Scutaro's next dirty jersey will read, "COLORADO."

The Hot Stove season is no season at all. It’s the worst of all worlds, a thick stew of rumors, trades, worries and superstitions without the one piece of the game that makes all that nonsense manageable — actual baseball games.

I actively avoid rumors at this time. I’m not interested in who might sign where as much as I am when I actually do. Then, weighing lineups and juggling batting orders can bring a lift in the dead of winter between Bruins games.

But one bit of business for the Red Sox, coming off back-to-back third place finishes, struck a somber chord with this fan — Marco Scutaro, pencilled in as 2012’s starting shortstop, was off to the Colorado Rockies for a relief pitcher and salary help. With him goes one of the few old-world ball players the Red Sox have had in recent years, outside of Dustin Pedroia.

I was initially critical of the signing of Scutaro, seemingly another expensive fix in lieu of developing a real shortstop, the heir to Nomar Garciaparra’s throne. But Scutaro’s play quickly won me over. He handled himself well in the leadoff spot when Jacoby Ellsbury went down for nearly all of 2010. He overcame early fielding jitters to eventually become a rock in the infield. He played hurt. He played hard. He insisted on being in the lineup, so appreciative of the opportunity to be an everyday player in the Major Leagues that it would’ve taken a Mack Truck to get between him and the field.

In an era of interchangable players, callously referred to as “pieces” weighted in offensive value and measured by defensive metrics by many writers within the realm of baseball, Scutaro threw me back to watching baseball on my bed as a fourth grader, watching a bad Red Sox team try and try to grind out hits, runs and wins. Scutaro would’ve been the best player on the 1992 Red Sox, arguably. Another team rife with injuries and older veterans, he would’ve been a spark at the top of that lineup, playing wherever the manager scribbled his name.

Luckily, he didn’t play that early. He was saved for a time 18 years later when Boston would need him, filling the never-ending void at shortstop, sliding over to second base when Dustin Pedroia broke his foot, batting up and down the order, playing despite a shoulder injury where a grenade might as well have gone off in his body.

2011 was the prototypical Scutaro season. Injury limited him to 113 games, and Jed Lowrie pushed for his job at shortstop early in the season. But by the end, with many players reeling and disappointing, Scutaro put up a 1.019 OPS in midst of Boston’s September swoon. The Red Sox went down, but Scutaro went down fighting.

Marco Scutaro is gone, left to man second base in the National League in the thin mountain air, a casualty of increasing detail to finances and, specifically, the luxury tax.

Next season, Mike Aviles and Nick Punto will man his position until rookie Jose Iglesias is deemed ready for the spotlight. And fans in Denver will be discovering the modest thrill of watching Scutaro ply his trade, game in, game out.

Baseball was better when the A's didn't have to send their best players away every year.

This week, the Oakland A’s made a trade, sending their best starting pitcher, Gio Gonzalez, to the Washington Nationals for four prospects. A couple of days later, they sent their All-Star closer, Andrew Bailey, along with outfielder Ryan Sweeney to the Boston Red Sox for Josh Reddick and two more young players.

Gonzalez and Bailey, you see, were arbitration eligible and in line to get big raises. But the A’s don’t do big raises. They can’t with their payroll essentially maxed-out at $66 million. That dollar figure is expected to drop, and keep dropping unless the A’s can increase revenue streams.

They play in a stadium unsuited for baseball, in a relatively poor part of California’s Bay Area. But that could change if they’re allowed to move and build a new park in San Jose.

And if it weren’t for the Giants, claiming territory rights on San Jose, a region 50 miles from the San Francisco park, the A’s might have been able to do it by now.

It’s not hard to see the Giants’ position on this. Their claim to San Jose is based on their own perception of their Bay Area stance — if San Jose is theirs, so is the advertising money from San Jose businesses, so are television and radio rights, so are the fans’ dollars.

But the A’s are a franchise that dates back to the beginnings of the American League, and they’ve historically been a successful team since moving to Oakland in 1968. They’ve had championship teams, colorful characters and a diehard, working class following on the less glamorous side of the bridge. More importantly, for more than four decades, they’ve been able to share a fan base with the Giants.

Where they’ve missed out is in stadium money. While I don’t, and never will, agree that taxpayer money should ever fund a Major League ballpark, it’s no secret that newer parks generate more money than old, multipurpose stadiums. With the Marlins’ move into their own Miami park this year, the A’s are the last team sharing a facility with a football team. Moreover, that football team rendered that park useless for baseball when Mount Davis was constructed in centerfield, killing the view from home plate and turning fans off from seeing a game there.

Setting how the finances are secured aside, they seem to have found a natural landing spot in San Jose. It’s about 45 minutes down I-880 to the bottom of the bay, accessible from San Francisco and Oakland by the BART, and home to a bigger population, one loaded with businesses, including those in Silicon Valley with money to spend on tickets.

San Jose has supported the NHL’s Sharks for 20 years now, and there’s no reason to think the A’s couldn’t thrive in that setting.

But the A’s can’t move. The San Francisco Giants were 5th in revenue in 2011, and the A’s were 29th. The Giants have thrived since moving into their downtown park in 2000, and the A’s have floundered. If competition is really an American ideal, the Giants’ refusal to engage A’s is something out of a first-year screenwriter’s villain trope.

The biggest fault of the A’s this past decade? They were too successful. Billy Beane’s method of finding wins among undervalued players — players with high on-base percentages and pitchers with high strikeout-to-walk ratios — was mimicked by the likes of the Red Sox and Yankees, to the point that those players are no longer undervalued.

With their current payroll structure, Beane is left to find the best among young players who aren’t arbitration eligible, role players in free agency and aging players looking to hang on. In a division with the Texas Rangers, two-time defending pennant winners, and the Los Anaheim Angels, who just splurged on Albert Pujols and C.J. Wilson in free agency, the A’s can’t expect to contend year-in and year-out. Even the Mariners, with a great park and young stars like Felix Hernandez, could keep Oakland in the cellar.

Baseball is better when teams aren’t constant doormats. The A’s have a winning tradition that has been undercut by modern economics. The fact that they haven’t been a complete trainwreck for the past 15 years is a testament to their leadership’s ability to draft and maintain a strong farm system and find diamonds in the rough of the free market.

Barring them from San Jose, against the perceived potential losses for San Francisco, would be to openly wage class warfare within the ranks of baseball.

Let the A’s move to San Jose. They deserve a chance to succeed, and baseball will be better for it.

Say Hey! Yuniesky is back in Kansas City... or something.

Yuniesky Betancourt is not a great player. By most accounts, he’s not even a good player, or slightly below average. He’s in competition for the coveted title of  “Worst Everyday Player in Baseball.”

His 2011 numbers with Milwaukee back that up. in 152 games, all at shortstop save for a few pinch hits, Betancourt hit .252 for a .652 OPS, which adjusts down to a 75 OPS+. He did hit 13 home runs, but walked only 16 times. He’s a slap hitter with signs of pop but no real discipline, and he’ll be 30 years old before Opening Day. If he hits a peak, he probably already has.

With that in mind, it’s not hard to understand the outrage with the Royals signing him to a contract for 2012, if there can be such a feeling regarding the signing of an infielder in Kansas City. Even when that infielder has recently been underwhelming in the same uniform. And the “underwhelming” tag comes without much in the way of initial expectations.

Here’s a quick taste of what the internet had to offer on the deal:

Rustin Dodd, The Kansas City Star:

Betancourt, of course. is something of a sabermetric punching bag, and it’s not just the numbers.  Yes, the stats do show him to be one of the worst in baseball at getting on base and playing shortstop. But then there’s also the teams that have continued to play him all. the. time. And the feeling among stat folk, I believe, is simple: Why can’t these baseball people see what we see? It’s an intriguing frustration for fans. What do you do if it seems like your team continually minimizes your own baseball philosophy?

Matt Klassen, FanGraphs:

Oliver projects him to hit for a .279 wOBA in 2012. Betancourt projects at around replacement level. I suppose one could say he could project as 0.5 WAR over a full-season, but that is both pushing it and quibbling over details given the level of “precision” one expects in projected total value. Basically, the Royals just gave away $2 million for no reason. The Best Farm System Ever can’t produce a league-minimum utility infielder?

Jeff Sullivan, Baseball Nation:

But the second time? After you’ve already been through the first time? Yuni wore out his welcome in Seattle. The Brewers didn’t seem to make much of an effort to bring him back. He’s not uncoachable, but he has an established history of being close to it, and no part of his game has really improved over the years. His approach still sucks. His defense still sucks. His work ethic…I don’t know if it sucks, but it’s never been good. The numbers suggest as much.

Everything Rob Neyer says here.

Of course, none of them are wrong. Neyer might be the most vocal in his opposition (that I read, anyway), but of course, he brings years of frustration with the Royals to the table, along with a long written history of disagreeing with their general manager, Dayton Moore.

General managers are paid to think analytically. Stat-savvy writers are paid to interpret their moves, too. I understand the frustration that can come with trying to interperet the chain of events that led a light-hitting shortstop with suspect-at-best defense back to a team hoping to contend soon.

But the signing of Betancourt shouldn’t inspire rage, it should inspire blindly optimistic hope. It provides a needed wrinkle.

A quick run through the world of Retrosheet offers the top performances of Betancourt’s career. A few nuggets: From May 20 to June 9, 2007, Betancourt strung together a 20-game hitting streak with the Mariners. On July 19 of last season, he went 3-for-5 with two home runs for the Brewers. On Aug. 1, 2007, he drove in Adrian Beltre for the winning run in the 12th inning of an 8-7 win for the Mariners over Anaheim. He’s gone 4-for-5 seven times in his career, and once every year since 2006.

At some point, in 2012, Betancourt will likely make a play that will blow people away, or win a game with a double or home run that defies logic, mostly because he won’t have been good enough to have earned the at-bat in the first place. And that’s amazing.

For all the performances by dominant players put in a position to win we’re going to see, Betancourt, or someone like him, will win a game, despite having likely contributed to losses in the past. Baseball is better with Yuniesky Betancourt.

Besides, it’s not like I’m paying him. He’s not even on my favorite team.

The Captain.

The Red Sox’ offseason has been an exercise in plugging small holes. The core of the team is intact and, in terms of the roster, the team has happily recognized that September was more fluke than disease, and are working in filling in the gaps around the important parts — Dustin Pedroia, Adrian Gonzalez, Jacoby Ellsbury, and so on.

Jonathan Papelbon is out, but Mark Melancon is in to fill his spot in the bullpen. Nick Punto replaces the traded Jed Lowrie in the infield. Daniel Bard will shift to the starting rotation.

And, following stops in Cleveland and Tampa, Kelly Shoppach returns to Boston. He also marks the closing of the book on the captain.

The Jason Varitek era came to a likely end when Shoppach’s one-year contract was announced, the former prospect finally replacing the captain, though not the way it was advertised in 2005. Rather than being the catcher of the future, Shoppach has claimed the role of backup catcher, playing behind Jarrod Saltalamacchia, keeping a roster spot warm for Ryan Lavarnway.

It’s a solid move. Shoppach has some pop in his bat and a strong arm, throwing out 41 percent of would-be base-stealers in 86 games behind the plate last year, best in the American League. He won’t cost a lot, and he’ll be a good complement to Saltalamacchia.

But it’s a move that comes with some sadness, as the sturdy Varitek is bumped from second to fourth on the depth chart, and fourth is no place at all for a Major League catcher.

The likely final destination for Varitek in the hearts and memories of Red Sox fans will be as the back bone of the team for the better part of a decade. Behind the plate, he quickly earned the reputation as one of the best game-callers in the league, earning the praise of nearly every pitcher who worked with him. He tirelessly studied pitchers and the tendencies of hitters, and he protected the plate with the vigor of a tank.

The image of him shoving his glove in Alex Rodriguez’s face is iconic; he represented the team and the fanbase standing up to decades of New York oppression, the catalyst that sparked a run to the World Series. A few months later, the captain’s C was stiched on his jersey. Three seasons later, Varitek was the backstop for another World Series champion.

The next three seasons saw Varitek regress, sliding back from a strong offensive force into a pedestrian hitter with signs of power as he battled personal issues and near-constant injuries. In his last two seasons, he embraced a backup role, supporting Victor Martinez in 2010, mentoring Jarrod Saltalamacchia in 2011 and maintaining his sterling reputation as a defensive  backstop and pitch-calling wizard.

Now? It’s certainly the end of his playing days as a Red Sock. The team seems to be interested in retaining him in some role or another; whether that’s as a field coach, a scout or some kind of instructor remains to be seen.

But in the coming years, Varitek’s legacy will be cemented. He was a leader, low key and determined, quietly guiding the Red Sox behind the plate and in the clubhouse.

I was asked ever-so-nicely to contribute to Baseball-Prose.com this offseason, and I have a piece up there today outlining how I channeled my baseball obsession through the little-discussed Bases Loaded 3 for the Nintendo Entertainment System.

Included: my customized Red Sox, the mythical Bases Loaded 3 league and notes from the 1990s, all working to chronicle how much time I had on my hands as a 15-year-old.

So, please, read and enjoy.

Luis Tiant long ago earnd a spot in the Baseball Hall of Fame.

Ron Santo, the great Chicago Cubs third baseman of the 1960s and ‘70s, had the title of “Greatest Baseball Player Not in the Hall of Fame” removed from beside his name this week, when the Veterans Committee elected him into Cooperstown, as part of their “Golden Era” ballot.

This is an event that should be celebrated. Santo, long a great ambassador of the game, was one of the best players to man third base, an under-represented position in the Hall. He was the heart of the Cubs for more than a decade, hit with power, played with grace and performed at a high level while keeping his diabetes in check in an era that wasn’t as kind to sufferers of the disease, both in perception and treatment.

Of course, this is also an event to be ridiculed. Santo was first eligible for induction in 1980, and won’t be able to enjoy his induction in person — he died last year.

Why he was kept out for so many years, and why the voters suddenly saw him eligible after he left the Earth, is anyone’s guess. There are a lot of flaws with the election system and debate over what makes a player worthy of enshrinement. Some say they can just “feel” it, that they know a Hall of Famer when they see one, and don’t need to think about it. Others hold firm to statistical evidence, coldly drawing a line in the mathematical sand — per position, this guy is in, this guy is out, and there’s no debate.

Like most aspects of life, the truth probably lies somewhere in between. Certainly, candidates should be studied and stacked against their peers and positional history, with the numbers forming the skeleton of the argument.

But, this is a happy, mystical game. If there can’t be room for a little folklore in the narrative of baseball, then where?

With these elements in mind, there are a few players — not on the current Baseball Writers Association of America ballot, mind you — that are certainly worthy of a second look and, eventually, their own bronze plaque in upstate New York.

★ Luis Tiant

Generally, I believe that short bursts of greatness carry more weight than long tenures of goodness. Most baseball voters, however, seem to disagree, leading to the enshrinement of pitchers like Don Sutton, while folks like Luis Tiant are slighted.

Tiant’s final counting numbers — 229 wins, 2,416 strike outs, a career ERA of 3.30 — are good, and compare favorably to Hall members Catfish Hunter and Don Drysdale. But Tiant’s greatness is illustrated in two waves.

First, as a young fireballer from Cuba, Tiant was the ace of the Cleveland Indians, averaging 174 strikeouts, a 1.066 WHIP and an ERA+ of 127 through his first five seasons. But his career began to slag, losing 20 games  in 1969, leading to his trade to the Minnesota Twins and, eventually, his release from the Twins at the end of Spring Training in 1971 and, two months later, another release by the Atlanta Braves.

But Tiant caught fire again in 1972 with Boston, to the tune of a 1.91 ERA (and a 172 ERA+) as he pitched his way back into the rotation, throwing six shutouts and 11 complete games in August and September. From there, he was the Red Sox’ ace until 1978, routinely among the league leaders in wins, shutouts and strikeout-to-walk ratio.

For those of you who are into “gamers,” Tiant typically stepped up when he was needed. A famous example comes in Game 4 of the 1975 World Series. After giving up four runs in the first four innings, Tiant settled in, and the Red Sox battled back with five runs in the fifth inning. From there El Tiante held the Reds scoreless. When it was over, Tiant had thrown 163 pitches for a complete game, and a string of rainouts meant that Tiant could come back to start Game 6, which many remember as the greatest game ever played.

★ Minnie Minoso

Another Cuban, Minoso was a victim of baseball’s color barrier to start his career, earning a cup of coffee with the Cleveland Indians in 1949 before finding his place with the White Sox in 1951. Minoso boasted a quick bat and legs, leading the league in triples and stolen bases three times each and hitting 186 home runs, while posting an .878 OPS over his best years of 1951-1960.

Certainly, Minoso was respected as a player, regularly winding up at the All-Star Game and near the top of MVP ballots. He was a solid outfielder, too, winning three gold gloves (which isn’t always a great indicator, but, still). But, more so, he posted solid performance in an era when black and Latin players were still confined to different hotel rooms, still ejected from restaurants, still the target of jeering fans and skeptical teammates and ownership. Jackie Robinson was first and paved the way, but it wasn’t easy for anyone in the 1950s.

Minoso played often and played well. He compares favorably to other Hall of Famers (Enos Slaughter comes up often), and was a star on the White Sox at the time.

★ Lou Whitaker

Whitaker, for reasons difficult to comprehend, received little support from the BBWAA voters, dropping off the ballot after one year. But Whitaker was arguably the American League’s best second baseman for a decade, a cornerstone of the Detroit Tigers’ 1984 World Series team, and along with his double play partner, the equally deserving Alan Trammell, kept the Tigers solid up the middle into the 1990s.

He hit 244 home runs as a second baseman with a .276 average, he was remarkably tough to strike out — he averaged just 74 per season — and he was an excellent defensive player (with four gold gloves on his mantle). And a cursory look shows that he must’ve remained reliable in his slot — in 19 seasons, second base was the only position he ever played, save for 22 games spread out at designated hitter.

Offensively, his production puts him in an elite class among second basemen. Defensively, he more than holds his own with those already enshrined. Whitaker is, hopefully, someone who will gain extra support in the coming years.

★ Ted Simmons

Catchers traditionally have a hard time convincing Hall of Fame voters of their worthiness. Carlton Fisk and Gary Carter both had to wait before being elected, while peers Bob Boone and Ted Simmons were barely considered.

In the case of Simmons, we have a catcher who was routinely an All-Star, hit 248 home runs over 19 full seasons (he had two unproductive cups of coffee with the St. Louis Cardinals in 1968 and ’69), regularly appeared on MVP ballots, and spent most of his career starting for good teams, first the Cardinals in the 1970s and then the Milwaukee Brewers in the ‘80s. In fact, his ascendance inspired St. Louis to move Joe Torre, another player who is nearly Hall-worthy, out from behind the plate and into the infield.

But he never did win the World Series, and thus never truly got a moment on the big stage. His career compares nicely to folks like Fisk, Carter and Yogi Berra, fellow catchers who did earn a defining moment in October. Putting up catchy offensive numbers is difficult for catchers, whose main objective is fielding the most difficult position on the field. Simmons more than held his own behind the plate; his fielding percentages were always high, and he was a rock, starting more games at catcher in his prime than most would dream of today.

Like many catchers, Simmons went under appreciated in the long run, his hard work toiling in the tools of ignorance forgotten. But time is long, and it’s not too late to recognize Simmons’ performance.

★ Dom DiMaggio

Overshadowed by his brother, Joe, and his teammate, Ted Williams, the Little Professor quietly plied his trade in Fenway Park’s tricky center field, working the top of the batting order and running down fly balls with a precision that was rarely seen at the time.

DiMaggio doesn’t stack up to a lot of the stat-heavy analysis of today, but much of that is due to the era in which he played. In the 1940s, teams sacrificed more and encouraged their hitters at the top of the lineup to shorten their swing in an effort to move a man from second to third, rather than try for a bigger hit. DiMaggio ability to swing and make contact is demonstrated in his high average (298 for his career, with a high of .328 in 1950) and his few strikeouts. He was fast, and played in an era when stealing was not something done in the pre-Jackie Robinson era — he led the league in 1950 with just 15 steals.

DiMaggio played only 11 seasons, due to losing three seasons to World War II, and didn’t have the classic power of a center fielder. But his range and vision were legendary. Sadly, advanced defensive metrics didn’t yet exist to the point they do now, so fans are left with anecdotal evidence more than anything. But Baseball-Reference does have him listed as routinely leading the league in range factor for center fielders, which explains his seemingly high error totals — the errors are bound to go up when the player is getting to every ball within a mile.

The Baseball Hall of Fame looks favorably upon offensive behemoths who offered little defensively — mashers like Williams, Reggie Jackson and Willie Stargel walked in with little protest. And they’re deserving members, because of how they excelled in their part of the game.

DiMaggio excelled in his part of the game, and like Santo, he played his part with grace. Also like Santo, DiMaggio has left this world. If he is ever elected, he won’t be able to enjoy the accolades. But acknowledging his performance and the performance of players who didn’t hit the ball a mile, didn’t get on cereal boxes and didn’t get to play for the best teams, would make the hall a better place.

And it’s not too late to do it while Tiant, Minoso, Whitaker and Simmons are still with us.

Pedro, as a young dandy in Montreal.

What has been evident for months will soon be official: Pedro Martinez is retiring from baseball.

Certainly, this is not a surprising development. Pedro last pitched in the 2009 World Series for the Philadelphia Phillies, and very well, might I add, and sat out the 2010 and ’11 campaigns.

In the meantime, he’s enjoyed himself in his native Dominican Republic, spending time with his family away from the game:

“It was after I didn’t play for one year and I was able to garden again with my mom and be with my boys and go to baseball games,” Martinez said. “I got attached, I got attached to that kind of life. Being at home, being able to sit on my boat and not worry about tomorrow. It was really what made me lean towards not coming back.”

As I have written extensively before, Pedro Martinez was the most exciting baseball player I’ve ever seen. Truly, he was an artist on the mound, and had the added grace and wisdom to adjust to life as a dealer after arm troubles robbed him of his devastating fastball later in his career. He might not have been the best pitcher in the league at that point, but he was still a thrill to watch.

The honors will come soon enough. Before long, he’ll have a bronze plaque in Cooperstown, his no. 45 will hang on Fenway Park’s right field facade and his career highlights will live on in documentaries, books and memories.

And there is no shortage of amazing memories.

Now leading the Red Sox ...

The Red Sox have, mercifully, finally made a decision on who will be the 45th manager in team history, and it’s Bobby Valentine, he of the fake mustache, science fair wins and six touchdowns in one game, he who’s worked as an ambassador for baseball in Japan, he who spouts off every week on Sunday Night Baseball.

Smiling Bobby Valentine, for better or worse, is in charge now.

There are a fair number of reporters applauding this decision. Valentine will be great! He’s a disciplinarian! He ballroom dances! He’s witty! And I understand that. Valentine has a reputation of saying the ridiculous on the record, and he’ll make the life of a beat reporter much more entertaining.

And, in the face of reason, it’s quite disappointing.

This seems more than a little disheartening from the perspective of Ben Cherington, the Red Sox new general manager who, from many reports, didn’t want Valentine in Boston, and didn’t include him in his initial round of interviews. The names he brought in — Dale Sveum, Sandy Alomar Jr., etc. — weren’t big names and wouldn’t sell tickets. But neither did Terry Francona when he was brought in by Theo Epstein in the winter of 2003. Every great manager starts as a no-name. Bring in a good baseball mind, surround him with good players, and things will typically work out the way they should.

But that’s not enough for a front office that’s overreacting to the negative press in the wake of September’s collapse. Cherington wanted a manager. Larry Lucchino and company wanted a splash.

To be fair, the current Red Sox regime has done much more good than bad since taking over in 2002. They’ve beautifully refurbished Fenway Park, they’ve mended bridges burned by the previous ownership and they’ve consistently put a winner on the field. Two World Series trophies don’t come about by accident.

But their consistent need to make headlines and stay on the back pages is nothing short of infuriating. Is Jason Bay leaving for the Mets? Better use that money to make a splash in free agency! Is someone* leaving? Better bad mouth him privately to the Globe so that the fans still like us!

Hire a good baseball man to be manager? No, we need a name! We need a personality! We need Bobby Valentine!

It would be refreshing, to say the least, if the Red Sox brass could acknowledge that, since 1967, the Sox have been the unquestioned kings of New England. Even while the Bruins, Celtics and Patriots amassed championships, no team garnered the curiosity and devotion of the Red Sox, and no team had a better hold on the region than the Fenway Nine.

They don’t need Bobby Valentine to march around the dugout, screaming and making a spectacle. They don’t need to couch and spin every move they make. They don’t need to spend $170 million every year on players.

They just need to field a good, competitive team, something that Boston has had with few gaps through the past 40 years. And they might be fine with Valentine at the helm.

But there’s no need for publicity stunts. In Boston, baseball can sell itself.

* They’ve done this to quite a few folks since 2002. To name a few: Nomar Garciaparra, Pedro Martinez, Derek Lowe, Jason Bay, and most recently, Terry Francona and Theo Epstein.

It happened.

For the first time in 19 years, a pitcher has been properly recognized as the most valuable player in his league. So congrats go out to Justin Verlander, the American League Cy Young winner and MVP. It’s been a long time coming.

It wasn’t perfect. One writer decided that Michael Young, at best the fourth-most valuable member of the Texas Rangers, was worthy of first-place consideration. He listed Verlander seventh on his ballot. Another left Verlander off entirely, somehow not believing the process and the line on the voting guidelines that states that, yes, pitchers are eligible.

But unlike in 1999, when Pedro Martinez was denied his deserved trophy, Verlander was able to overcome those lunkheads, and a more divided field opened the path. And for the most part, it was a worthy field. In another year, Jacoby Ellsbury, Jose Bautista, Curtis Granderson or a number of other hitters could’ve walked away with the MVP.

Perhaps the solution is to create a hitter’s equivalent to the Cy Young Award, or bump up the prominence of an already existing honor, like the Hank Aaron Award. It could open up the MVP selection process back to pitchers. Not that a pitcher should win it ever year, but there should not be another 19-year gap between pitchers winning. The last National League pitcher to win the MVP was Bob Gibson in 1968.

As I wrote the other day, pitchers are valuable, and should be winning the award more often. This season, a compelling argument could be made for Justin Verlander, and his victory is a victory for the cause.

For a little while, Sam Horn owned Boston.

On Thursday night, Tim Tebow, quarterback for the Denver Broncos, did his best not to throw the ball, running an SEC-style offense against the New York Jets, one of the better defensive teams in the NFL and coming off an emotional thrashing at the hands of the New England Patriots.

But the Jets struggled offensively, keeping the Broncos in the game. And in the fourth quarter, with time ticking down under a minute, Tebow slashed his way through the defense and into the end zone, giving the Broncos a 17-13 win, his fourth win in five starts, and just the latest entry into his late-game exploits.

It doesn’t make sense. Despite his good intentions and obvious ability to inspire and lead, Tebow should not be beating anyone in the NFL. He has an arm made of butter, and his best ability, to scramble and run, is usually stopped cold by even the most pedestrian defenses in the league.

But he keeps winning. It doesn’t stand up to reason.

And neither did Sam Horn.

I came to baseball as a six-year-old, and the legend of Sam Horn was already fully established. As a no-field, all-hit slugger for the Pawtucket Red Sox, Horn was called up to Boston in 1987 and provided hope to a slumping team.

It must have been thrilling and, at once, improbable. He was a big, happy lug of a guy, a 6’5” brute who had already been relegated to the designated hitter’s role at 23. The Red Sox were struggling through a pennant hangover, saddled in fifth place and 12½ games back of first, when they called Horn up on July 25.

He struck out in his first at-bat, but two trips later, he homered to break a 5-5 tie against Seattle. The Sox won 11-5.

He homered 13 more times, or once every 11.14 at-bats, that season, and each one seemed to give the Sox a lift. He was a dead fastball hitter, putting all his might into every swing. He was not trying to make contact and move runners along. He wanted to wallop. And that year, he did.

Of course, the magic  ran out. The next season, Horn got into just 24 games, homering twice. 1989 saw 33 more games, and no balls hit out of the park. He was released by the end of the season. In the long run, reason and probability caught up with Horn.

History is not on Tim Tebow’s side. Of all the greats, near-greats and consistently good, few began in the face of adversity and carried through with such gusto compared to their poor early game importance. Tebow has. He has forged his legacy as a leader and has brought the Broncos back to respectability. But like every other aspect of his game, how long he continues to is up for debate.

Despite the intentions of every team in the AFC West to miss the playoffs, one of them has to. It might be the Broncos, it might not. Tebow might not be more than a one-season wonder. In these cases, reason and probability rarely lose in the long run.

But he should be appreciated nonetheless. Like Horn and others before him, he’s providing hope and excitement to a team on the skids. He’s doing the impossible, struggling through three quarters before turning defenses into hapless units, darting through lost safeties to find the end zone.

Like Horn, he keeps defying the odds. Like Horn, he may not be able to keep it up. The House typically wins these bets. So we should enjoy the show while we can, and Tebow should let it ride for as long as he’s here.