Not to be confused with a resurrection of Carl Crawford, back from the dead, the Red Sox outfielder now bats second and steals bases again. It seems to be a miracle of Biblical proportions.
Crawford's journey may not yet be finished, but suddenly the despised Red Sox leftfielder is finding a renaissance of goodwill between Fenway's faithful fans and their media shills. It may lead to his trade to some other team, like the Marlins.
After a series of disasters that rival anything Irwin Allen put together for the movies, Carl Crawford has survived the slings and arrows of his owner's disavowal, a previous manager's lack of confidence, and his own physical frailty.
It's hard to imagine how a man with sculpted pectorals and a six-pack of abs with chiseled biceps could be frail, but Crawford has suffered just about every physical ailment short of boils in the past year.
Job should have had Crawford's job.
Carl has suffered racial slurs in New Hampshire. He has had scorn heaped upon him by the press, and yet he continues to come across with a Southern drawl that seems to have melted stone cold hearts of New England puritans-or shows kindness to strangers. He has kept upbeat and tried to earn his bloated salary, though each paycheck may never be equal to Carl's on field performance.
This week, returned for a handful of games, he found his locker space invaded by twenty or so media hordes that wanted to gloat in a rash of sudden trade rumors, of which he was blissfully unaware.
The Boston media loves to deliver bad news for the six o'clock news.
In good grace and with a special resignation to his fate, Crawford spoke softly and with a kind of "aw shucks" quality not seen hereabouts usually.
Boston's Orpheus has earned a daub of compassion after going to baseball hell and returning.