The prodigal son returns

(Photo from

Because, come on, we totally know how to throw down a tribute in this town.

Look at the face on the woman in the bottom right. Like a proud mother. Which is actually how much of New England felt about Nomar for a long time. He was ours. We made him. We watched him spray line drives and perform his idiosyncratic batting glove and toe tapping routine in the batter’s box night after night after night. And while there aren’t many of us that would trade the, erm, trade of Nomar and the subsequent World Series championship, I suspect there will always be a little part of us that wishes he could have been here for it.

I have to wonder how it feels for Nomar to be playing alongside Orlando Cabrera now, the man who replaced him in the Sox infield for said championship. Maybe they don’t talk about it. Or maybe, as I hope happens, O-Cab occasionally mentions what a folk legend Nomar was and still is in Boston. I feel like he should know that.

Nomar always endeared himself to me personally by seeming to have such a complete and reverent grasp of baseball history and it’s place in the larger whole. He befriended Ted Williams (which, despite Williams’ legendary status, could not have been easy considering he was also a notorious curmudgeon), and always seemed to play the game respectfully, knowing that he wasn’t the be all and end all and there had been baseball for many years before he started playing and baseball would continue for many years after he was gone. Not every current day player can remember that.

So good on ya, Boston. You done me proud with your tribute. Your playing however? Yikes.


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