Central Asian Report

Real Games, Real Fans, Virtual Reality

by Ric Glaub, International Editor

Tashkent, Uzbekistan—March 25, 2008. Mr. Editor, I move that all Red Sox games be played in Japan. Do I hear a second? I also move that Sox fans no longer watch games on television, or listen to them on the radio. They must follow the games via animation on the Internet. Do I hear a second? Finally, that the Sox play a game not so far out of my time zone. Here in Uzbekistan (I don’t only report from Uzbekistan, I watched the Super Bowl in Istanbul, and followed part of the NBA season, and the hot stove league in Thailand), the game started at 3:30 p.m. local time (or as most of the world would say, 15:30). I couldn’t watch the game, but could follow it using ESPN’s java real-time animation (although it fell behind late in the game, as I will later discuss). Following the Sox from well outside Fenway – such as places stuck somewhere between the second and third worlds – where there is no access to television broadcasts, and no access to true Internet broadband is a real challenge. I have a subscription to MLB Audio, and have been in the past most often able to listen to radio broadcasts of the games. MLB, Inc. seems to have made some technical changes, however, and I wasn’t able to connect to the audio broadcast. I have an idea there’s some venal reason for this on the part of MLB, Inc., the Enron of the sports world. I will check on this and report back. Hey, remember when there was an Enron Park in Houston? Remember what happened to that? Don’t these people ever learn?

Actually, there is a lot of evidence MLB, Inc. doesn’t learn lessons easily – they’re like that kid in your middle school class who was so disruptive the teacher finally put him in his own space in the corner of the room, away from everyone else. In the future, I have an idea MBL, Inc. will be diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder. Imagine Bud Selig on Ritalin. God, I wish Hunter S. Thompson was still alive. He could have got to the bottom of this. But I digress. For those who can’t get radio and television coverage of Sox games, the animations – offered by MLB.com, ESPN.com, and Sportsline.com – are actually quite a treat. Each of them is a bit different, but they all offer some sort of display of the games in something close to real time, chronicling each pitch, offensive and defensive plays, etc. Depending on the source, they show little tiny pitches being thrown, sometimes little tiny stick figures running to bases, etc. Also, there are usually windows showing lineups in real time (or close), statistics for each player, and beer and car advertisements. I suspect most Sox fans can watch the games on television, at reasonable times of the day or night. Not fair, and you’re missing so much. For instance, at the top of the tenth at the game today against Oakland (played in Japan – although the ESPN animation said the game was in Oakland), the animation on ESPN showed Manny coming to bat at the top of the tenth. It described each pitch. The tension built. And then the animation said, “the pitch was hit into play.”

Then it froze. Just flat stopped. I watched, “the pitch was hit into play” for ten minutes. It was the top of the tenth, and the Sox and A’s were tied. What the hell had happened? All I knew was that the pitch has been “hit into play.” That could have meant anything, a fly ball out, a ground out, a single, a double, a triple, a home run, Bud Selig hit in the head by a foul ball. I didn’t know. The stick figures weren’t moving, the stat windows weren’t changing (although the beer and car ads kept rotating). The tension was killing me. If you were watching the game on television, you would have known immediately what happened. As a stick figure fan, watching a stick figure Internet broadcast, I was in total suspense.

Finally, I went to another website and found out Manny had hit his second two-run double of the day, putting the Sox ahead, with a lead they would hold. Hey, I guarantee you, it was much sweeter for me than it was for you television couch potatoes. I had to work to find out what happened. You just sat there with your beer and chips (okay, it was 9:30 a.m. in Boston then – as most of the world knows it 09:30 – but I still bet you were drinking beer and eating chips, if not cold pizza from last night). It would have been easy if I could have seen the game on television or listened to the radio broadcast, drinking beer and eating chips and cold pizza. Following the game on the Internet required resourcefulness. Most Sox fans miss this kind of experience, because they’ve grown lazy, with the television, the couch, the chips, the cold pizza, two World Series wins, etc. They need work to see these games. They need to forego television and radio and frenetically go back and forth on the Internet trying to figure out what, “the hit was put into play” means when the animation freezes. That is why, Mister Editor, I move that all Red Sox games should be played in Japan, and only broadcast in animation on the Internet. I call, now, for a vote on my motion.

Happy Birthday,Wake

by Ric Glaub, International Editor

August 4, 2007—Tashkent, Uzbekistan—Tim Wakefield turned 41 a few days ago, making him eligible for AARP, in baseball years. Baseball years are sort of like dog years. You know, every calendar year for a dog is equivalent to seven “human years.” I’m not sure what the exact equation is, but it is clear that one year in professional baseball is equivalent to something more than one year in human years. To me, Wakefield is something of a youngster, perhaps entering that period of life where experience leads to true wisdom. Of course, I am a bit ahead of him in human years, so I admit I may be biased. But I digress.

The point of this is that I want to again express my personal opinion that Tim Wakefield has been a bulwark of the Red Sox for many years. Truly faithful readers of FenwayNation.com – those who have been with us since the beginning (when FN got 3,000 hits per year, as opposed to the 3,000,000 or so it will probably get this year) – may remember that I have on more than one occasion contended that Wakefield has been one of the most valuable Sox players for the past decade or so. In my mind, he is one of only a handful of good moves Dan Duquette ever made for the Sox (don’t talk to me about Nomar, he’s long gone but Wake isn’t).

Over the years, Wakefield has done whatever was required of him (although not always to his liking). He’s started, pitched setup, closed, and has been one of the most reliable innings-eaters in baseball – helping rest otherwise exhausted pitching staffs. I simply want to note that Mr. Wakefield, on the occasion of the entry into his 42nd “human” year, is third on the list of career wins for the Red Sox, behind Roger Clemens and Cy Young (he also has 22 saves), is tied for most wins in the AL this season (13) and, remarkably, has gotten a decision in each of his 22 starts this year. The truly amazing thing is that if one looks at the careers of the great knucklers – Hoyt Wilhelm, the Niekro brothers, Jesse Haines, Charlie Hough, etc., Wakefield may have another eight or ten good years left in him. If he keeps this up, I expect to someday see his number retired in right field at Fenway. If not, they should tear the damned thing down. Happy birthday, Mr. Wakefield. And many more to come.

Ric Glaub is one of the founders of FenwayNation. In fact, he's the guy who designed the FenwayNation "graffiti" logo at the top of the site. He has lived and worked in Uzbekistan for the last several years. Despite this, he has assiduously followed the Red Sox from afar. He "cut his Red Sox teeth" during a 5-year stay in Boston, which included the 1986 World Series. 'Nuf said.

A Cranky Crank

by Ric Glaub, International Editor

June 20, 2007—Tashkent, Uzbekistan—On a recent quick business trip to the U.S., from my current home out-in-the-middle-of-nowhere-in-the-Steppes, I was able to squeeze in a live baseball game – at Washington’s RFK Stadium – between the Washington Nationals and the Baltimore Orioles. This isn’t much of a real rivalry yet, but obviously MLB, Inc., and both teams would like it to be, hoping for increased attendance. My friend Scott Kearin, in for the same meetings from his current home base in Madagascar (home of the Lemurs – which is not a baseball team, but an animal), and I headed out to RFK, during a brief break in our meeting schedules, for the game. We hadn’t arranged tickets in advance, correctly assuming the Nats wouldn’t sell out that day (or any other day for that matter). I should note that Scott is a Yankees fan, but an otherwise nice guy, and is from New York. Above all, he is a true and knowledgeable baseball fan, with real a love of the game itself, so I forgive him. Sort of. A little bit. As long as the Sox are nine games up in the AL East. When we approached the ticket window, I for the first time was confronted with the notion of different tickets prices, based on who the opponent was. As it turned out, the Nats had determined that their games against the O’s were “Premium Games.” As it also turned out, they charge higher prices for tickets to “Premium Games” than for “Regular Games.” The Nats have specified that games against the O’s, Marlins, Mets, Padres, Indians, Cardinals, Giants and Phillies are “Premium Games.” The difference in ticket prices for Premium vs. Regular games is not insignificant. For instance, the price for a Field Box seat at RFK for a “Regular Game” is $45. For a “Premium Game” it’s $55.After some discussion, Scott and I decided to splurge. Originally, we had talked about Upper Box Outfield tickets – the equivalent of bleacher seats, if RFK had bleachers. Regular Game price: $5. Premium Game price: $9. But, as I said, we decided to splurge and purchased Lower View Box seats. Regular Game price: $16. Premium Game price: $21. Being baseball deprived, given my expatriate status, it was just good to be in a ball park and see a game, whatever the price. However, I have been living outside the U.S. for a while, and this whole idea of “Premium” versus “Regular” games was entirely new to me. I don’t like it. I object. I can understand that for teams like the Nationals, who don’t fill their parks, that this is a matter of Economics 101. Some opponents are likely to draw more fans, so try and extort the fans for higher ticket prices. I now understand that the Nationals aren’t the only team that does this. Fine. But what does that say about the home team – in this case the Nats? What is says to me is that ownership believes their own “product,” their own team, isn’t that good, so let’s try and make money off the good teams when they come to town. I think this is a poor position for any team to take. Basically ownership is saying, “Hey, we’re not so good, but come and see a team that is (and we’ll fleece you to do it).”Back in the day, baseball fans weren’t called “fans,” they were called “cranks.” This “Premium Game” idea makes me cranky.

The congenitally cranky Ric Glaub is one of the founders of FenwayNation. In fact, he's the guy who designed the FenwayNation "graffiti" logo at the top of the site. He has lived and worked (God knows why!) in Uzbekistan for the last several years. Despite this, he has assiduously followed the Red Sox from afar—to the extent of organizing a Tashkent Red Sox Fan Club to follow the exploits of the team. He "cut his Red Sox teeth" during a 5-year stay in Boston, which included the 1986 World Series. 'Nuf said.

Ink By The Barrel

April 30, 2007, Tashkent, Uzbekistan—Mark Twain is supposed to have once said, “Never pick a fight with someone who buys their ink by the barrel.” All that’s changed a bit since the days of Samuel Langhorne Clemens (no relation to the Rocket as far as we know). These days, that aphorism could probably be extended to warn against picking fights with those who give their views on radio or television, or publish them in pixels, which are far cheaper than printer’s ink.

Which brings us to Curt Schilling and his latest go-round with the media, brought about by Oriole’s broadcaster Gary Thorne. For whatever reason, Thorne decided he would debunk Schilling’s pitching exploits – which resulted in the famous bloody socks – during the 2004 run-up to the World Series win. Thorne claimed it wasn’t blood on those socks at all, it was paint. He further went on to say his source was Doug Mirabelli. Asked about this, Mirabelli went off like a bottle rocket and denounced Thorne for telling a “*%&%*# lie.” By the time everyone from the Baseball Hall of Fame to Schilling’s doctor – who had temporarily repaired Schilling’s tendons with the surgical equivalent of chewing gum and baling wire so that he could pitch in the playoffs – weighed in, Thorne backed off his comments, citing a “misunderstanding” of what Mirabelli said (later he posted a silly statement on the website of the Mid Atlantic Sports Network seemingly claiming that the whole incident was a mutual misunderstanding between him and Mirabelli, which it clearly was not)

Schilling, justifiably was, let’s say, “annoyed” by Thorne’s comments. Schilling has his own barrel of pixels in the form of his Internet blog, 38pitches.com, and used that forum to blast Thorne. He had every right to do so. Thorne had exposed himself as a complete doofus and had done it before a wide audience. He had made a false allegation that went to the very core of the events and symbolism of the Red Sox World Series championship in 2004. Deservedly, his reputation went into the tank because of it. So be it. Beyond busting Thorne’s chops, however, Schilling took on journalists in general and sportswriters in particular painting most, if not all, with a pretty broad brush (for the sake of accuracy, he did mention a “subset,” but seemed to include most media practitioners in it)

"If you haven’t figured it out by now, working in the media is a pretty nice gig. Barring outright plagiarism or committing a crime, you don’t have to be accountable if you don’t want to. You can say what you want when you want and you don’t really have to answer to anyone. You can always tell the bigger culprits by the fact you never see their faces in the clubhouse. Most of them are afraid to show themselves to the subjects they rail on everyday,” Schilling wrote.

The thing is, there some very good journalists out there – including sportswriters – who have integrity and are accountable. As I’ve written, I believe Schilling had every right to be angry with Thorne and to call him out (I have yet to see anyone take up the One Million Dollar Challenge). Yet, lumping all the media together with the ilk of Gary Thorne cheapens Schilling’s response a bit. At the end of the day, Curt Schilling will be remembered for his contribution to baseball, and for such things as support for charity, kindnesses to strangers and devotion to family. It is his acts, not his words – nor the words of others – that will matter.

Schilling hasn’t ask me for advice (not surprising since he doesn’t even know I exist), but I’ll give him some anyway. Curt, when necessary, correct the record, but don’t fall into the trap of jumping into the pit and wallowing with the unwashed. You might do well to remember a piece of advice I was given a long time ago: “When you’re arguing with a fool, make sure he’s not doing the same thing.”

By R W Glaub, International Editor

Tashkent, Uzbekistan. March 29, 2007. There probably isn’t a single citizen of Red Sox Nation who hasn’t heard of the flap between Boston Globe writer Dan Shaughnessy and Sox Pitcher Curt Schilling. Mr. Schilling – who has been known to “chat” with fans over the Internet since the time he landed on the Sox roster – recently started his own blog, www.38pitches.com. The blog was immediately popular with fans and has attracted hundreds of comments in response to Schilling’s postings. Most are laudatory, many analytical (of baseball), and some fawning. A great number of them expressed reactions from surprise to genuine pleasure that Schilling would take the time to communicate directly with fans on a consistent basis, including frequently answering specific questions.

My friend B.J. was in that category, even posting a reply that he appreciated Schilling taking the time to correspond with Sox fans. The Globe’s Shaughnessy, however, had an entirely different view, for whatever reason. He seemed to resent Schilling talking directly with fans. He went as far as to write a column that mocked Schilling, his blog, and his fans. B.J., normally an even-tempered sort of guy, was offended – especially by Shaughnessy’s characterization of the fans – so he sent Shaughnessy the following email:

Mr. Shaughnessy,
While I confess I have often enjoyed reading your columns over the years, there have, of course, been exceptions. I have to say your current column regarding Curt Schilling's blog strikes me as a bit petty, if not outright juvenile. Do you have a problem with fans who appreciate that a topline professional athlete would be willing to spend his time communicating one-on-one with fans rather than, say, hanging out at Foxy Lady? Frankly, I am one of those fans, and I don't consider myself to be a "sycophant," "loser", "lonely heart", "suckup", or "lapdog" (ironic in that you have on occasion been accused of being accused of being two of the former), or any of the other appellations you have apparently assigned my ilk. I was going to add some comments about certain relationships you have with the ownership group, but decided, in the spirit of "objectivity," not to do so.One begins to wonder if you have personal issues that need attention, perhaps some lack of self-esteem? Or maybe it's just that Mr. Schilling's occasionally sharp criticisms of the "mainstream" press have gotten under your skin.
Best wishes for your return to earth, (B.J.)

Satisfied at having had his say, B.J. moved on. He was surprised when he received a response from Shaughnessy: "good to hear from you. shaughnessy". Well, B.J. thought, Shaughnessy, too, can communicate directly with his readers. A well-written response (much better than the column). Maybe needs a lesson on capitalization, but it is what it is.

Things have hardly died down, however. Shaughnessy has been the target of a great deal of outrage (and a handful of defenders). The incident has brought back Carl Everett’s description of Shaughnessy as (Gordon Edes’) “Curly Headed Boyfriend,” and a few references to the fact that two of the newspapers Shaughnessy used to write for (The Washington Star and Baltimore Evening Sun) are now defunct (an omen for the Globe?). For himself, Schilling simply wrote that Shaughnessy had done far more to expose himself as a “dope” than Schilling ever could have. However one wants to view it, it seems apparent that Shaughnessy hasn’t done much to increase the membership of his own fan club.

Ric Glaub is one of the founders of FenwayNation. He has lived in Uzbekistan for several years, after catching "The Red Sox Thing" during his 5 years in Boston (one of which was 1986).

Tashkent, December 22, 2005—What Would Johnny Damon Do? How many times did we hear that during his portrayal of the Second Coming? Well, now we know. He’d cut his hair, shave his beard and take the money and run, just like just about anyone else. Even though he said he wanted to stay with the Red Sox. Even though he said he didn’t have to have top money to do so. Even though he said he could never play for the Yankees. From now on, much of Red Sox Nation will consider him to be Johnny Demon.

That was then, this is now. It was about the money. Just like the man said, “whenever someone says ‘it’s not about the money,’ it’s about the money.” As far as most Sox fans are concerned, Johnny’s biggest sin was going to the Yankees. In the end, however, it’s pretty clear that most of this fiasco can be blamed on the fact no one in the Sox front office was guarding the portal. Lucchino hears about this from a reporter? Puh-leeze.

Say whatever you want, no one is going to convince me this would have happened if Theo had still been on board. It seems clear that the approach Sox management took to signing Damon was, “here’s our offer, give us a call by Christmas.” And then they sat back and waited. Well, they got their answer by Christmas. Through a reporter

I think Theo would have been a lot more pro-active. I think he would have had Thanksgiving dinner with the Damons and then offered to decorate their Christmas tree. At the very least, he would have been aware the Yankees were making a serious offer and Damon was seriously considering it. If the Sox then decided four years and 52 million was too much, at least they’d have been making a conscious decision and would have known the result without having to hear about it from the press. Last year the Sox did what it took to re-sign Jason Varitek, who many believe to be the personification of the team. But in many ways, Damon was the more public face of the team and the Sox apparently didn’t do nearly enough to try and keep him. Sure, a seven year contract was out of the question. But no one, including Scott Boras, ever believed Damon would get a seven year contract. In the end, the Sox offered four years as did the Yankees. The difference? The Sox offered $40 million and the Yankees offered $52 million.

One gets the sense that Lucchino thought Damon and Boras would come back with a counter offer. Well, they didn’t and now we know the result. This is what happens with a weak and disorganized front office that is dominated by a meddling member of the ownership group.Keep the faith, Mr. Lucchino? Well, first I have to ask myself, WWJDD?

Tashkent, Uzbekistan, October 6, 2005—Why do I roust myself out of bed so early to see this stuff? If baseball wants to be a truly international sport, they need to understand the world is made up of 24 time zones. Who cares about American television ratings? Staging these games at 4 a.m. Tashkent time is disrespectful to those of us who have to work for a living in other than the U.S. time zones. Some loyal FenwayNation readers may remember that the die-hard members of the Tashkent Red Sox Fan Club (TRSFC) suffered three weeks…THREE WEEKS of sleep deprivation last year at this time to witness history. Why just us? Why not the rest of FenwayNation, which was chronicled last year by the Associated Press (with the help of peerless FN Editor-in-Chief Ernie Paicopolos) as spanning the globe. Why not share the pain as well as the glory?

How many other citizens of Red Sox Nation had to watch Tony Graffanino make a Little League error at 4:30 A.M.? If I’m going to have my hopes crushed, at least it should be after I’ve had breakfast. Or better yet, an evening martini. What did the majority of you do when Graffanino did his thing? Pound the couch and then call the Budweiser Pitbull and tell him to pop a couple more brews? I don’t want to hear about what a problem it is for you when the Sox play on the west coast. Try a 2 a.m. start time. Then complain. By my calculation, there will be anywhere between 24 and 54 games played during the current MLB playoffs, including Division Series, LCS and World Series. Why should I be wearing a robe, drinking coffee and propping my eyes open with toothpicks to see all of this, while so many of you are eating Doritos with medium Tostito salsa and pumping down Sam Adams? Hey! There’s enough here to go around!

MLB should cycle the schedule so that games will start at 7 p.m. for EVERY time zone in the world. What’s not fair about that? (Okay, you have the nutcase countries like Afghanistan that has its time zone set to the half hour…their game would be at 7:30 p.m., but they’re a bit distracted right now anyway, as well as having a long history of being about as stable as your old Aunt Maude, who collected ceramic unicorns and was known to hit the sherry starting about noon). Aside from that, remember we have troops there putting their lives on the line, and I personally salute them. If the playoffs went to full total of 54 games, we’d all get the chance to see a fair number of games at a reasonable time, and we’d all have to suffer some sleep deprivation. This is – or should be – the American Way, not to mention a device to help repair our image around the world, except perhaps for the French, who consider baseball a bit too violent. People everywhere would say, “baseball is the American pastime and their willingness to share it with all of us at a reasonable time shows their understanding of world partnership.”

French workers would strike at 7 p.m. local time to watch the Cubs and White Sox, identifying with teams who haven’t won anything since before World War One. (Okay, so the Sox dodged that one last year).The Russian audience might tune in, mostly because they haven’t worked really hard for 70 years or so, so why now? Old Soviet saying: “we pretend to work and the government pretends to pay us.” So Mister Commish, can you implement this policy in time for me to get some sleep?: 'nough said?

Tashkent, October 25, 2004 —What IS this? Eight errors in two games and we won them BOTH? Schill gets up in the morning of game 2 convinced he can't even walk to the mound, much less pitch from it, but, inspired by homemade fan signs as he drives to the Park, he consults the Doc and his Lord? After some tinkering, they both say "pitch," and he silences the Cardinals? Something's wrong here. But it seems so right. Could it be that for decades to come, Red Sox fans will no longer talk about The Curse of the Bambino, rather, The Blessing of the Idiots?

The T-Kent RSFC (Tashkent Red Sox Fan Club) is in a bit of disarray. We are dispersed around this barren nation of the steppes. Personal and professional commitments have kept us from gathering the entire core group for the past two games. A system of SMS cell phone messages has been developed to keep everyone up to date: 5:30 a.m. at the Tashkent International Airport I am greeting a colleague arriving from Paris. We get in the car to take her to her hotel and my phone begins playing notes from the Uzbekistan national anthem. I punch a button and stare at the screen, breaking into a smile. My colleague looks perplexed: "Do you need to take that call?" "No call," I reply. "Just a message. The Sox are up 2-1 in the first."She looks even more perplexed. How to explain? I don't even try. I just keep smiling. "Neecheevo", I say in Russian, "never mind."

Once again, the sun begins to rise over Tashkent. I have a short time to watch the game before having to leave for early meetings. The Sox boot the ball over the field. Everyone's been worried: "Will the Cardinals bunt and bunt and bunt to test Schill's ankle"? The cameras focus on the blood on Schill's stocking (understanding the opportunity, he has written K-ALS -- strike out Gehrig's Disease -- on his shoe). Did anyone predict that nothing the Cards could do would rival the test Schill's own defense would put on him? The T-Kent RSFC messaging system beeps and bleets: "I'm at the train station in Samarkand, update please." Response: "Bellhorn, 2B, Sox 4-0." And on and on. Result: An SMS celebration. Final- Sox up 2-0. We try and not think about '86. Maybe it takes a Blessing to rid a Curse. It makes sense. On to Mizzoo.

Tashkent, Uzbekistan. October 22, 2004. It could not have happened any other way. In my last posting to FenwayNation, I described being rocked on our heels by the Yankees' putting us in the hole in the early games of the ALCS. I also described how, huddled in the darkness of Tashkent (these were 5 a.m. start times for us), we refused to give up, and boldly predicted the Sox would come back. During the darkest time, after game three, we persevered. No one in the Tashkent Red Sox Fan Club said, "well, I need to get some sleep and it's over so I won't be here tomorrow morning." Our small clutch of fans said, "we'll come back." And we did, and the Tashkent Red Sox Fan Club saw every inning of it. At one point, one of our faithful remarked that he'd never seen so many sunrises since he came to Tashkent. Another pointed out that we weren't seeing the sunrise, we we're only seeing it get lighter outside as we huddled in a darkened room cast only with the ghostly light of the television, bringing us the live images of Yankee Stadium.

And then game five, forcing a game six. We revelled in reading the New York newspapers on the Internet. They were starting to get a bit nervous. And then game six, forcing a game seven. We printed out the covers of the New York newspapers and posted them in our warren, where we watched the games each morning. Yikes, they said, Fit To Be Tied they said, Seven Help Us!. One New York headline we loved featured a picture of The Babe, and a headline that said, "Send Me In!."

Then we knew. All of the calls had been going for the Sox. All the omens portended for us. We were not comfortable, but had heart, confident? -- until the final out of the final inning? -- no. We're Red Sox fans, we know the plague that can be visited on our doorsteps at any time, and at any place. So we again gathered for game seven. No need to recount it here, we were scared, sleep-deprived and nervous until the last out. When that last out came in the early light of a Tashkent morning, we rejoiced -- together with all of Red Sox Nation all over the world. It is truly a bond of the knowing. We vowed to get a bit of sleep, repair personal relationships, and ready ourselves for The Series.

When the Series begins, we will again huddle in the reflected light of a television, in a darkened room, with images beamed to us over a piece of metal in space. Like Sox fans everywhere, we are happy, but the job is not yet done. Like bullfighters, the bull (curse) is wounded, but but now must be vanquished by winning the Series. To end the curse, we have to kill the bull. At the same time, we know in Tashkent, the Big Bull is no longer a factor.

Tashkent, Uzbekistan. October 14, 2004. The Tashkent Red Sox Fan Club is beLEAUGUEred. Two straight mornings of 5 a.m. (our time) start times, followed by work days. We huddle over American Forces Network television to watch Our Idiots, each of us dressed in Red Sox clothes only the true faithful would have insisted on bringing here from the U.S. -- at the expense in terms of weight -- of what some (the great unwashed) would say is more practical clothing, munching on corn chips and salsa imported by one of our faithful from the Air Force base commissary at Karshi-Kanabad (known as K2) on the border with Afghanistan. We wash it all down with bottled water and instant coffee (can't drink beer at that time of the day and work later). We have not given up hope but, sleep-deprived, we have been rocked on our heels, worrying about the news about Schill. As dawn started to light the sky in Tashkent this morning, we saw Pedro pitch a decent game (when do Sox managers realize 100 pitches are the max?) an a so-so pitcher shut down our offense during game two.

But, we're Sox fans in a lonely place. We feel we have a special responsibility to keep the flame at our outpost 10,000 miles from Fenway. We will snatch a little bit of sleep during the off day and then be back for game three. Our consensus is that Bronson, Wake and D-Lowe are going to save the day, and the ALCS series, with (as Tim predicts), a walk-off dinger by Gabe Kapler to set up a game seven, which we will win. We cling to the hope our vaunted offense is due. Our faithful organizing member, Tim, reports that at the K2 Air Force base, where people are living in the sand and fighting a war, there is a tent-city, flags flying, with unit emblems, etc., and more than a few Red Sox and Patriots flags flying above those tents. Support our troops. Let's win this series against all odds. Let's not forget, the Yankees are the Taliban of baseball.

Editor’s Note: Central Asian correspondent R. W. Glaub’s 4th of July column has arrived from Uzbekistan, just in time for the beginning of the playoffs. It was slightly delayed, having traveled by Lada, camel, freighter and then the U. S. Postal Service.

The American expat community in Tashkent celebrated the Fourth of July in a number of formal and informal get-togethers. The most important event, as it is every year, was the U.S. Ambassador’s invitation-only Fourth of July reception, this year held on Friday evening, July 2nd. From personal observation, I can firmly say that the (relatively) new U. S. Ambassador to Uzbekistan, Jon Purnell, is a wise and learned man, not of least of which is evidenced by the fact he is a native New Englander and a dyed-in-the-wool Red Sox fan.

The theme of this year’s reception was baseball. The outside entrance of the Intercontinental Hotel Convention Center was emblazoned with a sign that said, “Welcome to Fenway Park.” This, dear readers, in a country that for the most part hasn’t even heard of baseball (although it’s creeping in, as described later in this column). After going through several security checks, I ascended the stairs to the Intercon’s main convention center ballroom, only to encounter a small receiving line, with the Ambassador and a few other American and Uzbek officials. At the same time I entered the room, I saw a huge mural at the opposite end faithfully representing a view of Fenway Park. My knees almost buckled in a wave of homesickness. There it was: the crowd, the bleachers, the Citgo sign. I was transported for a few moments. Then, I also saw, to my horror, two huge banners hanging from the ceiling. One was the logo of the Boston Red Sox, the other of the New York Yankees.

As I fought to keep down the bile, I moved through the receiving line. When I reached Ambassador Purnell, I said – in the most Reaganesque tone I could muster -- “Mister Ambassador, tear down that Yankees banner!.” Cognizant of the long line of people waiting to greet him, he leaned over and said to me, “Hey, I’m with you, but what can I do?” It was really a great party. American style hamburgers and hot dogs, Sam Adams beer…giant screen TVs showing baseball highlights and baseball bloopers (much to the consternation of the Uzbek attendees. Perhaps of more significance was that the next day, Saturday, the Embassy sponsored a baseball game and picnic, also with a baseball theme. An American team (made up mostly of American soldiers who happened to be in the area) played a game with the Uzbekistan national baseball team on a sun-baked, hard-packed dirt field. It didn’t just have a skin infield, it had a skin outfield, too.

Yes, to the consternation of many – pretty much everyone in Uzbekistan –there is an Uzbekistan national baseball team. The germination of baseball is taking place in Uzbekistan. Ultimately, in 105 degree heat, the U.S. Soldiers won, but the Uzbek national team acquitted itself well. These are mostly high-school age kids being taught by Americans. They can’t see baseball on television – can’t see how the pros play the game, didn’t start playing when they were kids – and have few other cultural references. In Uzbekistan, a few kids are playing the game because they love it. They played the game well and hard, with a clear understanding of the fundamentals.

This team is not well known. My Russian wife didn’t attend the game because she wasn’t feeling well. When I showed her some pictures I’d taken of the Uzbek national baseball team, she thought I was joking. She couldn’t believe there is an Uzbek national baseball team.

Afterwards, a group of volunteers grilled hot dogs and hamburgers. Fenway on the Oxus.

Tashkent, Uzbekistan. April 29, 2004—Okay, so it’s been a bit more than a year since I wrote my last column and the EIC (Editor in Chief) is bugging me. The man has little patience. I’ve had a few distractions. The government of Uzbekistan has threatened to throw me out of the country for trying to foment democracy in a dictatorship. Recently, we had a wave of suicide bombings and shootouts between security forces and alleged terrorists. There are guys in desert cammies carrying Kalishnikov’s on almost every corner and the KGB is going house-to-house and apartment-to-apartment checking documents. Yet, the EIC demands a column or threatens that he will cut off my compensation of 100 Uzbek Sum per month (approximately 9 cents).

So here it is. Yes, I share the joy. Six out of seven, including the three game sweep in Yankee Stadium. I can’t say how, because it’s a secret that if revealed may be taken from me, but I have certain access to American Forces Radio and Television Network (AFN). So, I was able to see the final game of the Sox-Yankees series live. Which for me, started at 10 p.m. on Sunday. It was a bit like watching Monday Night Football in the States. The game lasted until about 1:30 a.m. local time and I had to work the next morning.
However, I spent Monday in a fog of euphoria. Six of seven…a sweep for God’s sake. The only problem was who to share it with. My fiance – who is Russian – thinks I’m nuts to stay up till the late hours to watch a game she completely doesn’t understand (she was especially mystified when I got up at 2:30 in the morning to see the Pats win the Super Bowl). She does understand, however, that whenever I mention the Red Sox, she is to shout “Red Sox, Yes…Yankees, No!” These sacred words are approximately one-half of her command of the English language. She has proven to be an excellent student of the language. My Russian is improving, and soon I hope to be able to do play-by-play in Russian.

My local Uzbek staff understands even less. Most of them have never heard of baseball. Of the few that have, it makes no sense to them. Why do these men stand around so much with little to do? Occasionally, someone hits a ball with a stick and there is a short period of furious activity and then everyone stands around again with nothing to do. What’s the point of that? Especially compared to football (that we call soccer), and the really exciting sport – somewhat similar to polo – where men on horseback chase each other around flinging a dead goat toward a goal.

In this milieu, trying to explain baseball becomes even more difficult than trying to explain democracy. I have been in the heart of Central Asia now for nearly a year and a half, facing government resistance and cultural misunderstanding. It is beginning to occur to me that there are parallels between baseball and democracy. People here are upset with the regime. They are mostly poor and growing poorer. The Red Sox curse is just under a hundred years. The Sox last won the series in 1918 but the revolution that created the Soviet Union was in 1917. The people of Uzbekistan haven’t won a series since then. Want to talk about curses? How about the curse of Genghis (Steinbrenner) Khan? People here haven’t had a real say in their own future for more than a thousand years. What’s a 162 game season? Perhaps I should be teaching baseball, not democracy. Uzbekistan needs new ownership, a new front office, heavy hitters and a pitching staff without fear. They need a John Henry, a Theo, a Pedro, a Manny, and a Keith. They need the working men who aren’t afraid to step up and always do the job…a Wake…a Daubach. Then, perhaps, the people here could understand the joy of a sweep. They need to believe that each and every spring, there is a chance for real joy at the end of the year. They need to believe, “this is the year.”

TASHKENT July 8, 2003 Ten thousand miles from home and what do I get? Yankees caps, thats what. FenwayNations Editor in Chief assures me our readers are almost all quite familiar with Uzbekistan, so I probably dont need to mention that baseball caps are quite rare here. You see a few, but not many. The traditional Uzbek hat is square and has no bill whatsoever. Im still trying to understand what is its purpose. Things were a bit slow around the Tashkent bureau recently so I went looking for a baseball cap. Of course, I went to the bazaar, where all manner of things are bought and sold, from fresh fruits and vegetables, to rancid meat, to used nails. I finally found a vendor who had a few baseball caps, but was stunned when, what did I see? a Yankees cap. Bear in mind these were baseballstyle caps, not baseball team caps with the exception of that one. Just a few days later, to my further horror, I actually saw an Uzbek man wearing a Yankees cap. Now, I didnt hold it against this guy because he certainly didnt know what the cap represented. Baseball is all but unknown in Uzbekistan. Football or what we call soccer is the big sport here. Theres also a sport that loosely resembles polo except instead of a ball or whatever they call it in polo, the object is for the horse-mounted players to whack the severed head of a dead goat through the goalposts. I hear theres even talk of a pro league. So, the average Uzbek wouldnt know the Yankees from the Taliban. But it still ground on my nerves to see the guy wearing that cap. Ive been in this far-flung outpost of the former Soviet Union for six months. In that time, Ive met a few other Americans, including a few other baseball fans. Ive met a Mets fan, a Tigers fan (Im especially kind to him), one other Red Sox fan and FOUR Yankees fans. You cant get away from these people no matter where you go. My only consolation is knowing they were probably thinking they couldnt get away from Red Sox fans no matter where they went. The Tigers fan is quite depressed. Hes recently taken to telling a joke that involves a young boy who, when asked in school what his father did, said he was a male prostitute. Asked later by one of his friends if that were really true, he said, no, actually he plays for the Tigers but I was ashamed to admit it. As I said, Im especially kind to this person. Yankees fans here are pretty much cast to type obnoxious as ever. Im considering telling the KGB here that Yankees are a particularly strong threat to national security. When you see that peculiar hat with the funny overlaid letter watch out subversion is at work. Given what they do to people here who are considered a threat to national security, I dont think Id be seeing any Yankees fans around for a while (15 years in a Soviet-era prison is pretty standard). Then I think, the KGB is serious stuff here. People are unjustly imprisoned on a whim. I couldnt even do that to a Yankees fan. Then I think well, Im going to have to think about it.