Francona: The Red Sox Years

by Terry Francona

  In late July, with the trading deadline nearing, Epstein explored the possibility of acquiring Texas closer Eric Gagne.

  When Epstein told Francona he was close to completing the deal, Francona said, “Theo, I’m worried about this. We need to talk to Pap.”

  “Okay, then,” said Epstein. “Let’s go see him.”

  Three hours before the trading deadline, accompanied by Farrell, bullpen coach Gary Tuck, and Epstein, Francona drove his Cadillac Escalade to Papelbon’s apartment in the Back Bay to talk to the closer about yielding his role to Gagne. They parked in a tow zone in front of Abe & Louie’s restaurant on Boylston Street. Dressed in his full Sox uniform, Francona went inside the restaurant, grabbed a menu, and took it outside to put under his windshield wiper.

  “Tito, are you fuckin’ kidding me?” asked Farrell. “You’re walking around downtown Boston, on game day, in your uniform, and you’re worried about a parking ticket?”

  The four men walked to Papelbon’s brownstone, buzzed his apartment, and met with him in the boiler room of his building. Papelbon had memorabilia all around him—stuff he’d agreed to sign for a fee. When Epstein went into his pitch about acquiring Gagne and perhaps moving Papelbon into a setup role, the Sox closer stopped signing and frowned.

  “I don’t like it,” said Papelbon. “I’m the closer.”

  “Okay,” said Epstein. “I understand. Let me go to work on it.”

  “Part of me was happy Pap said what he said,” Francona said later. “But I also knew it made Theo’s job harder.”

  Folks on Boylston Street couldn’t believe it when they saw Francona, wearing his game white pants and ubiquitous red fleece, walking back to his car alongside Tuck and Epstein. Boston’s meter maids had no regard for the trading deadline and were not faked out by the restaurant menu. There was a $40 parking ticket under the windshield wiper.

  Despite Papelbon’s objections, Epstein made the trade, acquiring Gagne for outfielder David Murphy, lefty pitcher Kason Gabbard, and outfielder Engel Beltre. The deal proved to be a bust. Gagne went 2–2 with a 6.75 ERA and zero saves, then earned multiple mentions in the exhaustive report on performance-enhancing drugs in Major League Baseball released after the 2007 season by former senator George Mitchell, the chief investigator.

  The Mitchell Report was of no concern to Francona in August of 2007. Nor was the parking ticket. He was dealing with MLB’s uniform police. Baseball wanted him to wear his standard-issue uniform top when he worked in the Red Sox dugout.

  Francona was assigned number 16 when he first got the Boston job in December 2004, but number 16 had been worn by Joe Kerrigan during the train-wreck season of 2001, and clubhouse attendant Tommy McLaughlin suggested that Francona switch to number 47. Numbers meant absolutely nothing to the Red Sox manager. He’d worn number 11 in high school and 32 (now retired) at Arizona. He wore number 16 as a player with the Expos, and also wore 10, 24, and 30 in the big leagues. Terry’s dad wore ten different numbers in his big league career, none of them 16 or 47. The best number 47 in recent Sox history had been lefty pitcher Bruce Hurst, who came within one strike of being MVP of the 1986 World Series.

  Red Sox fans never knew Francona’s number because he always wore a red or blue fleece top, or a Sox jacket over his uniform jersey.

  “That started in Philadelphia,” he said. “I wore my fleece all the time, and it pissed people off. There was a tunnel behind the dugout where it got cold, and I’d wear my fleece. When I found out people didn’t like it, I got stubborn, so even when it got hot I’d keep the fleece on. I would sit in the dugout, sweating my ass off, saying, ‘Fuck those people.’ I wore number 7 with the Phillies, but nobody ever knew it.”

  During his years at Fenway, the red top was as much a part of Francona’s identity as his bald pate. There are very few photographs of Francona wearing his standard uniform jersey top. Unless it was opening day, he was always wearing a red or blue fleece.

  “When he walks to the mound in that thing, he looks like he’s coming out to change the oil in your car,” wrote a Globe columnist.

  The Valvoline top became an issue in New York in the summer of 2007.

  “It was a little bit of a running feud with the league,” Francona said. “I started getting fined, and they were sending me letters all the time. Bob Watson was in charge of that for Major League Baseball. I told him to come watch me get dressed. I put my socks on. I put on those two leg sleeves. There’s a reason they help your circulation—they’re tight and they’re hot. Over the top of those I would wear a pair of runner’s tights. Then I would put a pair of socks over those, up to my knees, and then I’d put my pants on. I was triple-layered. There were some days in the dugout, I was like, ‘Fuck, you’ve got to be kidding me. They want me to tuck my shirt in?’ By the time I put my whole uniform on, I was a little bit claustrophobic. I can’t tuck in one more fucking thing. That’s why when I’d get on our charter, I’d always take my shoes off and untuck my shirt. It all goes back to my circulation issues. Bob asked me if I could cut off my jersey at the waist so I could wear it and they’d be able to see it under my top. I did that, but I still didn’t always wear the uniform top underneath. Anyway, he came to our game in New York one night, and we were laughing about it in the dugout, and I pulled my top up and had the uniform top underneath. Then the game started and it wasn’t so funny.”

  It was a marquee pitching matchup: Beckett versus Roger Clemens. In the second inning, with the Sox on the field and Jeter taking a lead off second, Francona heard a New York City police lieutenant (approved by Major League Baseball), Eddie Maldonado, calling his name from the dugout tunnel behind his back. His first thought was, This must be bad news. He was worried about his family. He went back to see what the man had to say.

  “I need to check to see if you are wearing your uniform top,” said Maldonado.

  Francona was wearing his game jersey under the fleece. He was also livid. Jeter was still taking his lead off second, but the manager didn’t care anymore. He followed the lieutenant up the tunnel.

  “You !@#$%^&*(,” said Francona, chasing the lieutenant.

  It was loud and ugly. The New York Post reported the incident, erroneously stating that Francona had yelled at Watson. The incorrect account enabled Francona to address the issue at his daily presser before the next day’s game.

  “Terry was within his rights to be upset,” admitted Major League Baseball executive Jimmie Lee Solomon.

  “It was silly,” said Francona. “‘Nobody wears that thing. Ozzie Guillen wears a hood. When Joe Torre took over Watson’s old job years later, I knew I wasn’t going to hear from him about it.”

  With Francona dutifully wearing his number 47 game top under the fleece, the Red Sox were swept in the series. Francona was ejected in the seventh inning of the finale. Yankee rookie Joba Chamberlain got everyone’s attention by throwing a couple of pitches at Youkilis’s head, earning an ejection in the eighth inning.

  On Saturday night, September 1, rookie Clay Buchholz made his second big league start, against the Orioles. Buchholz has spectacular stuff. Watching closely from his seat behind home plate, Jeremy Kapstein called his friend Bill Wanless, Pawtucket’s public relations vice president.

  “This kid is going to throw a no-hitter right now,” said Kapstein.

  Buchholz no-hit the Orioles that night, but there would be no room for the young righty on Boston’s postseason roster. After 148 major league and minor league innings that season, Buchholz was losing strength in his throwing shoulder, and Boston’s baseball operations people were maniacal about not overextending young arms. Francona agreed with that policy.

  The Yankees made a run at the Red Sox in 2007, but the Sox held their ground, finishing ahead of New York for the first time since 1995. Drew salvaged a subpar season by hitting .342 with 18 RBI in September.

  When the Red Sox clinched the American League East on September 28, the highlight of the postgame celebration was the sight of Papelbon dancing
a jig on the infield while wearing a Miller Lite 12-pack box on his head. It would not be Papelbon’s final Yawkey Way Riverdance of 2007.

  “You set out to win, but I never wanted to sacrifice our chances of winning the World Series,” said Francona. “I always tried to keep the big picture in mind. My job was to put us in position to win a World Series.”

  The Red Sox steamrolled the Angels in the American League Division Series. Beckett, baseball’s first 20-game winner in two years, won the opener, 4–0, retiring 19 consecutive batters after surrendering a single to the first hitter he faced. He threw only 108 pitches. In the 2007 playoffs, he was 4–0 with a 1.20 ERA, 30 strikeouts, and two walks. The Sox won his postseason starts by an aggregate 34–5.

  “I had a lot of confidence going into it,” said Beckett.

  “Every time Josh was on the mound, we knew we were going to win,” said Pedroia. “He could have gotten anybody out. Barry Bonds in his prime? It wouldn’t matter.”

  The Game 1 loser was John Lackey, a man who would play a major role in Francona’s final two seasons in Boston.

  Ortiz and Ramirez hit .533 with four homers and seven RBI in the Sox sweep of the Angels. They were at the height of their powers and had agreed on Ortiz hitting third and Manny at cleanup. The manager let them think it was their decision.

  “Early on, both of ’em wanted to hit third,” said Francona. “And then both of them wanted to hit fourth. I would bring them in together, and we’d talk about it. I’d say, ‘I know you both want to hit third. You can’t.’ I knew the way I wanted it to work, because I thought Manny protecting David was good. Manny would never go out of the strike zone, so if he hit fourth, it was good. But I wanted them to embrace it. Buddy Bell told me once that I’m sneaky like that—that I can get my way without making it seem like I’m getting my way. And this worked with Manny and David. It was better if they had input and thought it was their idea. They felt like they were part of it, and they were both happy. If you can get the players to think that they’re the ones making the decisions, you’re way ahead of the game. The idea is to create an atmosphere where the players want to do the right thing. It’s like dealing with your kids.

  “David batting third and Manny fourth was perfect. I can’t imagine what it was like for other teams when they scouted us. How do you get through both of those guys? That’s how good they were.”

  “Manny was more complicated than me,” said Ortiz. “To me, it didn’t matter. I thought Manny was more of a cleanup hitter than me. He was more patient and chased bad pitches less than me. He would take his walks. I was more aggressive. Sometimes he wanted to hit third, and I told him, ‘Go ahead.’ It was easy between him and me. Tito let us decide where we wanted to be, and that wasn’t a problem.”

  After dismissing the Angels, the Sox faced Cleveland. Beckett won the opener with another dazzling effort, but then the Red Sox lost three straight to the Tribe.

  Ortiz called a players-only meeting after the Game 4 loss in Cleveland.

  “I just wanted everybody to be positive,” said Papi. “I told them that it wasn’t over. Lots of times it’s better to have those meetings between players, without coaches. When a player calls you out, it’s different than when a coach calls you out. Those meetings weren’t about calling people out. It was to remind us to stop chasing pitches and make better pitches and execute the right way in the right situation.”

  With the Sox down 3–1, Francona was taking a lot of heat. He was criticized for keeping Pedroia (hitting .188 through four games) atop the lineup and for sticking too long with Crisp.

  His decision to start Wakefield instead of Beckett in the fourth game was roundly criticized. Francona had asked Beckett about the possibility of pitching the crucial game on three days’ rest. Beckett told the manager that he would pitch on short rest, but would be much better on normal rest.

  “Tito and I had an agreement,” said Beckett. “I just pitched when he told me to pitch. I didn’t like that to be in my hands. I don’t really tell somebody whenever I want to pitch. If he had told me to pitch earlier, I would have pitched earlier.”

  “Beckett was ready to be Beckett,” reasoned Francona. “That’s all I needed to hear. I never could figure out why people made such a big deal out of it. I wasn’t giving up Game 4, but we need to win four games. Using Beckett early wasn’t going to help us win four games.”

  Francona went with Wakefield in Game 4, and Wake pitched into the fifth inning, when Cleveland scored seven times. The Tribe’s 7–3 victory put the Red Sox on the brink of elimination. Francona was roasted in print and on the air.

  Postgame, after facing the cross-examination of the media, Francona went back to his manager’s office at Jacobs Field and started getting dressed for the bus to the team hotel. He was surprised to find ESPN’s Tim Kurkjian sitting on the couch in his office. He didn’t know Kurkjian particularly well.

  “How’s it going,” said Kurkjian.

  “Okay,” said a suspicious and agitated Francona. “What can I do for you?”

  “I just wanted you to know that I agree with what you did, starting Wakefield,” said Kurkjian. “There are people who would have liked it if I ripped you, but I didn’t want to do that because I didn’t believe you were wrong.”

  Francona felt a little better. He knew he was going to have a rough day and a half before the start of Game 5 in Cleveland.

  “I understand fans and media second-guessing,” he said. “I’m a fan. I do it. I just wish people would remember that we know things about the team that they maybe don’t know. I have more information than anybody. And it’s my job to know my team.”

  Beckett didn’t need any extra incentive, but the Indians provided it when they produced one of his old girlfriends, country singer Danielle Peck, to sing the anthem before Game 5.

  “I was out in the bullpen with him while he was warming up, and she was on the field, getting ready to sing,” said Farrell. “Fans were hanging over the rails, teasing him about his girlfriend. Just when it got quiet and she started to sing, Josh looked over at me and said, ‘You know, for the record, I broke up with her.’ I was pretty sure then that he was going to be okay.”

  Beckett beat the Tribe, 7–1, to send the series back to Boston.

  “That was Tito at his best,” said Farrell. “He believes in a natural cycle to the game, and he really took exception when there was talk about changes in the rotation. He fought that and felt strongly about it. I think it goes back to our relationship when we were teammates in Cleveland. He got to understand the mind-set of a pitcher. The five-day routine, how ingrained they are in their routine and what day of the week it is, and he was a staunch believer that everyone who goes to the mound is going to have to pitch well if we are going to win. Moving Beckett up went against every fabric of him as a manager and how he views pitching. He was dead set against moving a guy up. He felt strongly about never disrupting a rotation.”

  Games 6 and 7 were Red Sox blowouts, 12–2 and 11–2. The highlight of Game 6 was a first-inning, two-out grand slam by J. D. Drew.

  In the eyes of many Sox fans, Drew saved his season with the slam.

  “We were getting ready to let them off the hook,” said Francona. “We’d had the bases loaded and nobody out, then there were two outs. It was nice having J.D. in a situation like that. You knew it wasn’t going to overwhelm him. He wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it one way or the other. When he hit it, zero turned into four. It changed everything about that game.”

  The Fenway lawn party after Game 7 was long and wild. It would be the final Fenway postseason celebration of Francona’s eight years in Boston. It was Papelbon’s Riverdance II; this time the Big Galoot wore swimming goggles to spare his eyes from the champagne spray.

  “That was a real celebration,” said Francona. “It was legit. We beat a good team. When I went out to the field the second time and saw Pap out there doing his thing again, I knew it was time to go home. It was cold, and we were all sticky
from the champagne. Theo and all of his guys were in my office. On my way out the door I said, ‘Pookie [veteran clubhouse worker Edward ‘Pookie’ Jackson], if I come back here tomorrow and my office is torn up, I’m blaming you.’”

  When Francona met with his staff before the World Series, there was a lot of debate about Coco Crisp versus Jacoby Ellsbury in center field. Crisp had made a sensational catch to close out the American League Champion Series, but injured his knee on the play. He hit only .200 in the ALCS.

  “That was a hard one for me,” said Francona. “Sometimes you are just not sure. It looked like Ells was going to get hot, and there was a lot of push to have him play. I felt like starting Coco was the right thing to do. I had DeMarlo Hale call Coco, and Coco said his knee hurt, so that was that. By the end of the Series, Coco was telling us he was ready to play, but Ells was on fire by then. We couldn’t take him out.”

  Ellsbury had been called up to the bigs in July and hit .353 in 33 games. A 2005 first-round pick out of the University of Oregon, he was one of the blossoming stars of the new regime. A rare combination of speed and power, he was successful on nine of nine stolen base attempts in his abbreviated 2007 run in the majors. He was also believed to be the first Native American of Navajo descent to make it to the majors. When they were thinking of drafting Ellsbury, the Cleveland Indians had asked him if he was offended by the “Chief Wahoo” logo that dotted every team cap. Ellsbury said he was not offended.

  Epstein and baseball ops were thrilled to have Ellsbury contributing at such a big moment. Francona felt the same way. The Sox were on a roll, just as they had been in 2004, but this time they were doing it with eight homegrown talents, players who presented as thoroughly professional.

  The Colorado Rockies had won ten straight and 21 of 22 when they came to Boston for the 103rd World Series. It didn’t matter. There was no stopping the Red Sox in October of 2007. Pedroia set the tone with a second-pitch, leadoff homer off Jeff Francis in the bottom of the first inning to start a 13–1 Game 1 victory at Fenway Park. Schilling, a shell of his former self, barely cracking 88 miles per hour on the radar gun, was still able to win on brains, savvy, and his amazing control of the strike zone. He won Game 2 (2–1) with five and a third precise, artistic innings.