The Red Sox medical staff comes under fire

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Today ESPN Boston’s Gordon Edes has a long and engaging look at the mounting criticism of the Red Sox medical staff that’s worth a read.

It’s hard to really get a handle on this kind of thing. Most of us aren’t doctors and even those of you who are haven’t seen a player’s medical chart or X-rays, let alone examined the guy. As a result, when someone says team docs should have done x, y, z for a player, they’re engaging in blind armchair quarterbacking at best. If, like me, you’re no doctor, you’re engaging in highly ignorant, blind armchair quarterbacking.

But as was the case with the Mets last year, there are a lot of anonymous whispers coming out about the lack of satisfaction with team medical decisions and diagnosis and stuff.  Some of these complaints may be legitimate — I don’t quite understand the Jacoby Ellsbury odyssey, for example. Some of them may be comments from people with axes to grind.  A lot of it may be — indeed, a lot of it probably is — a function of poor communication. Stuff like this:

Cameron’s case is illustrative. The Sox had maintained that Cameron
would be able to play with his injury this season and that surgery could
be postponed until after the season. Instead, Cameron was limited to 48
games, was never healthy and finally had the operation Friday.

The
team believed Cameron would be able to contribute more than he did and
conveyed as much publicly. But according to a club source, the Red Sox
were fully informed that Cameron would not be able to play on a daily
basis, that his availability would be symptom-based, and that
essentially, as with other athletes who have had a similar injury, like
NFL quarterback Donovan McNabb, you play until you can’t.

This is not primarily a medical issue, it seems. This is a communications issue.  And while it may reflect poorly on information flow between Red Sox doctors, trainers and front office personnel, it doesn’t suggest quackery or anything.  If anything it suggests that it was the non-medical people (i.e. team spokesmen) who screwed up, for whatever reason.

So the “Red Sox medical problems” are out there. They will probably continue to be out there as the season comes to a close and especially over the winter, assuming the Sox continue their attempts to shift medical risk to players. I mean, if you were new to the Red Sox and they asked you to place some of your future earnings on the line based in part on the medical treatment you were going to get, wouldn’t articles’ like Edes’ give you at least a moment’s pause?  Probably would me. At the very least it would make me have to a lot more research before I’d feel comfortable signing with them.

But beyond that, I guess my only intelligent thought about it now is that we should be careful how we characterize this stuff and appreciate that most of us don’t really know what we’re talking about when we talk about athletic injuries.

Sports teams do not “heal” cities or nations

Associated Press
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Bob Nightengale of USA Today has a story today in which he talks to Cleon Jones, Ken Harrelson, Art Shamsky and others from the 1969 Mets about their Amazin’ World Series title run. The story is tied to the upcoming commemorations of the 50th anniversary of that phenomenally unexpected and improbable season.

And that’s fine as far as it goes, but as so often is the case with nostalgic remembrances, it goes too far:

They will gather together in New York later in June, rehashing stories from 50 years ago, reminiscing about the year they turned the baseball world upside down, becoming perhaps the most beloved team in history.

The 1969 Mets.

The team that helped revitalize a city in ruins and heal a nation in turmoil, showing the world you can turn the inconceivable to the improbable to the possible to the incredible, in a way only sports can possibly do.

Now would be a good time to remember that the city the Mets allegedly revitalized found itself on the brink of bankruptcy in the early-to-mid-70s and experienced urban decay and spiking crime rates for the next 20+ years. It would also be a good time to remember that the nation the Mets allegedly healed witnessed the Kent State shootings a few months later, among other bits of strife for the next, oh, 50 years and counting.

Yes, I am being flip and superficial here, but I do so simply to illustrate how flip and superficial “[Sports Team] healed [City/Nation]” narratives invariably are.

We see these sorts of things whenever a team from a down-on-its-luck place has a title run. Detroit. Cleveland. New Orleans. The idea is generally a broad-brush paint job in which the source of strife — poverty, crime, economic strife, natural disaster, terrorism, etc. —  is detailed with the local sports team’s subsequent title run cast as a spiritual balm. The words “heal” and “uplift” are pretty common in these stories. Back in 2002 I wrote about a classic of the genre, a documentary about the 1968 Detroit Tigers, who allegedly healed Detroit following he 1967 riots. Anyone familiar with Detroit from 1968-on may understand that the claims of healing asserted therein were . . . somewhat overstated.

Whatever the details, most of these narratives have the same sorts of flaws. At best they overstate the significance of sports in society, presuming that happiness among ticket-buying sports fans — who are usually better off than your average city resident who may be the one in need of healing — means broad-based happiness among the populace. More commonly they simply ignore the actual city or society beyond anything but its most superficial markers. The pattern:

  • Montage of the strife in whatever its form (bonus if it’s from the 1960s and you can re-use some existing “turbulent 60s” b-roll;
  • A chronicling of the sports team’s run; and
  • A declaration that everything was better after that.

It’s not even a matter of correlation and causation being confused. There’s very rarely ever any evidence presented that the sports made the underlying problems any better. All one usually gets from these things is a sense that, at least to the sports commentator/documentarian telling the story and to the people who closely followed the sports team, things were good. Unless, of course, I missed the part about how LeBron James solved Cleveland’s declining population problems and how the 2010 New Orleans Saints solved the ongoing mental, economic and medical trauma of those displaced by Katrina.

Which is not to say that sports mean nothing in this context. Sports success can certainly make a lot of people happy, even people hit hard by adversity, temporarily speaking. People only tangentially-connected to the strife in question may, also, decide that a sporting event “healed” a city. For example, if something bad happened in your city but didn’t affect you directly, you may believe that the trophy-hoisting put a nice bookend on the trauma that was more directly felt by others. And, of course, individuals directly connected with the sporting events in question, like Cleon Jones in the Mets piece, can experience a more lasting change in their lives as a result of this sort of success that they might see as general uplift.

That’s not the same thing as healing, though. Because while you or I can close that chapter on it all when the game is over, survivors of traumatic events and victims of systematic oppression or chronic strife cannot and do not do so that easily. There were people still hurting in Detroit after 1968, in New York (and the nation) after 1969, in New Orleans after the Saints won the Super Bowl, and in Cleveland after the Cavs won their title. The very best that can be said of sports triumph amid civic adversity is that it’s a pleasant, albeit temporary distraction. But not everyone had the luxury of enjoying that temporary distraction and a distraction is not the same thing as a cure.

Why do sports writers and commentators do this? I suppose it’s a function of people believing that the world in which they operate is, well, the world. The entertainment writer sees everything as a Hollywood story, the political writer sees everything as a Washington story and the sports writer sees everything as a sports story. It’s an understandable loss of perspective and we all fall prey to it sometimes.

It’d be better, though, if we spent more time appreciating that our perspective on the world is not the only one. I won’t speak for the entertainment or political people, and I won’t speak for the way in which any other person may prioritize the world as they observe it. But in my world — sports — I think it’d be better if we did not ascribe outsized significance to the beat we cover. Doing so asks far more of sports than sports is capable of delivering and erases the ongoing pain and suffering of people for whom sports is no sort of cure.