As a long-time irrational Red Sox hater, the acquisition of Manny Ramirez by my first true baseball love, the Dodgers, has been a journey of self realization and a real living testament to how truly fickle a Red Sox hater I am. Seeing Manny strut out in Dodger blue for the first time was a moment that caused a deep thirst for his failure that I thought could never be quenched. The long haired lunatic who recently became bat for hire (even though the Red Sox are paying for him) instigated a hate and expletive filled rant the likes of which had not left my mouth since the Dodgers decided a brooding mustachioed man was the direction they wanted to go at second base. As quickly as I had decided at a young age to despise all things Boston sports my demeanor changed with a single Man-Ram base hit. You would have thought I had been a lifelong Manny fan and, of course, the love-fest didn’t end there. With each passing game my awkward baseball man-crush on oft misunderstood Ramirez (see how he went from “lunatic” to “misunderstood?” Totally didn’t plan that) grew and grew. Culminating recently with a 4-for-5 (including two wakka-doobie yig-bombs) for the loveable loudmouthed lout. For someone who swore never to enjoy anything Beantown related, this Manny love feels almost like a sleep-easy motel affair ala Mayor Joe Quimby. Perhaps the excitement of loving something you always swore you’d hate (and the fear of being caught by your father, a lifetime Dodger fan) is what drives this former Anti-Soxian to a life of “former Boston hero” worship. Whatever the catalyst behind the ballyard bromance, it exists and will continue to exist as long as “The Manster Mash” (nailed it!) suits up for the Hometown Nine (not my hometown, but a bunch of people live there).
Good Morning Peter, Thanks For Reading!