There has been the temptation in the wake of the Beckett-Mike Lowell-Guillermo Mota trade to chortle, ''So who needs Theo, anyway?" The Red Sox do, but that's dirty water under the bridge. Suffice to say as exhilarating as the Beckett-Lowell-Mota trade was for the psyche of this team-under-siege, the search for a general manager has been underwhelming. A succession of interesting and promising candidates withdrew from consideration, leaving us to wonder why this franchise went from a hot commodity to a radioactive proposition.
You really have to wonder how it has come to this.
Step back to a year ago, for a moment. The Red Sox were the envy of major league baseball. The team won the World Series, the front office was heralded as a model example of guile and guts, and the off-the-field good will crafted by a wily public relations staff was at an all-time high.
How could it disintegrate so quickly? Epstein's departure was a public relations nightmare, botched at every turn by the involved parties. CEO Larry Lucchino was portrayed as a jealous, overbearing tyrant. Theo was painted as an arrogant elitist who became drunk with power. Suffice to say both claims have likely been exaggerated. This much, however, was crystal clear: The betrayal of trust appeared to be rampant on Yawkey Way.
Principal owner John W. Henry emerged to publicly question whether he was fit to run his team, promised he would be more communicative and involved in the day-to-day happenings of his ball club, then retreated to the same bunker where he ordered Lucchino -- who was assigned the black hat and handlebar mustache by an infuriated public -- to set up shop.
They have been entrenched there since, suffering residual backlash as they try to put their hierarchy back together. Epstein is gone. The talented Josh Byrnes and Peter Woodfork have packed up their creativity and moved on to Arizona. Those who remain have been ordered to keep their mouths shut. The tension is palpable.
