Word: rice
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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Deron Johnson, acquired from the Chicago While Sox Sunday after star rookie Jim Rice was injured, began Boston's uprising with a single. Johnson went to third on Rico Petrocelli's single and came home on Fred Lynn's double, tying the score...
...most ruthless creature in professional sports, and I'm one, so yesterday morning when I read about Jim Rice I reacted as though someone had died. Jim Rice is not dead, ofcourse--he's just caked up in a cast for a month or two, through the remaining week of the regular season, through the possible American League Playoff, through the possible World Series and the possible apocalypse in Boston which would follow a victory there. That's all. He's not dead, but for me he might as well...
There's something ruthless in that attitude: it treats Rice as something less than human, purely as an instrument, a part broken down and therefore worthless. But what can I say? I have to perceive Jim Rice off the field only as a shadowy and bland image. He says he likes to fish. He comes from Anderson, S.C. He is twenty-two years old, my age, though in some ways he is probably a lot younger than I am because he has had fewer experiences, or at least not as wide a variety of them. He has been to fewer...
...Even if Rice wanted to say something controversial he couldn't. Obviously he can't give frank opinions about the other members of his team, or the management, particularly when he is a rookie. And a "public" statement (suppose he wanted to say something about racism in Boston) would be adroitly buried by the press as extraneous. When Red Sox pitcher Bill Lee called Judge Garrity the only man in this town with any guts, the paper gave the statement virtually no play, and a columnist quickly huffed and puffed about how baseball and social criticism...
...Rice doesn't exist except as a baseball player, save for his close friends and family. In the ballpark, though, loping out to the outfield, matching steps with Freddie Lynn like the first two mustangs out of the canyon to sniff the expanse, or kneeling in the on deck circle coiled like a spring, or straightening up, breathing hard at first base after cracking one to left center--in the ballpark he's a bubbling, vital being who radiates sheer, awesome promise. Now the fourth metacarpal bone in his left hand is fractured and he is dead. Any sane...