The Championship Of Each Other. Bill Simmons knocks one way out of the park. It's all snip-worthy:
"A curious sense of hope emerged from the abyss: It's a good team; we have the right people in charge ... s**t, we can TAKE these guys. I can't remember another winter like it: Depression and optimism battling for the upper hand. Even as certain media nitwits eagerly rehashed Grady's Boner -- unable and unwilling to write about anything else, feeling vindicated by this latest setback, their status as the collective Scrooge of baseball safe again -- the organization and its fans were moving forward. Say what you want, we never stop believing that this is The Year. Better yet, the owners and front office feel the same way."
"Let the record show that Grady was a nice enough guy ... he just happened to be playing checkers when everyone else was playing chess."
"At his absolute apex, [Nomar] strode to the plate, did his "Rain Man" routine with his gloves, swung at the first pitch -- whether it was at his head, his feet, rolling to the plate, or whatever -- and belted the living hell out of it. He sprayed line drives like a machine gun. It was almost freakish. And then he broke his wrist ... and three years have passed ... Barring a dramatic turn, Nomar seems destined to follow Jim Rice's lead, another physical marvel who peaked early in his career, then became a solid All-Star -- but not a superstar, and certainly not your ideal choice when you needed a hit -- for the remainder of his career."
When Bill Simmons is on, it's like he's reading (and transcribing) the collective mind of Red Sox Nation.