Nomar Return to Boston Not Likely to Work Out
Last week the Texas Rangers, desperate for an extra push in their wild-card struggle with the Red Sox, went out and made a move for an extra bat. Last Tuesday, they packaged together minor league reliever Matt Nevarez and two players to be named later to reel in future Hall of Fame backstop Ivan Rodriguez.
In Texas, Pudge is more than just a 19-year veteran, a 14-time All-Star and a 13-time Gold Glover. He's a hometown fan favorite — the catcher broke into the major leagues in Arlington in 1991, and he was one of the best players in baseball throughout the 1990s. Fans in Texas loved him.
Pudge isn't alone. This season has also seen the homecoming voyages of Ken Griffey, Jr., who signed a one-year deal in February to go back to the Seattle Mariners; Tom Glavine, who crawled back to Atlanta with a similar one-year deal; and Jason Giambi, who returned to the Oakland A's this winter after finishing his stint as a Yankee.
Across the board, these homecoming experiments have failed. It's sad, really — we're talking about future Hall of Famers here, and we're starting to discover that our heroes of the 1990s are running out of gas. Griffey has hit .224 this season in Seattle, Glavine was released on June 3 having never thrown another pitch for the Braves and Giambi was similarly cut loose in Oakland. For those who hold out hope for baseball's comeback kids, Pudge is the last hope.
Unless the Red Sox have something to say about that.
When Nomar Garciaparra made his return to Fenway Park with the A's last month, he was greeted with a warm standing ovation from the Boston faithful, many of whom still remember his productive eight years as the face of the Red Sox franchise. Hidden among the countless Nomar quotes that filtered through the media that week, there was this gem, straight from Nomar's mouth in his NESN postgame interview:
"The minute I put that uniform on, I dreamed I was gonna start my career in Boston and end my career in Boston. I still have that dream. The only difference from the original dream is that I wasn’t supposed to put another uniform on. But that dream is still there."
The dream is still there.
Nomar is human. Like any other athlete who rose to fame in front of a devoted, loyal fan base, he wants to share the end of his career with the fans who nurtured him. Nomar may not still be viewed as the future Hall of Famer that he was five years ago, but he still wants to polish his legacy by making a return to the city that made him who he is: the one and only "Nomah."
It's a touching sentiment. It'd be hard for anyone who loved the Red Sox a decade ago not to be a little moved. But in Boston, sentiment can never stand alone — baseball in Boston is serious business, and with sentiment comes rationality. This city values wins. It values championships. It's unforgiving to those who can't help this team win.
It remains to be seen whether Boston will ever have its Pudge, its Griffey, its Glavine or Giambi. Around these parts, recapturing past magic is easier said than done.
When the time is right and the money is too, homecomings in baseball are a welcome sight. Everyone likes a good standing ovation.
But it isn't always that simple. We're all still looking for the corner of Memory Lane and Yawkey Way, and sadly, the streets might never cross.
