Thoughts from a week that taught us not to never, ever mess with Coco Crisp…

The "Almost Most Heartbreaking Moment of the Year" Moment of the Week: Down goes the Truth

Towards the end of the pre-game intros last night, just before they called Paul Pierce’s name, I felt an overwhelming sense of happiness for the Truth. In the five quick seconds that he was standing at the base of the awkwardly placed, massive golden trophy, I thought about all that he had been through in Boston: how he’d been so close to being traded 10 different times; how he was so close to being stabbed to death in 2000; how even though he didn’t know it, he’d been a pretty huge part of my life for the last 10 years.

Anyway, at that very moment, Paul looked, prouder, happier and more satisfied than I’d ever seen him, and I imagined all that must have been going through his own head, as he prepared to take the floor in the NBA Finals after 10 years relative ups and bottomless downs..

An hour later, and I watched as Pierce was carried into the lockerroom with the a look on his face that you’d expect from a guy who’d just had his leg bitten off by a shark.

I wasn’t even assuming the worse anymore. I’d already convinced myself that he was done for the season. It was a fact.

The biggest game of the last 21 years was still going on in front of me, so it was hard to focus too much on Paul, but for the next couple minutes I felt worse than I have in a long while. Not so much for myself or the Celtics, but for the Truth. No one on the team deserved to be on the floor more than he did, and the thought of Pierce watching the rest of the Finals with crutches resting across his lap made me want to throw up.

Clearly, it wasn’t that bad, and Paul’s return brought the Garden to a decibel level I hadn’t heard all year—which is saying something—and his eventual back-to-back threes all but put the game away for Boston. Good stuff, Paul.

As for those who are trying label Pierce as a drama queen, here’s what I think: The injury was legit; the pain was real. And while the fact that he was carried off the floor was slightly (OK, more than slightly) ridiculous when you consider he only missed about two minutes of action, that wasn’t Paul’s call. He thought he heard a pop (or maybe he did hear a pop), and when that happens, the trainers can’t eff around. There’s no way they’re going to let you walk off on your own. If it weren’t for the trainers, I say Paul tries to hobble into the locker room on his own accord. No one wants to be carried out like in the NBA Finals.

Note: Maybe,the Celtics should bring Reggie Miller or Larry Johnson in to help Paul with the art of drawing the four-point play. He got called for the offensive foul against the Pistons, in what was probably the worst call in NBA history, and then earned the whistle when he tried it again last night. But the truth—no pun intended—is, he traveled on both moves. That should have been the call against Detroit, and it should have been the call last night—although they never would have called it that way because the league had to make up for Bennett Salvatore’s brain fart. Now that the score is settled, they’ll start calling it right, and if Pierce doesn’t change his style, I guarantee that next time it’s going to be a travel.

Note 2: The thought of Reggie Miller helping Paul Pierce triggered a weird memory: Remember when Reggie Miller almost became Paul Pierce’s teammate? From everything we heard, Cheryl Miller’s brother was pretty close to signing with the C’s last off-season, and with everything that’s happened since then I really can’t imagine what the Celtics season would have been like with Reggie on the squad.

Two Random American League Thoughts of the Week

1. Every year around this time—or at least as of late—we’re ready to write the Yankees off. We say they aren’t the same team, that they have too many injuries, that outside of Jeter they’re a team of overpaid chokers, etc. And every year we’re proved wrong, as the Yanks come on strong and streak into the playoffs.

This year, that isn’t happening. This time, the Yankees are done. But not for any of the reasons you think. It’s all because of this guy:

Edwar Ramirez

Are you kidding me, Edwar Ramirez represents everything there is to love about the new Yankees (at least from a Red Sox perspective). He is absurd. Not only does he look like a combination of Arthur the Aardvark, Steve (not Stephan) Erkel and a young Kareem Abdul-Jabaar. The dude is 6-3, 150 pounds. That’s skinnier than Tayshaun Prince.

You never would’ve seen such a ridiculous looking human being pitch during the Yankee dynasty. Torre wouldn’t have had it. And if he did, Paul O’Neiil would have thrown Ramirez through a window and demanded he replace his goofy rec specs with a set of contacts.

Yes, so this is why the Yankees are done.

Note: That, and they have no starting pitching.

Note 2: and no chemistry

Note 3: and because I think they are stinky.

2. Are the White Sox seriously in first place?

One of the drawbacks to not reading the newspaper anymore is that I never think to look at standings. It’s probably the single worst part of the Internet era. I NEVER think to look at the standings. I know where the Red Sox stand, I know where the Celtics stand and I obviously know where the Patriots are (Hmmm, you know, I think they might be in first place), but ask me who’s in second place in the NL West and I literally have no clue.

With that long, drawn out intro, I get to my point: How are the White Sox in first place!?!?

Has there ever been more drama surrounding a team in the first two months of the season? Every time I’m at espn.com there’s a link to some new Ozzie Guillen tirade, or a story about Orlando Cabrera complaining about errors or AJ Pierzynski cold-cocking an old lady for cutting him off on his way to the stadium. Because of this, I just assumed they were in the cellar. Apparently not. They’re two games up in the Central, and unless the Indians turn things around (which means Fausto Carmona and Victor Martinez getting healthy and CC Sabathia breaking out of what might be the worst post-Cy Young slump in league history), the Sox could run away with it—I’m assuming the Twins will fade as well. First place is a weird spot for a team that’s spent the entire season whining and shooting sniper rifles at each other.

Note: Same goes for the Mets and Willie Randolph. Everyone needs to chill out. You’re still going to win the division.

Question of the Week: Anyone watch the Stanley Cup?

I saw the last 10 minutes of the first overtime in Game 5, but other than that, I pretty much forgot it was on.

Note: I have a friend who almost watched the deciding game but then realized he’d already set his Tivo to record both Top Chef and Real World, so he couldn’t watch a third show. Not sure if that counts.

Winner of the Week: Coco Crisp

It seems immature to grant a player winner of the week for his ability to dodge a punch from a wimpy pitcher, but god damn if Coco’s move wasn’t the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.

The Sox can’t trade him now. Ever. You don’t get rid of a guy who’s cool enough to pull a move like that. That combo on Jamie Shields told me more about Coco Crisp than anything else I’ve seen in two-plus years. He’s a guy I want on the Red Sox.

Losers of the Week: The rest of the Red Sox.

OK, this doesn’t include Sean Casey. You’ve got to love what you saw from the Mayor in the moments after Coco’s beaning—although I guess you can’t be surprised. There’s a reason that anyone who’s ever played with the guy considers him the greatest teammate in the world.

But seriously, where was everyone else?

As I see it, there were only two Sox besides Coco and the Mayor who got there in time to make a difference. The first was Ellsbury, who looked absolutely terrified approaching the pile (to the point where I’m pretty sure he was tip toeing by the time he reached the eye of the storm). I’m not saying he shoudn’t be scared of getting punched by Johnny Gomes—I’d be scared of of being punched by Johnny Most—but when you’re in the Bigs, you’ve got to go in a little harder than Jacoby did.

The second guy was Julio Lugo, who’s intensity could not have been more contrived. Lugo never thought about going in. He was like that drunk dude at a bar who talks a lot of crap and then grabs his friends and yells, "Hold me back!!" These guys never have any intention of really fighting, and neither did Julio.

Every once in a while he’d fake like he was going to try and get away, but he could have if he wanted to. He was just happy to watch from the outside as Coco got gang beaten.

Not that I needed another reason to think Lugo was a bad fit in Boston, but his actions last night told me a lot about the kind of teammate is.

But still, at least he was there! What took everyone else so long?

At one point, Johnny Gomes, Dioner Navarro, Akinori Iwamura, Carl Crawford and Jamie Shields were delivering alternating rabbit punches to Coco’s brain and there wasn’t one other Sox player in the mix. That’s an absolute disgrace. I don’t want to be that guy (I hate that guy) but I don’t think that would have happened back in ‘03 or ‘04—and no, not just because Coco wasn’t on the team yet.

And now Manny and Youk are going to start fighting in the dugout? Really? It’s not that I don’t think they have reason to dislike each other—let’s just say that Fenway isn’t the only park they’ve both homered in—but to have a mess like that play out in the dugout, in front of the fans and for the rest of league to see, isn’t the sign of a championship team.

Link of the Week:

This video is called Top 10 Baseball Fights, but for some reason there are only five. Either way, the ones they show are pretty solid. And could you ever really dislike a video that brings you a clip of Chan Ho Park giving Tim Belcher a flying karate kick?

Note: I never noticed George Bell’s pansy move at the very end of the Mo Vaughn fight. When Bell kicked his spikes up, he was 100% trying to use them as weapons, and he could have done some serious damage. Forget about potentially cleating someone in the eye (which was a definite possibility), but even if those spikes had nailed Vaughn in the arm it would have been a mess. Mo would have bled gravy all over the mound.

"Prediction For Next Week" of the Week: At this time next week, the NBA Finals will be tied 2-2.

See You Next Week

Rich Levine is a contributor to Wicked Good Sports with his “Wicked Weekly” column and podcast, “The Dino Radja Experience”. Rich is also a columnist for The Improper Bostonian.