THE SPORTING LIFE Hugs all around at Fenway BY CHIP BENSON

The angry fans of Fenway Park were in a pickle this past Sunday, August 31. They had mercilessly taunted and insulted Roger Clemens all day, but as he walked off the field for perhaps the last time, something rare happened — the fans showed a little class. Granted, many were wearing T-shirts that say, "Yankees Suck, Jeter Swallows," but the crowd gave Clemens a deserved standing ovation. The moment was nothing if not nostalgic, because, really, where have all the good sports in Boston gone?

Between the poor sports in the seats, and the wannabes in the press box, the amount of withering taunt and criticism has created a simmering crisis among the players. Never mind the throat ailment Pharyngitis. After five months in the once cozy confines of Fenway, claustrophobia has set in, and Pedro’s not talking, Manny’s not talking, Nomar’s barely talking, and even the extroverted Kevin Millar — with the goldilocks hairdo — is feeling, well, like not talking!

Clemens is lucky he has six Cy Young awards and more than 300 wins, because it takes a lot to impress the thug-life in the field boxes these days. Despite the high ticket prices for the best seats ($65, $250, and $275), the empties fill by the mid-innings with yahoos and chuckleheads of the prison-break kind. The normal childlike excitement and rhythm of the game is broken by bursts of angry and lewd diatribes, hurled at the field by men of all ages. On the television, most of this audio-tribe is filtered out, but in person, as I was for two recent games, there’s no ignoring the invective that falls somewhere between the content of bad talk-radio and the Fox News Channel. While the majority still cheer, day in and day out, the verbal abuse once known as heckling clearly has worn out yet another fine edition of the Red Sox.

Listen to the sounds of silence from the Boston stars. Well, how would you feel if thousands of different faces are upon you every night, screaming and swearing from only a few feet away, and that’s for a home game. With nowhere to turn, the players have finally turned to themselves. They’ve started to hug one another on the field like long lost friends. It started about two weeks ago, after the first vicious wave of anger swelled up over two losses to the Oakland Athletics. Johnny Damon hugs David Ortiz; Manny hugs Nomar; hugs in the dugout; hugs on the field — hugs, not high-fives. The anchors on ESPN’s SportsCenter didn’t know what to say, so they chuckled, but they were uncomfortable. Where did these soulful full-body hugs come from? Is Dr. Phil the new bench coach for Boston?

This writer senses a major cultural shift. These hugs are emblematic of how the players are feeling. They need a hug. They need comfort and compassion to shield them from their cruel Rollerballesque surroundings. A generation ago, Magic Johnson introduced the high five to professional sports, signaling an age of expression and celebration, but these hugs portend a darker age. Two years ago, there was a near-riot at Fenway over a non-call against the Yankees, and it shut the game down on national television for 20 minutes. For a moment, you knew what it was like to try and police downtown Baghdad. Then, during the Celtics’ post-season, Jason Kidd of the Nets and his family were subjected to so much abuse that even a Boston sportswriter got into it and was suspended for poor behavior. It used to be that the players got thrown out of games. Perhaps they now have more to lose as millionaires, but you can’t put a price on a good hug.