Nomar We Hardly Knew Ye

It is widely rumored that when my cousin, Went, heard that Danny Ainge was traded from the Celtics she threw up.

I'd just like to say that I've kept my food down.

But I am not fucking happy.

Let's see, solid team player? Check. Fabulous shortstop? Check. Middling to excellent batting average? Check. No skeletons in the closet? Check.

Let's trade him.

No, wait, that's no fun. Let's humiliate him then trade him and try to get the fans to think it's a good idea.

I predict that we'll see the Cubs deep in the playoffs this season. They were doing great on their own last year and now they've got an extra piece to the puzzle. More power to them. They've been waiting longer than we have anyway. But I want 5 minutes alone in a room with the punk ass kid running the Red Sox.

The curse is not Babe Ruth's. I think it's some sort of crack they put in the water at Fenway Park. Something that dings off an alarm in the system of any member of the management as soon as a group of players is assembled who might actually be able to play the game and play it well together. "Oh crap! This is as good as I've seen it! What do I do now? Better make some sweeping change." And rather than hiring somebody hot to sing the national anthem or painting a mural of ex-presidents on the Green Monster they decide instead to pick one of their top 5 most valuable players and TRADE HIM.

History. Doomed to repeat it. Babe Ruth. Roger Clemens. Nomar Garciaparra.

I wish Nomar luck. I think he is a wonderful player and a good role model for anyone becoming a high profile sports figure. I hope he's happy wherever he is. I even forgive him for marrying Mia Hamm before he even gave me a chance.

I am not, however, quite ready to forgive the management of the Red Sox.