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Williams came, saw, was conquered
Sic transit Jimy Williams. He came. He saw. Along with the rest of the managers of the Boston Red Sox since 1918, he never did get that conquering part down right. He was a curious choice to be a leader of men in this media-heavy time. In his four-plus years on the job, after failing at a similar post in Toronto, he proved himself to be ornery, obtuse and more than slightly aloof. He would explain nothing to the paying public. He would make weird, seat-of-the-pants decisions, then refuse to give the reasons behind them, no matter what the outcome. He had all the public relations charm of a bridge abutment. From the time he came to the team, a second-choice selection after Jim Leyland and other high-profile candidates declined the offer to carry a lighted match near the kerosene that is Boston baseball, Williams was a subject of debate. He was seen as either a folksy genius, a true baseball man, or a complete dunderhead. I was on the dunderhead side of the argument most of the time. I never liked the way he operated. Forget the day-to-day decisions, I never saw how his style could motivate any of the high-priced baseball players of the new millenium. Anyway, the debate is done now. The lighted match belongs to someone else, Joe Kerrigan. The kerosene remains. Jimy is one more casualty in the 82-year chain of Red Sox frustration. Leigh Montville appears regularly on CNN/Sports Illustrated. The opinions expressed here are solely those of the writer.
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