When Manny left for the west coast, I was left with a tattered “24″ t-shirt and an empty spot on my favorite Red Sox player list. I had some thoughts as to where my allegiance would be placed next, but at this point, I don’t think there is any doubt. It’s Dustin Pedroia.
A loud mouthed, 5’8″, 170 pound, scrappy, intense, hit machine that owns both the plate, and the area between first and second base. He is a blast to watch, has a nutty personality, plays his ass off, and is hitting the bejesus out of the ball for the second year in a row.
“Yeah, he’s one of a kind,” Roberts says. “He and I work out at the same place in Arizona in the off-season, and I’ve seen him call out NFL players during Ping-Pong games, asking them when they’re starting Jenny Craig. He told Brady Quinn, who is a monster, a physical specimen, ‘I’m going to rip this ball right off your throat.’ He’s a piece of work.” On and on it goes. Day after day, in these pregame hours, Pedroia stirs the pot, dishing out threats and insults and mixing in bold predictions about his performance at the plate. He has already texted Millar, “Did you bring your glasses for the laser show tonight?”
