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 The real deal with Dan Duquette
Posted: Tuesday August 31, 1999 04:00 PM
He does not talk to me. I don't take it especially personally, because he doesn't talk to anyone. Once, when he was walking down the hallway of a Florida hotel, I said, "Hey Dan -- how's it going?" Nothing. I do not understand Dan Duquette because I believe he originates from another planet. For the record, that's planet Get Away (which incidentally is surrounded by three moons; No Comment , That's a Stupid Question and Don't Touch Me ), where scowling is a public form of affection and kicking puppies is not only allowed but also encouraged. He has done some stupid things in his five-plus years with the Red Sox, things I will never, ever understand. He let Roger Clemens walk uncontested (and, in the process, insulted the Rocket). He let Mo Vaughn walk uncontested (and also insulted Big Mo). He gave a triples hitter named Jose Offerman large bags of cash. He hired 1,098-year-old Jimy Williams as manager, when there was a crop of young up-and-comers waiting for the opportunity. He makes fans feel like secondary citizens -- useless peons lucky to enjoy even the smallest taste of gold-plated Honey Nut Cheerios: Red Sox baseball. Still, everything works out. Nine or 10 years ago, when I was still in high school, there was one kid, a fat little sort of a guy with bad hands. Whenever we played recess football in the parking lot, this kid would somehow, 100% inexplicably, score the winning touchdown. He was a boy with much nasal drip, few skills and fewer abilities. He would go 29 minutes as a nothing blocking dummy, then use the 30th to slide into the end zone. If ever there were an accidental hero, it was this kid. Dan Duquette reminds me an awful lot of him. Because the Sox have done reasonably well under his care (if they squeeze out the wild card this year -- and they likely will -- it'll be three playoff appearances in six seasons), he can speak of a master plan and good decisions and forthright mindsets and yabba, dabba, doo. But the truth is this: Dan Duquette has made a deal with Satan. It's true. I swear. Check your bible. Somehow, a broken-down collection of Bret Saberhagens and Tim Wakefields and Aaron Seles were able to ease Clemens' acrimonious departure. Somehow, Brian Daubach is having a better season than the now Anaheim-based Vaughn. Somehow, Offerman, the slap hitter, made the A.L. All-Star team. Somehow, fans pelted with meatballs of disrespect by a crude front office continue to arrive in masses to Yawkey Way. The Red Sox should be in last place. Instead, they will make: a) the playoffs; b) major cash. I don't understand. I will never understand. Maybe, the next time I'm in Boston, Dan and I can kick back, eat Whoppers and talk baseball. Or, maybe not. Staff writer Jeff Pearlman offers his unique view on baseball every Tuesday during the season for CNNSI.com. The opinions expressed here are solely those of the writer.
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