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Obsession, A Fragrance By Entercom

If there is such as organization as People for the Ethical Treatment of Dead Horses, its paramilitary wing is currently en route to the WEEI studios, bombs at the ready.

In a foolish quest for information about tonight's Red Sox game, I turned the car radio to WEEI on my drive home from work. The topic was baseball, all right, but not game two of the playoff series with the Angels, or even game one of that series. No, the loud voices of callers, guests and host Glen Ordway were up in arms about Manny Ramirez. A diligent search for scapegoats and targets of righteous wrath was underway as the events leading up to Manny's trade to the Dodgers were rehashed, or rather, rererererehashed.

Give it up, gang! Make Jason Wolfe break down and buy a calendar for the studio, since one is so obviously needed. As a public service (not that anyone at WEEI is sensitive enough to read this blog just because it's about them), here's the only Manny chronology anyone needs.

In late July, Theo Epstein feared Manny was wigging out for good. Epstein acted on his fears, and with considerable resourcefulness, threw together a three-way trade that sent Ramirez to the Dodgers and brought Jason Bay to Sox in return.

In Pittsburgh, Bay was a very nice player. In Boston, that's just what he's been, too. The Red Sox played very well in the final two months of the season (the Yankee implosion helped), made the playoffs, and won their first game. Bay hit a homer. Yaay!

Since arriving in LA, Ramirez has hit like he's Roy Hobbs' big brother. The Dodgers, who had no shot otherwise, made the playoffs and won their first two games, Manny hitting homers in each one. Yaaay!! Ramirez is the toast of Tinsel Town, which, let's face it, is a far better town to be toast of than this one.

In short, everyone got what they wanted. Everybody's happy. The Sox and their fans are happy, and so are the Dodgers and their fans. Epstein and Bay are happy. Manny's happy, and his agent Scott Boras is happier still. Contentment reigns supreme, as if this story were the last page of a P.G. Wodehouse novel.

And WEEI is still in scream mode. Something sinister must have happened back in July. If only they could figure out what, they could rouse the rabble in their time-dishonored style.

It's not just WEEI. The Manny-fest I heard this afternoon was the distilled perfect essence of the horrible, life-denying ethos of sports talk radio. They were trying to bake a blame pie when the only ingredient to be found in the kitchen was bliss.

posted by Michael Gee @ 3:01 PM