to become the full-time DH, with the player winning the war at the expense of the manager's authority. Williams' contract expires at the end of this season and there's no indication he's been offered an extension; as a result, he may have decided that if he's going down, he's going down his way. He may no longer be willing to use people he feels can't play, like Offerman and Bichette, just because Dan Duquette acquired them.

And if that's true, it could be because he hasn't forgotten last September. He can no longer have any real complaints about management not covering his back -- the organization stayed out of it when Everett missed the bus to Clearwater, then hit Everett with a suspension and an unprecedented fine when he deliberately skipped the one to Tampa (and refused to show up at a workout the following day) -- but he may have lost all his faith in the front office on the day when, he felt, he was hung out to dry.

If Williams now has his own agenda, though, he's undercutting his own position. He can't expect the players to band together if he's dancing to his own tune. And he's made enough enemies among the ranks -- as any boss does -- that they could ferment some real trouble if the rest of the troops think he's not being fair.

That, to me, is the problem here, not the late-game at-bats of Darren Lewis.

And the genie might -- might -- just be too far out of the bottle.