Forget about the wild card standings. The Red Sox are now in a race to the bottom.
Say hello to last-place watch.
After being deluded by two months of false hope, we will once again spend late September picking apples, drinking pumpkin crap, and testing the furnace in anticipation of a long winter. The Red Sox are closer to the American League East basement than the third wild card, and it would feel catastrophic if it wasn't so familiar.
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Tuesday night in Tampa brought the latest nadir, an 8-3 loss to the Rays that dropped the Red Sox below .500 for the first time since early June. It's hard to overstate the depths of their collapse from a vibes standpoint. Good times never seemed so gone. So gone, so gone, so long.
Barely two months ago, the Red Sox had seemingly left those days behind. They hit the All-Star break a season-high 11 games over .500 and we debated not whether they'd catch the small-market Royals in the wild card race, which was a foregone conclusion, but if they could target-lock the Yankees and Orioles in the division.
"Let's get greedy," manager Alex Cora told his squad, and if you think that comment hasn't aged well, then do I have some headlines for you:
- "Why these Red Sox are nothing like 2022, 2023 teams that collapsed."
- "It's time to ask a new question of Red Sox: how good can they be?"
- "Craig Breslow's first trade deadline is a win."
- And my personal favorite: "Dissecting the one play that proves this is a magical Red Sox season."
Those were all written by me, and I guess you could say I took the cheese. The Red Sox were young and exciting! They dominated the bases! Their young starters were rocking and rolling! Welcome to the new age!
Since my declarations of magic, however, the Sox have gone just 14-24. Their young players predictably hit a wall. Lone superstar Rafael Devers disappeared, waylaid by a bum shoulder that does not bode well for the remaining decade of his contract. The bullpen imploded like the Kingdome and will require a full rebuild this winter.
The Red Sox are now only a game up on the Rays and three ahead of the Jays in the race for the AL East cellar, with five still to play against Tampa and three more looming in Toronto. I suppose you could say they control their own destiny. Unless it controls them.
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What's clear is that we must say, "Never again," to the organization's efforts to lower our expectations into believing that watching some young guys play OK qualifies as a success.
No more saluting the emergence of prospects or hyping the Double-A roster. The Red Sox owe their fans more than a slavish devotion to farm system rankings and the evergreen promise of an incredible future that's at the end of this alley, if only we're willing to wait just a little bit longer, and maybe stay away from that van.
Spoiler alert: Godot never arrives.
The Red Sox require real reinforcements, which cost real money, and if they don't arrive this winter, don't believe anything you see next June or July. In fact, here's a guarantee: If they try to win with homegrown talent again, it won't work. They'll run out of gas, just like this year, and end up playing meaningless September baseball for a fifth straight season.
John Henry and ownership have broken our spirit in an attempt to condition us into believing this is the way. They cite the sustainability model that's every organization's holy grail, and then keep punting on season after season after season, although "shanking" might be a better kicking metaphor.
Let the record show that since Henry decided in 2019 that the Red Sox were spending too much under Dave Dombrowski and building a winner shouldn't be so expensive, they've produced exactly one winning season and three last-place finishes.
Now, despite some breakout performances and a fun couple of months in June and July, they're suddenly in danger of making it four out of five in last place. Even the lowly White Sox can't say that.
So with all due respect to Roman Anthony, baseball's No. 1 overall prospect, and Kristian Campbell, its top minor league performer, I don't want to hear it anymore. Another last-place watch is on, and this bleep is getting old.