Red Sox Marital Separation & Extra-Marital Flings

DATELINE: An Affair to Remember?


As you likely know, what goes on between a manager and his fourth estate interviewer is privileged information. Reporters take an oath of sanctity, and managers are always close-mouthed.

Dudley Do-Right, aka John Farrell, manager of the Red Sox has now officially refused to answer the question that he and a female reporter for the Sox network have had a long-standing affair.

Jessica Moran, sometime redheaded sports reporter and beat cover for the game on CSCNN, resigned her job on the day that it was announced that Farrell was divorcing his wife of 30 years.

Mrs. Farrell did not stand by him during his cancer treatments last season. Jessica Moran covered it every day.

Moran has always shown a flair for insider knowledge, like the last female who married her former Red Sox boyfriend on Valentine’s Day last month.

Jenny Dell was run out of her job in Boston for openly living with third baseman Will Middlebrooks a few years back when both worked for the Sox.

History seems to repeat itself with another media spotlight team.

The Sox replaced Jenny Dell with a known gay man, presuming that would end their media-player affairs. The shot over the bow did little to impress Ms. Moran.

Whether nuptials will precede playoffs is anyone’s guess. The first Mrs. Farrell has to be formally divorced before the next one steps down the matrimonial altar.

We love romance, especially illicit romance between parties that live by a non-fraternization rule. That’s one thing you can say for gay affairs with celebrity athletes. They never talk about it.

We always lived by the old adage: there’s nothing worse than to be caught with a dead girl in your bed—or a live boy.

Miley Does Not Go an Extra Mile

 DATELINE: Mileys to Go Before We Sleep

Featured image

Whatever Happened to Baby Miley?

Leave to the Red Sox to continue their grand tradition of pitchers with attitude issues.

You know it will always turn out badly in the end.

The latest head case in red hose is Miley Wade Cyrus, or is that Cyrus Wade Miley?

In any case, after giving up three home runs in four innings, his manager, the affable Dudley Do-Right Farrell, pulled him.

It apparently pulled the wrong string on Miley who went ballistic on candid camera in dugout. Back in the days of real managers and real players, such a stunt would have a player sent packing faster than you can say “Casey Stengel.”

Not today. Now, the player who embarrasses his teammates and manager is considered a “competitor,” and given accolades for his desire to win—even if he loses.

Forget that Miley Cyrus Wade is a maroon with a maturity issue. Put aside that he puts a bad performance ahead of winning the game. His noblesse oblige ownership will likely invite him for a trip on the Henry yacht to kick back and relax.

If Cyrus Miley Wade is not sent packing, don’t blame us. We firmly believe that an adult pitcher is a sober, down to earth, hard working stiff, even if he is bombed. He does not carry on like a New England Patriot player driving at night without headlights and crashing into unsuspecting drivers.

Call us old fashioned. We would not walk a Miley in those shoes.



Boston Manager Puts Kiss of Death on Jon Lester


John Farrell

Red Sox Dudley Do-Right John Farrell put his own version of the kiss of death on Jon Lester.

What did the Sox manager say and how did he say it?

First, he thinks the remainder of the team propositions are “interesting.” That puts Lester on a less than top priority status.

Second, Farrell is looking for ways to go through this offseason. He means the sooner some other team signs Lester, the easier it will be for the Sox.

Third, he has complete trust in GM Ben Cherington. It’s like the Godfather relying upon the murderous abilities of his hired assassin to find the right cement overshoes.

Fourth, he sees work that needs to be done. That means they are looking at options other than Lester.

Fifth, Farrell believes the Sox are doing what needs to be done to bring Lester back, but other teams have great interest in him and “deservedly so.”

Sixth, there are plenty of other options available to the Sox—and Lester is a mere bagatelle.

If you haven’t reached the uh-oh moment yet, you never will. Lester is moving away from Boston faster than an Andromeda galaxy.

Red Sox Score: Love All


Boston media has finally jumped on our sarcastic bandwagon.

Last season the Boston bum-kissing media were having more orgasms than a happy hooker. This season, dressed as austere Puritans, media have returned with stocks for the Boston Common.

Fans who want to throw rotten tomatoes at the key non-players are encouraged to do so.

Not since the championship year of Koufax and Drysdale has a team had so little offense to support its pitchers. Only this is not a champion team, and the starting pitchers are starting to look more like the 1964 Mets rotation.

The Red Sox have become Seward’s Folly. Around Fenway the chill is palpable for Cherington’s Folly.

Stephen Drew has pulled his Brink’s truck up to the Sox box office and cleaned the place out. Last time we looked he went 0 for 4 (again) and was batting .125. That is not only below the Mendoza Line, it is a kick below the belt. He took the Cherington family jewels too.

Media members are now concluding that Dustin Pedroia’s career is in the downswing and David Ortiz is, at long last, reaching blowhard status.

In the on-deck circle is John Farrell waiting to morph into Bobby Valentine.

For those who deal in human misery, this team is a godsend.

For those who expected a repeat World Series, this team is your worst nightmare.

They can’t score a run. They can’t do the fundamentals to eke out a victory. They mostly eeek like they see a mouse.

Boston’s all-sports networks on radio and television are now actually watching soccer and the World Cup with fake enthusiasm. When the Red Sox tank, ‘u got 2 do what u got 2 do’—to borrow a phrase from the Twitter generation.

Red Sox Managers Stuck in Revolving Door


Dumb America

Forget those tired and trite “Moron” jokes. The dunces have nothing on the Triple Crown of ejections at Fenway Park.

How many Red Sox managers does it take to finish a game?

If you are at Fenway Park on a rainy Friday night, you may not want to be anywhere else. All those management types on the Red Sox roster, however, all want to be somewhere else.

How many managers were tossed out of the game against the Tampa Bay Rays (those little devils)?

We lost count after the fifth inning.

Dudley Do-Right John Farrell has never done anything less than stalwart, and when his iron horse, David Ortiz, suffered a plunk by the ever-pricey David Price, Farrell offered a protest worthy of the Ban-the-Bomb movement. For his efforts, he was summarily sentenced to the showers. Price was priceless and stayed on the mound.

In short order, the Sox assistant managers went postal.

Tory Lovullo offered the most hilarious argument and tossed his hat into the ring, offering to go ten rounds with the home plate umpire. Alas, he did not last an inning.

Other nameless bench coaches had their ten minutes of fame, but were tossed before we hardly knew them.

We always thought Dustin Pedroia deserved a chance as a player/manager—and with dustups galore and managers-in-waiting falling into the dustbin, we think Dustin is a shoo-in by the ninth inning.


How many managers for the Red Sox bit the dust in the game? Four: John Farrell, Tory Lovullo, Brian Butterfield, and Greg Colbrunn.


Felix Dubront Joins Clay Buchholz as Pitching Marvel




If you want lessons on parenting, do not ask Red Sox pitchers for any advice.

Last season Clay Buchholz slept near his child and his off-pillow nap cost him nearly the entire season as he was unable to pitch because of a pinched nerve, or pinched brain.

This week another Sox pitcher regaled reporters with his tale of woe. Felix Dubront had to leave the game after six innings because his velocity was nil and his shoulder was aching.

It now appears that he hurt himself trying to extricate his child from a car seat in close quarters shortly before he pitched his regular start.

There is no word on how long Felix will be out, but if Sox precautions take on their usual hue, you may not see Dubront again until the Sox are in the pennant race of September.

Oh, we are being optimistic. There will be no pennant race for this team in September. Dubront who came to spring training overfed a year ago now comes his shoulder in a sling.

Baseball does not give its pitchers a Wonderlic test for good reason. We already know that the Sox will not sign a pitcher unless he can keep his IQ under three digits. There must be some reverse correlation with ERA being under three.

Once again, the Dudley Do-Right of all managers, John Farrell is sent out to face the media and make some feeble attempt to explain moronic behavior as a natural phenomenon of baseball.

Perhaps all pitchers are a bit on the strange side, but the Red Sox have made an art of finding the looniest of the looney and the stupidest of the stupid and planting them on the mound as a franchise player.


Conundrums, Enigmas, Mysteries, and Jacoby Ellsbury



Red Sox manager John Farrell may have revealed too much when he told a sports radio station that players were “jolted” by Jacoby Ellsbury’s jump into pinstripes.

Wouldn’t you know they were the last to know? Farrell was kind enough to say only nice things about a rotten apple.

How obtuse can these guys be? Obviously Ellsbury was not close to anyone on the team. He did not email, text, call, send a telegram, skywrite, or even drop a dime on an old fashioned telephone to anyone with the Red Sox.

He let them know the old-fashioned way: through the ever-sensitive media. Police authorities when dealing with the demise of a family member usually inform next of kin. But, this band of brothers, just back from a World Series victory, never heard the distant drums.

Ellsbury seldom spoke to anyone on the Sox. All during the chicken and beer years, he sat silently watching. All during the Bobby Valentine fiasco, he sat in the tall grass, observing the catastrophes and never lifting a finger to exert a veteran presence.

No one in Boston knew Ellsbury. Did he really have a personality? He was like a guerilla double agent behind enemy lines. He was a chameleon wearing Red Sox socks for business reasons, but switching to another uniform without missing a beat.

If the Yankees think they have bought loyalty, commitment, and a healthy outlook, they may be in for their own state of shock. Then, again, the Yankees are numb from this sort of player and to this sort of player–thanks to A-Rod.

Kiss off Jacoby Ellsbury, fans, and count your blessings that he is gone.


To relive the happier times for the Red Sox, be sure to read RED SOX 2013: NAKED CAME THE LINEUP. The roots of the Ellsburu case can be found there. Available in softcover and ebook at

Terry Francona Wins One for the Indians



 Leave it to Terry Francona to rain on the Red Sox parade.

John Farrell did not win everything. In votes counted before the post-season began, a little tally was held for Manager of the Year.

Boston’s Dudley Do-Right lost to Boston’s Snidely Whiplash.

Larry Lucchino, the Great Satan of Francona’s book this season about what happened to the collapsing Red Sox of 2011, must be gnashing his teeth.

 King John Henry VIII ordered the head of Francona on a silver platter a few seasons ago after Theo Epstein did the Dance of the Seven Veils. Then, Theo danced off the stage and headed to Chicago.

So now John Farrell has been bested by his former boss and close friend, Tito. We are sure that Farrell has plenty of goodwill to spread around—a World Series victory does that to one’s psyche. He will not begrudge Francona a small moment in the sun.

Some small minded fans may hint that the Sox required a more improbable season than the one the Cleveland Indians gave to their sad-sack town of sports teams. In fact, a couple of sour grapes Toronto writers screwed Farrell by leaving him off their ballots.

If Terry Francona tied the Red Sox to the train tracks and was hoping the Red Line train out of Harvard station would clobber the Boston team with his book, he likely has no hard feelings.

There is joy to the world when you win a world series.

For Terry Francona, he is merely a bridesmaid this season who caught the bouquet. At least he is not an old maid.


Be sure to read RED SOX 2013: NAKED CAME THE LINEUP for the best human interest stories compiled in a book on how the Sox won the World Series. Now available in softcover and ebook at

RED SOX 2013: Naked Came the Lineup



When an author is asked to explain his title choice, he is in trouble.

The notion that metaphor and whimsy might titillate goes down like an unfurled parachute at 5000 feet. Look out below.

Students always ask me why sports movies of recent years feature the athletes completely naked in the locker room.

 Well, obviously, it is a place where young men with chiseled muscles tend to most display their wherewithal.

And, the answer is not to please the gay crowd and the in-between bisexual fans.

No, athletes are completely unassuming, like newborn babes; they come into the world and remain in the world as innocent as their arrival at a new team. They have nothing to hide. And, the Red Sox of 2013 came out of nowhere (or worse, out of the depths of Bobby Valentine’s reign of terror). They had no expectations and showed only their hearts on their sleeves and their beards on their chins.

It was a natural progression to the World Series, and the book was written chronologically, one step and one game at a time. You won’t find too many scores in the book as it focuses mostly on human interest tales—usually funny ones.

If there is no humor in a situation, we endeavored to dress it up with the emperor’s new clothes.

We hope Red Sox fans give the book a tryout. It worked for Joe Hardy, and we hope it works for you.

RED SOX 2013: NAKED CAME THE LINEUP is available in ebook and in softcover at It is best for smart readers.

Red Sox Exemplify Magic, Momentum, and Miracles




The Boston Soulmates of David Ortiz

If batting .400 would be considered Mr. October levels in the World Series,  and when David Ortiz bats .800 over a half dozen pressure packed games, you are in a range that defies reality.

When you consider that Big Papi detractors (like these blogs and their smarmy writer) were disdainful of the big contract that the Sox gave to their aging designated hitter, the result is poetic justice. We have eaten so many hats this season that we will have no chapeaux left until spring training next year.

Ortiz has stuffed a sock into the pie holes of his biggest critics who now look worse than the villain in a Lassie, Come Home movie. How could anyone not love Big Papi and his amazing teammates?

It is an interesting storyline that Papi threw a big party for his teammates and families in the post-season, opening his home to inspire faith. And, how more interesting that the hero of Game 5, David Ross, did the same before the World Series.

No one had ever seen that kind of esprit de corps in major league players and never in the Red Sox teams where twenty-five cabs usually brought them to game 6 in any previous Series.

Those digging hard to find fault with the Sox and their manager’s decisions may be looking for gold in TV’s Ghost Mine. They have found only the dead spirits of Bambino curses and the legacy of former stars now in cryogenesis.

Sabermetric fans scoff at pressure-packed heroics.  They disdain magical moments. They decry momentum. These silly old baseball mantras belong in the 19th century according to these wonks.

Well, so do the Red Sox beards. Looking like a bunch of Civil War generals at Gettysburg, the Red Sox are about to go to the Cathedral of Boston for one more miraculous victory in Game 6.

Patriots & Red Sox: Trading Places



LEXINGTON, CONCORD, & FOXBORO – Boston sports fans face the unbelievable and the incredible.

Their two premier sports franchises, the Patriots and the Red Sox, have swapped situations.

It’s like that bad movie Trading Places with Eddie Murphy now transformed into the New England Patriots.

Mark Twain wrote a book that predicted this identity crisis, and he called it The Prince and The Pauper.

Paucity was the middle name of the Red Sox, going back to the days when they rented Fenway Park to the Patriots (unwanted stepchildren of the AFL). 

For decades the Patriots struggled and hit their stride in the 21st century—and the Red Sox did too. It was happy days are here again, season after season.

For the past few years the Red Sox have been drinking out of the toilet more often than Fido—and the Pats remained on top of the world, Ma!

But, like James Cagney in White Heat, the Patriots are watching their world blow up with them on the hot seat.

This season the gold dust twins of the New England region looked in the mirror and realized the joke was on them. They had switched clothes—and the Prince looked like a homeless victim about to have his face eaten.

Yes, the high and mighty Patriots under their wunderkind genius Bill Belichick is groveling in mediocrity—and the new Red Sox miracle worker, John Farrell, has returned triumphant to lead the team as manager with fans waving palms as he rides down Storrow Drive on the back of an ass.

The Sox look like they may be the duck boat answer to Boston’s terror filled year—and the Patriots look like a team that forgot to load the muskets and see three lanterns in Old North Church.

Mark Twain would tell fans not to worry. If you don’t like the New England sports scene, wait a minute. It will change again soon.


Ossurworld’s books NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS UNDRESSED & RED SOX 2012: BOBBY VALENTINE’S SEASON IN HELL will more fully sharpen the scalpel. You can find them at in softcover.

Clay Buchholz Marches into Medical Oblivion


Image Whatever Happened to Baby Clay?

The litany of dates of return and postponement has an echo from last season with David Ortiz.

The medical pronouncements are nearly as much gibberish as you can find from doctors with their degrees from the College of Holy Mackerel.

The Red Sox have a penchant for buoyant optimism that seems nowhere near to the truth. When it comes to telling the players and the fans what is going on, the Red Sox always move to the next zip code before the mail is delivered.

Yes, fans, Clay Buchholz has again met a milestone and sailed past it into the territory of some kind of disability. The Sox have constantly avoided that season finality, but the writing is on the cave walls where the Red Sox team doctors practice their voodoo and phrenology.

We have been sold a pig in a poke by the Sox on more than one occasion by this medical staff.  Now the latest Buchholz medical doublespeak sounds more and more like quackery.

Red Sox doctors tend to lose their way in the great desert of medical science.

Just as Ortiz was a few days away from returning from July to the end of the season, so it is for Clay Buchholz, the porcelain doll that seems to crack a little more each season.

When will we hear the truth? Manager Dudley Do-Right John Farrell practiced his latest version of Pontius Pilate this week. We fully expect he will stand up at his next press conference and ask the rhetorical question, “Ah, what is truth?”

The truth is something the Red Sox never face. Baby Clay has a crack somewhere in his head.


If you want to read the truth about the Red Sox, try RED SOX 2012: BOBBY VALENTINE’S SEASON IN HELL or the more shocking RED SOX 2011: A WHIMSICAL AUTOPSY. Both contain a cold look at truth in e-book and softcover, on

Red Sox Provide Shades of 1967 in 2013


Good grief, can it be possible?

John Lackey is the best Red Sox pitcher.

Perhaps we should send a thank you note to Jenny Craig—or Dale Carnegie. Lackey now has more friends and influences more people than the pitching staff. He has kept his weight off (unlike Big Papi).

Who would offer criticism to the 2013 Red Sox who were put in the crypt as prematurely as a character in an Edgar Allen Poe tale?

The Red Sox are now winning games, friends, and influencing the American League. We haven’t seen victories with destiny dust like this since 1967 when they just kept winning after being putrid the season previous.

As we recall, Dick Williams was the antidote, just as John Farrell is this season’s impossible dreamer. Those managers were as far apart as Dudley Do-Right and Snidely Whiplash (or perhaps Bobby Valentine).

Tilting at windmills was all the rage back in the 1960s, but we don’t have a Broadway musical to tell us the back story. Somehow Tony winner Kinky Boots just doesn’t feel right, though it could be an impossible dream.

Perhaps we can get Nancy Sinatra to show up at Fenway and sing, “These boots are made for walking…”

Perhaps we can get the cast of Fever Pitch to return to Fenway for one more scene—and Drew Barrymore can jump out of the bleachers or get conked on the noggin with a foul ball to bring us luck.

Perhaps the scoreboard could flash the statistics on Moonlight Graham one more time and have that voice on high tell us to “Go the Distance.”

We just don’t want to see another Anthony Perkins in the Sox dugout swinging bats and climbing the net behind home plate. Leave that to the fans.

Cold Shoulder, Cold Hands, and Cold Hearted Reception for Jason Collins at Fenway Park

Jim Rogash/Getty ImagesImage


The Red Sox organization, opportunists for any cause that garners them publicity, offered former Boston Celtic Jason Collins a chance to throw out a ceremonial first ball on a cloudy June night.


Collins accepted this mainly because he had returned to Boston to march in the Saturday gay pride parade after making his splashy gay announcement. He has expressed his disappointment that his former college roommate, straight Congressman Joe Kennedy III & Then Some, could march annually, but not he. He couldn’t march because he locked himself in a closet for years.


So, this year’s march gives him the chance to mix with supporters and friendly faces.


An appearance in Boston at Fenway, even as a Celtic who could return here in the upcoming season, was fraught with the kind of bullying and bashing that one can receive at a sporting event. Who can forget when Santa Claus was booed in Philadelphia?


So, wearing a Red Sox jersey, Jason Collins—svelte and tall in his Number 98 hometown team Sox dress white—practiced his lobs. He wears 98 in honor of murdered gay martyr Matthew Shepard (killed in 1998 for being gay).


His ceremonial pitch was not made to one of the catchers who usually receive such honors and shake hands with the guest. No, this time in an unusual move, Collins threw his pitch to manager John Farrell who spoke eloquently to the assembled press.




David Ortiz had the good taste and goodwill to shake his hand.


Likewise, the media was careful not to characterize the reception Collins received. The Boston Globe lied carefully by saying he heard a “nice hand,” which at Fenway is like a frosty snow in March. They meant most fans sat on their hands.


Congratulations, Jason, you have now received your first gay bashing by an unwashed crowd.


More surprising was the lack of support shown by the fellow professional athletes on the Red Sox. We did not see the usual gladhanders like Dustin Pedroia, nor the more circumspect like Jose Iglesias, out to shake the hand of Collins.


Almost to make sure that history could not be immortalized, the local media did not show much beyond the cursory ten second shot (without sound).


The event was not memorable, not warm, and not comforting to any high school kid who has been bullied or mistreated for being different.


Yeah, congratulations, Boston. You were really strong on this one.


Overpaid Boston Sports Coaches, or Boston’s Robber Barons



ImageForbes Magazine once again has released its Top Ten Overpaid Coaches’ list. And, Boston’s empty trophy case for 2012-13 makes their coaches look like Robber Barons.

Coaches across the boards were lumped into one big financial Ponzi scheme. Comparing professional sports coaches from football, basketball, baseball, and hockey, likely means one thing: we can see that baseball and hockey are not major league pay-checkers.

We won’t conclude that bag boys at the local supermarket make more than the likes of Terry Francona of the Cleveland Indians or John Farrell of the Red Sox, but these guys will need a part-time job in the post-season to compete with the magnates of NFL and NBA.

You guessed it: the cost of living in Boston requires that coaches receive large salaries. Expense accounts are optimal.

Boston Celtics coach Doc Rivers hit the heights at Number 4, despite not winning Banner 18. Making more than any other NBA coach makes him a champion in any league.

John Farrell and Claude Julien, of the Red Sox and Bruins, ended up on the short end of the pay stub. They aren’t even on the laundry list.

New England Patriots Head Bill Belichick has run the table of paystubs for two years running, but must try harder next year. Like Avis car rentals, he has fallen behind his number one rival:  Sean Payton now leads the national market at Numero Uno.

This rank is not bad when you consider Payton was suspended last year by his league for cheating.

Actually giving coaches the “gate” has a new meaning. Belichick had Spygate and Payton had Bountygate. Neither gate left the coaches on the outside. Their gates are swinging in profit.

Who said crime doesn’t pay?


You may want to read William Russo’s stories about the New England Patriots team in his book NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS UNDRESSSED! available in softcover and e-book on