Red Sox Nation turns its lonely eyes to A-Gon, but he is gone with the wind.
In Adrian Gonzalez's own words, "People have to eat," to excuse the beer and chicken wings of last season. Now it appears that he signed a contract to play because he knew he would never go hungry again in those Scarlett O'Hara Sox.
When the Red Sox signed Adrian for all that moolah, everyone thought: "Here comes the next Ted Willliams." Instead, we seem to have met the next Pete Runnels.
Adrian has become Adrain on the payroll. If Ben Affleck were filming The Town today, he'd hire Gonzalez as part of the team that robs the Fenway Park payroll after the big Yankee series.
Now that the Sox are shelling out big bucks for a Gold Glove at first base, they have been shellacked. The gold seems to be thin plating, and none too solid.
What first seemed like an even-tempered, all business hitter has become lately more like a swing and a miss on a wing and a prayer.
If you don't think this is the 1962 Red Sox team, you haven't noticed Carl "Don't call me Roman Mejias" Crawford not in the field and Adrian "Don't call me Pistol Pete" Gonzalez at first.
With Clay "Don't call me Wilbur Wood" Buchholz in the starting rotation, we are beginning to feel a lot like Manager Pinky Higgins's worst nightmare.
Was this the same team where Bobby Valentine hit behind peppery Jim Pagliaroni, who bears a startling resemblance to Jarrod Saltalamacchia?
The more things change the more they seem the same.