A Sympathy Card for Joe Castiglione
Mr. Joe Castiglione
Boston Red Sox
I thought I’d write, knowing you need some sympathy. As New England’s favorite Uncle Joe, you embody a region’s disaspora of the devoted and the crazed. Another Uncle Joe — TV’s Edgar Buchanan" — was said to be "moving kinda’ slow at the [Petticoat] Junction." Sadly, our Townies have moved in slow-motion all Lost Weekend at the Fens.
Scores drip-drop like a dirge: 12-4, 14-11, a wretched 13-5, last night’s woebegone 8-5. Who dreamt that 1978′s Boston Massacre would bear an heir? The Sox’ 2004 world title was said to have ended New York’s prepotency. Instead, the Son of Massacre (SOM) reaffirmed it. The tide again goes out. The Yanks’ stars again align. The Almighty is again a Bombers’ fan.
Another Mr. C., Perry Como, defined easy listening. I know that SOM hasn’t been easy talking. The Sox bullpen is an arson squad. The starting pitching demands reappraisal of once-damned Ike Delock. Coco Crisp daily morphs into Willie Tasby: a four non-tool player (can’t hit, hit with power, field, or throw). Rod Stewart sang, "You wear it well." Somehow you bore the weekend well.
"Mercy!" our friend Ned Martin chimed. Sadly, the Yanks haven’t flaunted any. Maybe the Sox will find some pitching (Bill Lee is only 59; Luis Tiant, a vibrant 65; Bobby Sprowl is still available. Is Denny Galehouse?). Maybe pigs will fly, the earth turn flat, and cow jump over the moon. At least you likely won’t have another series that would have Boston Strangled Ned, Mel Allen, Vin Scully, Curt Gowdy, Ken Coleman, and/or Dizzy Dean.
For now, congratulations on standing tall as the Towne Team has fallen flat. You are a liberal Democrat; me, a conservative Republican. I close by quoting your hero, Bill Clinton, who, like mine, Richard Nixon, knew a thing about adversity. Trust me, I feel your pain.
Yours in Don Buddin,