Big Papi!!!

He did it again. Bottom of the ninth. Sox down, this time to the Indians, this time 8-6. David Wells had made his comeback start and got shelled, which is to be expected from a guy who had not faced Major League hitting in months. It was an entertaining slugfest, but one in which the Sox looked to be destined to be on the losing end.

Except that we have Big Papi. And you don't. And it is as simple as that. Sure, we have Manny too. And we have a team that year in and year out is playoff bound. But in the last few years, we have had Big Papi.

I know the Sabrmetricians don't believe in clutch (although tellingly, Sox special advisor and stats guru Bill James, who once made the strongest case against "clutch" now says that he might have been wrong and that we just have not emerged with the right matric) but they are approaching it all wrong: Maybe we cannot reliably predict clutch. But once it has happened, we know it when we see it. Anyone who has watched David Ortiz for the last three-and-a-half years knows that clutch exists. He now has more walkoff hits than any player in a four year span since at least 1969. And keep in mind that walkoffs are a home-field stat. He has probably had that many more ninth inning hits on the road to put the Sox ahead and let the bullpen hold off the enemy and preserve the win. Clutch is real. And we have it. Indeed, we may have the geratest clutch hitter in the history of the game.

And the beautiful thing is that Sox fans can sense it coming. Last night Ortiz was scheduled to hit fourth. We get two guys (Youk and Cora) on base, Tito knows better than to ask Loretta to bunt and open up first base, and so when the second baseman pops out, Papi gets to bat with two on. And we all sensed it.

Poor Fausto Carmona of the Indians did not have a chance. Papi blasted a laser to the deepest part of Fenway. He rounded the basis without his expression changing until he got to within range of home plate where, as has happened so often in the last few years, Papi flips up his helmet in a move he really ought to patent, and the Red Sox mob him, reminding us all of the inherent bliss that these millionaires can still feel on a baseball field.

Dan Shaughnessy, the Boston Globe's once great but now hit-or-miss columnist, argues that Papi has entered rarefied and historic air:

There never has been anything like it in Boston sports. There never has been anyone like David Ortiz in our town. Sure, there were a couple of players with more talent, but no one ever has had a prolonged stretch like this. Not Ted. Not Russ. Not Bobby. Not Larry. Not Tom. They did other things, and won (in some cases) a lot more rings. But no player in Boston sports history has sent home this many people with electrifying moments of greatness.

This simply does not happen in baseball. Ortiz has turned major league baseball into Wiffle ball games you'd play with makeshift rules regarding rooftops, clotheslines, and summer winds. Big Papi is an action superhero come to life. He is a cartoon figure who jumps off the screen and gets it done in real life in real time. He is the mythical Joe Hardy with no apparent time limit on his powers.

And I think Shaughnessy is right. I do not know how long it takes for someone to enter that pantheon of heroes reserved for only the true greats, but Papi is there. Were he to retire tomorrow his legend would be secure and would only grow in years to come. I cannot wait for the day when I can bounce my grandchildren on my knee and tell them tales about Big Papi, the gentle giant who made baseballs yield to his will, who will always exists in our mind's eye rounding third and disappearing into an enraptured throng, leaving only a joyously spinning, bouncing helmet on the third base line.