For a change, crushing loss stiffens resolve

01:24 PM EST on Friday, April 2, 2004

BY SEAN McADAM
Journal Sports Writer

Frank Galasso Armed and dangerous

The ball seemed to float, as though in suspended animation, like some dream sequence unfurling slowly, from Tim Wakefield's hand until the moment of impact with Aaron Boone's bat.

Then, in the fraction of the second it took for the ball to rocket into the left-field seats, the Red Sox' season ended, not so much with a thud as with a splatter.

This is what is meant by sudden death. One moment, the Red Sox are on the cusp of winning their first pennant in 17 years and the next, they are trudging off the field in defeat. And not just any defeat.

Even by Red Sox standards, this was cruel and unusual. Never had the Red Sox been this close to besting their tormentors on this sort of stage, and when certain victory transformed into stunning defeat, the Red Sox -- crestfallen players, soon-to-be-dispatched manager, reeling front office -- fell into an offseason abyss.

The Sox briefly gave in to the moment. A rule was instituted: Team employees were given a 24-hour period to feel sorry for themselves. Cursing, tantrums, self-pity -- it was all fair game.

Then, like the Game 7 loss that required a 10th and 11th inning, they decided they needed extra time. Another 12-hour grace period was given.

"There was a feeling," recalled general manager Theo Epstein, "of pride and frustration at the same time. We were thrilled we had a real opportunity to win a World Series and so frustrated beyond words that it had escaped us."

Then, when the anger and the resentment cleared, when the heavy fog of disappointment began to lift, it was time to get back to work.

"It went unsaid what we were going to do," said Epstein. "Nobody had to articulate it. Nobody said much."

In the most fascinating, compelling and downright bizarre offseason in Red Sox history, the reconstruction got under way. The Red Sox had scaled a peak, actually been close enough to touch baseball's summit, only to misstep and fall back to its base camp.

It wasn't much fun to look up and see how close they had been and how far they had to climb again. But they had no other choice.

In the past, the Red Sox had -- consciously or not -- retreated after defeat.

In 1968, a year after their Impossible Dream season, the Sox finished fourth in the American League.

Eight years later, following their next pennant in 1975, they slipped to third in the A.L. East.

And, as if nursing an October hangover, the 1987 Sox suffered only their second losing season since 1966.

Defeat is bad enough. But the Red Sox have never rebounded well.

Not long after Boone's homer brought the 2003 season to an abrupt halt, the Sox decided this would be different. Instead of scaling back the payroll -- as the new ownership had done slightly upon taking over the team -- they would expand it. Instead of licking their postseason wounds, the Red Sox would move forward.

Two winters ago, Epstein's first as GM, he had waited patiently, believing there were bargains to be had late in the shopping season. He plucked Bill Mueller, David Ortiz and Kevin Millar from the remainders section and looked brilliant doing it.

But this offseason would require a different stategy. With not as much depth -- particularly in the Sox' areas of need -- Epstein struck early and aggressively.

"Because pitching was the priority," Esptein said, "the quality wasn't in the quanity, but at the top of the market. We had to change our approach."

In mid-November, as others were sorting through the free-agent list, Epstein struck a deal for Arizona's Curt Schilling. Not long after, the Sox secured Oakland free agent Keith Foulke to anchor their beleaguered bullpen.

Then, things got really interesting. The Sox, quietly at first, investigated the possibility of trading for Alex Rodriguez. The talks, which eventually leaked into the public realm and consumed the baseball world for nearly a month from late November to late December, would have enormous costs and consequences -- just to obtain Rodriguez, the Red Sox would have had to sacrifice Manny Ramirez, then, to make room for their new prize, would have jettisoned Nomar Garciaparra.

One piece at a time, the reconstruction moved forward. Front-line starting pitcher? Check. Closer? Check. Best player in baseball?

The activity was nonstop, and reminded Epstein of his undergraduate days at Yale.

"The whole thing was like a really long finals period," he said. "It was all consuming. You woke up, and [making deals] was the first thing you thought about. You didn't get to bed until really late, and when you did, it was probably what you dreamed about."

Day turned into night, night into day. Oddly, it didn't seem chaotic. It seemed strangely normal.

"I don't think I had much perspective on it as it was unfolding," said Epstein. "That, in itself I guess, was testimony to how frenetic it was. Rather than historic or overwhelming, it had the feeling of order. One event at a time."

At the same time that the Red Sox were plotting their moves, the Yankees were responding with moves of their own. The competition between the two never stopped after Boone's homer.

The winter was just an extension of it. No more baseball to play? How about front-office chess? Or high-stakes poker? The Yankees saw the Red Sox' Schilling . . . and anteed up with Kevin Brown. When the Sox landed Foulke, the Yankees responded in kind by nabbing Javier Vazquez.

"For a month or two, it was being portrayed as if we were the only two teams in baseball and that the baseball season was still going on," Epstein said. "I thought it was mostly media-driven, but it did get my attention when, at the winter meetings, all [the other general managers] made the same observation. They were calling it 'a heavyweight fight in the offseason.' I guess it really seemed like we were still going head-to-head."

The other 28 teams were mere window-dressing. As they had done in October, the two teams commanded the spotlight and wouldn't leave the stage. Always, one was -- sometimes consciously -- trying to outdo the other.

Red Sox management had one eye on the Yankees and another on the calendar. Entering this season with four premium players in their final contract years, the Sox knew timing was everything.

This wasn't 1968 anymore, when the good will of the Impossible Dream season could sustain fans for years, when the lingering memories of Yaz and Lonborg were enough to carry a region of fans through too many years as also-rans.

There was a sense of urgency to the project now. There was a ballpark to fill, at the highest prices in the game. There was the long-term status of the ancient ballpark to determine and a need to maximize every bit of revenue. And there was this, too: an ownership with an appetite, in less than two seasons, seemingly every bit as big as that of the long-suffering fan base.

This would be no time for slippage.

In the end, the A-Rod piece fell through. The players' union wouldn't allow Rodriguez to reduce the overall value of his contract, and the Sox decided that, without the reduction, the deal didn't work financially for them.

Which was important, because the Sox had the future as well as the present on the minds in every move they made this offseason.

By adding Schilling and Foulke, the Red Sox weren't only adding to their inventory of talent, but protecting themselves down the road. If Pedro Martinez or Derek Lowe leaves after 2004, Schilling will remain. If Scott Williamson leaves and the bullpen is depleted, Foulke will be with the Sox at least through 2006.

They were giving themselves one more great shot at a World Series while building a competitive team for the future, regardless of the status of their free agents.

"Everything we do," Epstein said, "has to make sense in the short term and long term. Those two acqusitions served short-term interest and didn't sacrifice our long-term goals."

In February, when the Red Sox were through with the reconstruction, they learned the Yankees had one more move in mind. Less than two months after the Red Sox walked away from the Rodriguez trade, the Yankees swooped in and dealt for him.

It was the ultimate trump card, and in some ways, as much as a shock to their system as Boone's homer had been four months earlier.

"I won't lie to you -- my immediate reaction was that I was pretty dejected," said Epstein. "I allowed some emotion to enter into it. It becomes personal. When you're up to 4 a.m. in a hotel room with A-Rod and he's agreed to walk away from $28 million [the amount of the contract reduction that the players' union later told him was unacceptable] -- there was a real period of time where I thought we were going to pull it off."

That Rodriguez ended up with their archrivals wasn't as crushing as it may have seemed. Rather, it was a painful reminder of what might have been.

"It made me think of how close we came," said Epstein, "and how far we had come and the fact that it didn't work out."

He might have -- but didn't -- say that it reminded him of Game 7 of the American League Championship Series. Of how close the Red Sox had come that night, how far they had come to get there, and how, ultimately, it didn't work out.

And, how, indirectly, it had led to the most fascinating, compelling and downright bizarre offseason in Red Sox history.