This is what it was like in those days, weeks, and months after Bill Parcells bolted a Super Bowl team to coach the New York Jets. In those days, you were either a Tuna Guy or a Bob Kraft Guy.
Now this.
For the record, I was a Tuna Guy and now I am a No, No Nomar guy. I never believed Garciaparra when he said he loved Boston and wanted to stay here (strap him to a polygraph and the machine would explode). Buying Nomie's standard slogans on all things Red Sox is like nodding your head in agreement when Bill Clinton says he didn't inhale.
I buy the club's version that Nomar forced last weekend's trade by telling the Sox training staff (and manager) that he might miss significant stretches of the last two months because of his Achilles' tendon injury. Why else would the team deal a great shortstop and come away with a shortstop who is not as good?
In the meantime, it's easy to understand why most fans will side with Garciaparra. He played his butt off here for every out of every inning, raised his hand for local charities, and took time to sign autographs almost every day. He's also wildly talented.
But his actions behind the scenes demonstrated his desire to get out of Boston. Start with him turning down the $60 million over four years and every other club overture since the spring of 2003. Beyond that, there was his comportment when the TV lights were turned off. He became a virtual recluse in the clubhouse, rarely interacting with teammates, occasionally angry about official scoring decisions, and forever feeling persecuted for reasons no one could fathom. He knew about the A-Rod negotiations but pretended he first heard about them on ESPN. This season, he became difficult about small matters. He demanded to be compensated (and was accommodated) for the use of his image in "Still, We Believe." He feuded with Major League Baseball over a standard MLB sticker on the back of his helmet -- childishly smearing it with dirt after MLB fined him for peeling it off.
