2025 Red Sox and MLB Thread
- Thread starter Deus Irae
- Start date
captain stone
Well-known member
I loved Tomlin as a pitcher for us. He was a hoss on the mound, he didn't nibble but challenged hitters, and he didn't take any shit from anyone. He was one of the reasons we won in 2004 and came so close in 2003. He & Alan Embree were one of our best L-R combos in the bullpen in a long, long time.
Abreau with the "inside the park" home run and a grand slam yesterday...
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=AZWG158VwPhQnFZ3KxJxfKoZlQCPD42imhMWd--Wjtfr4r5JpdeMxZbG904WdUwTYekM8RJ679VR6-gMUxhvWIKsGF5ilgQ7AMf-4BJr2xau7wzksuHDcFfR3NAMOjtyyCjcVDhvj2JO8MHEmKXVcPpDA03bqHDw6rFBwLx4z4XzQY8HUy5CBLCqWuIZq4xvq8A0vQFHBIkQtsPRrAyp341HNqpYu_gYjLn57OPX1Je7Kg&__tn__=%2CO%2CP-R]View: https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=719630937484335&__cft__[0]=AZWG158VwPhQnFZ3KxJxfKoZlQCPD42imhMWd--Wjtfr4r5JpdeMxZbG904WdUwTYekM8RJ679VR6-gMUxhvWIKsGF5ilgQ7AMf-4BJr2xau7wzksuHDcFfR3NAMOjtyyCjcVDhvj2JO8MHEmKXVcPpDA03bqHDw6rFBwLx4z4XzQY8HUy5CBLCqWuIZq4xvq8A0vQFHBIkQtsPRrAyp341HNqpYu_gYjLn57OPX1Je7Kg&__tn__=%2CO%2CP-R
captain stone
Well-known member
Did someone raise the pitching mounds and not tell us about it?
This is like 1968 shit.
Limit the # of pitchers on a staff to 12 RIGHT FUCKING NOW.
Then move the mound BACK during the off-season, to 61",
captain stone
Well-known member
Fucking dumbass never left the fucking batter's box.
I really, Really, hate this fucking team.
There was a time in Boston when the name Jim Rice didn’t just echo through Fenway Park — it rumbled through the hearts of fans, whispered across radio broadcasts, and thumped with the pulse of a generation who watched him swing like thunder wrapped in muscle.
By the end of 1977, Rice wasn’t just playing baseball — he was *owning* it. You could feel it in the way pitchers flinched when he stepped into the batter’s box, like they knew they were moments away from being part of another highlight reel. That year, he led the American League with 39 home runs. It was the first time he’d conquered that particular peak, and it wouldn’t be the last. His .593 slugging percentage and jaw-dropping 392 total bases? Numbers that hadn’t been touched by an AL player in nearly four decades. It was like watching a man possessed — driven not just by talent, but something deeper, something almost defiant.
And then came 1978.
If ’77 was his arrival, then ’78 was his coronation. Rice wasn’t playing baseball that year — he was rewriting it. Batting .315. Crushing 46 home runs. Driving in 139 runs with the same calm intensity as a man chopping wood. His 213 hits, 15 triples, and monstrous 406 total bases told a story of relentless, unyielding domination. Every time he stepped to the plate, something electric seemed to hang in the air. Eleven league-leading stats. Just one short of tying a record that had stood since 1921 — the kind of history that lives in black-and-white film reels and weathered scorecards.
But here’s what made it legendary: he did what almost no one else had done. He led the league in triples *and* home runs — a brutal mix of speed and power almost never seen in the same body. And still, no one — not even the greats — has matched his triple crown of leading the majors in triples, homers, and RBIs in the same season. Not Ruth. Not Mays. Not Mantle. Just Rice.
Those 406 total bases? They still stand as a Red Sox record. And in the entire American League, no one had reached that summit since Joe DiMaggio in 1937. Not until 1997 — two decades later — did anyone, anywhere, crack 400 again. That was in the *National* League. But in the AL? No one’s done it since Rice. His number remains the third-highest total ever by an AL right-handed hitter — behind only two demigods: DiMaggio and Jimmie Foxx.
You’d think a season like that would burn a man out. But Rice wasn’t finished.
In 1979, he came back swinging. More than 200 hits — again. Top-three finishes in eight different categories. Third in runs scored. Second in homers. Second in RBIs. He didn’t just show up — he took the game and bent it to his will. For the *third straight year*, he led the league in total bases. That’s consistency only few dream about — a streak of punishment for any pitcher bold enough to throw him a strike. And get this: no other player in MLB history — not *one* — has had three consecutive seasons with 200+ hits, 39+ homers, and a batting average over .315. Not Bonds. Not Aaron. Not even Ted Williams.
Fast-forward to 1983, and Rice was still writing his own myth. He finished the year atop the AL in four categories: home runs, RBIs, total bases… and yes, grounding into double plays. A mix of glory and grit, like a reminder that even the greatest can stumble — but they *keep swinging*. Only George Scott had done it before, and decades later, Miguel Cabrera would join them. But not a single NL player has *ever* matched that peculiar but powerful stat line.
Then came 1986 — his last hurrah in the October spotlight. At 33, Rice still had fire in his bat. He racked up 200 hits, hit .324, and drove in 110. The Red Sox were back in the World Series. This time, Rice played all 14 postseason games. He tallied 14 hits, smacked two home runs, scored 14 runs, and knocked in six more. That run tally? Fifth most ever in a single postseason. He left it all on the field. Blood, sweat, swing.
But destiny is cruel in Boston. The Sox lost. Seven games. Again. The heartbreak was familiar, but Rice’s performance never wavered. He stood tall, even when the trophy slipped away.
Jim Rice wasn’t just a slugger. He was a force — a quiet, relentless storm who showed up day after day with a bat that spoke louder than any words ever could. His story isn’t just numbers. It’s memory. Muscle. Magic.
By the end of 1977, Rice wasn’t just playing baseball — he was *owning* it. You could feel it in the way pitchers flinched when he stepped into the batter’s box, like they knew they were moments away from being part of another highlight reel. That year, he led the American League with 39 home runs. It was the first time he’d conquered that particular peak, and it wouldn’t be the last. His .593 slugging percentage and jaw-dropping 392 total bases? Numbers that hadn’t been touched by an AL player in nearly four decades. It was like watching a man possessed — driven not just by talent, but something deeper, something almost defiant.
And then came 1978.
If ’77 was his arrival, then ’78 was his coronation. Rice wasn’t playing baseball that year — he was rewriting it. Batting .315. Crushing 46 home runs. Driving in 139 runs with the same calm intensity as a man chopping wood. His 213 hits, 15 triples, and monstrous 406 total bases told a story of relentless, unyielding domination. Every time he stepped to the plate, something electric seemed to hang in the air. Eleven league-leading stats. Just one short of tying a record that had stood since 1921 — the kind of history that lives in black-and-white film reels and weathered scorecards.
But here’s what made it legendary: he did what almost no one else had done. He led the league in triples *and* home runs — a brutal mix of speed and power almost never seen in the same body. And still, no one — not even the greats — has matched his triple crown of leading the majors in triples, homers, and RBIs in the same season. Not Ruth. Not Mays. Not Mantle. Just Rice.
Those 406 total bases? They still stand as a Red Sox record. And in the entire American League, no one had reached that summit since Joe DiMaggio in 1937. Not until 1997 — two decades later — did anyone, anywhere, crack 400 again. That was in the *National* League. But in the AL? No one’s done it since Rice. His number remains the third-highest total ever by an AL right-handed hitter — behind only two demigods: DiMaggio and Jimmie Foxx.
You’d think a season like that would burn a man out. But Rice wasn’t finished.
In 1979, he came back swinging. More than 200 hits — again. Top-three finishes in eight different categories. Third in runs scored. Second in homers. Second in RBIs. He didn’t just show up — he took the game and bent it to his will. For the *third straight year*, he led the league in total bases. That’s consistency only few dream about — a streak of punishment for any pitcher bold enough to throw him a strike. And get this: no other player in MLB history — not *one* — has had three consecutive seasons with 200+ hits, 39+ homers, and a batting average over .315. Not Bonds. Not Aaron. Not even Ted Williams.
Fast-forward to 1983, and Rice was still writing his own myth. He finished the year atop the AL in four categories: home runs, RBIs, total bases… and yes, grounding into double plays. A mix of glory and grit, like a reminder that even the greatest can stumble — but they *keep swinging*. Only George Scott had done it before, and decades later, Miguel Cabrera would join them. But not a single NL player has *ever* matched that peculiar but powerful stat line.
Then came 1986 — his last hurrah in the October spotlight. At 33, Rice still had fire in his bat. He racked up 200 hits, hit .324, and drove in 110. The Red Sox were back in the World Series. This time, Rice played all 14 postseason games. He tallied 14 hits, smacked two home runs, scored 14 runs, and knocked in six more. That run tally? Fifth most ever in a single postseason. He left it all on the field. Blood, sweat, swing.
But destiny is cruel in Boston. The Sox lost. Seven games. Again. The heartbreak was familiar, but Rice’s performance never wavered. He stood tall, even when the trophy slipped away.
Jim Rice wasn’t just a slugger. He was a force — a quiet, relentless storm who showed up day after day with a bat that spoke louder than any words ever could. His story isn’t just numbers. It’s memory. Muscle. Magic.
