The Zombie Jamboree Yet another wild weekend with the Red Sox and Yankees BY CHIP YOUNG

This past weekend’s Boston Red Sox-New York Yankees three-game series became part of the ever-growing legacy between the two teams. Call it the Zombie Jamboree when the walking dead wearing Boston uniforms actually came to life and partied it up as they took two of three from their hated rivals.

There was unanimity from the press boxes, executive suites, and locker rooms of the two teams coming into the set of head-to-head contests that the Red Sox were soulless and spiritless. (Paging George Romero.) The Olde Towne Team was 81/2 games behind the loathsome Yankees, who oozed commitment, class, and charisma, even as the BoSox looked like the Pawtucket Red Sox’ major league farm team.

Boston’s players — happily abetted by the New England media — acknowledged their inertia and indifference, and the need for a fire to be self-struck under their indolent asses. In New York, even the cultured and deferential writers at the New York Times knew they were looking at a sorry state of affairs in the Hub. The Times’ Dave Anderson, one of the most politic and white-gloved of columnists, previewed the match-up by harking back to their last meeting in Yankee Stadium. He cited the Yankees’ Derek Jeter going full-bore into the stands while catching a foul pop-up and emerging with a cut chin and cheek. Anderson implied not very subtly that no one on the Red Sox, going back to the days of haughty Boston stars like Ted Williams and Carl Yastrzemski, had the inclination or balls to do the same thing. Ergo, the Red Sox of today’s molly-coddled Big Three of Nomar Garciaparra, Pedro Martinez, and Manny Ramirez were merely an extension of a team that was traditionally gutless and unwilling to do what it took to win, as Jeter did in sharp contrast.

You may dispute the historical implications, but not the present ones. The Sox’ new manager, Terry Francona, is a chump who has already been bulldozed by the trio of Nomar, Petey, and Manny. These three make their own rules and live by them, and the rest of you can kiss their asses if you don’t like it. In the same game that Jeter sacrificed his body, Nomar was in the dugout supposedly resting his sore Achilles tendon. To take that at face value, that meant Terry Francona — or Terry "Glaucoma," as he is now becoming known for his lack of vision — had decided to rest one of his superstars during this intergalactic rivalry. Can you imagine Yankees manager Joe Torre even thinking of benching Jeter in a game like that? Or what Derek’s reaction would be to that suggestion, even if he was in a body cast? But No-More sat and didn’t even put up a fight. Way to save yourself for the Atlanta Braves, stud.

That isn’t the only problem with Garciaparra. Yes, he is a professional who comes to play. But for whom? Himself, it appears. Don’t ask me to be a leader, I’ll just worry about my numbers. His Botoxesque visage in the dugout during the most recent series with the Yankees made it quite evident that the emotion evoked in these classic battles seems to be lost on him. Yes, Nomar, it is time to go. Thanks for the memories.

Meanwhile, Francona is being blatantly exposed as a spineless wimp by the New York writers about his two sets of rules, but now even the hometown scribes and talking heads are getting into it. Red Sox color commentator Jerry Remy had the formerly taboo temerity to challenge on the air Francona’s decision to let Martinez go home early to the Dominican Republic at the All Star break, while forbidding rookie pitcher Bronson Arroyo to do so in the same situation, having had his last start before the recess. It echoed what other folks were already saying — that Boston has a dysfunctional team because of that lack of clubhouse discipline. Compare how Francona has made his presence felt — not! — in the clubhouse, front office, and with the fans and media. Then look at how New York’s Joe Torre is viewed by his players, is even respected by a bully like George Steinbrenner, and how the Big Apple media knows they are looking at the real deal as a man and manager. It makes you wonder how we ended up with the plug-chewing bozo we have in the Fenway Park dugout.

Francona was a bust as manager of the Philadelphia Phillies, who were one of the worst-performing clubs in the majors during his tenure. Now we have a Red Sox team that plays the field like they are wearing oven mitts and seemed absolutely disinterested as they slipped further and further behind the Yankees, and we have a front office that buys a pitcher from Double AA and gives him an immediate start against the Orioles, in which he blows up good, and then ships him back to the minors before the second game of the doubleheader even starts. The whole ship is taking on water big-time.

That is still true. But it doesn’t negate the fact that for this one weekend, we rose above having a Ben Mondor All-Stars lineup featuring Kevin Youkilis, Ricky Gutierrez, Dave McCarty, and Abe Alvarez, and fielded players with an actual pulse.

The Zombie Jamboree began after the BoSox blew the first game of the series, 8-7, when the team’s purported "closer," Keith Foulke, undermined all the good work three-homer boy Kevin Millar and his teammates had done to tie the game by the bottom of the eighth inning. Foulke, a high-priced bust to date, gave up a game-winning Green Monster single to Alex "A-Rod" Rodriguez in the top of the ninth. The Yankees’ Mariano Rivera, who actually is a first-rate closer, came in and put down the Sox like babies after a burping to secure the win as Boston folks reached for the Pepto.

Then came Mojo Night on Yawkey Way on Saturday. Down 3-0 right off the bat, Arroyo drilled the previous night’s hero Rodriguez with a pitch, and before you could say "Ton Ton Macoute," Red Sox catcher Jason Varitek was wrestling A-Hole to the ground and both benches were on the field. (You have to love Varitek. For my money — and hopefully the BoSox’ at season’s end — he’s among the elite three catchers in the American League along with Pudge Rodriguez and Jorge Posada, and the one guy who has Yankee-style grit.)

Well, everyone in the Santerias from Central Falls to the Bronx saw this as the candle that needed to be lit for Boston, although Varitek was tossed for his fireworks along with Rodriguez. The next thing you knew, Boston had ignited their bats and were up 4-3. But any good doom-and-gloom Sox fan knew it wasn’t close to over, and probably wasn’t surprised when the typical bullpen exercise in pouring gasoline on a fire led to a 9-4 Yankees lead. Normally, this is when it’s fine to turn the channel or hit the sack. But with the blood still boiling, the Sox got it to 9-8 before Ruben Sierra led off the ninth for a 10-8 lead, a little bit of a "forget about it, boys" message to Boston’s players. But in one of the more spectacular finishes in the history of this long-running feud between the netherworld of New York and the gallant but doomed innocents of New England, Millar drove in No-More with a single before Bill Mueller jacked a Rivera cut fastball into the right field bullpen for an 11-10 walkoff win that made you think that more than one chicken had been sacrificed on the altars of Back Bay that night.

The finale on Sunday night was more of the same, but with less drama. Boston ran out to an improbable 9-2 lead. The Yankees came back to inspire dread with Hideo Matsui’s grand slam off always-suspect reliever Mike Timlin that made it 9-6. Only an unholy — but correct — call on Jeter, who was hit with the ball while intentionally running outside the line to first base on a play that would have brought in another run for New York, saved friends of Red Sox Nation members from starting to hide the razor blades, and allowed the Olde Towne Team to escape. The spell of the juju still held.

It would be nice to say that the Zombie Jamboree indicated that the Boston Red Sox are indeed undead and unable to be killed, and have a chance of overtaking the Yankees this season to win the American League East, or even gain a wild card berth. But the evidence is otherwise. They are still stiffer than deceased goats. You can sell your soul to whatever devils or sorcerers you believe in for one or two games, but this isn’t a remake of Damn Yankees. For all the guts and determination shown by the likes of Varitek, Millar, Mueller, Johnny Damon, and David Ortiz, you still have the negative black cat bones of Nomar, Pedro, Manny, and Terry Francona hanging around the team’s collective neck, weighing it down with their insolence, indifference, and ineptitude. Like Festival in Brazil, the Zombie Jamboree is celebrated only one weekend per year.

Hope you enjoyed it.