The Red Sox know they can trade Mookie Betts with absolute impunity, writes Peter May. It’s the MLB equivalent of saying you could shoot someone on Fifth Avenue and get...
Stealing signs is as old as baseball itself. Whether considered merely a mischievous stunt or a crime against the very soul of the nation, writes Bill Littlefield, this scandal too...
It all started in 1963 when I was 7, writes Jim Sullivan, and the Red Sox were one of the worst teams in baseball.
Worrying about the velocity of Chris Sale’s fastball should be way down my list of worries these days, writes Cloe Axelson, but dammit if it wasn’t a good distraction.
How can sports use its many platforms to tackle social issues on a sustained rather than an incident-driven basis?
Green not only broke the last disgraceful color line in the majors, writes James F. Smith, he effectively ended segregated baseball.
Chicago Cubs fans can now expire in peace, writes E.M. Swift. God does not hate us, after all.
Lifelong Cubs fan Cloe Axelson explains why the Fenway faithful should root for Chicago.
To say David Ortiz has not been the most influential player in Red Sox team history, writes Thomas J. Whalen, is sort of like arguing the Beatles were just another...
As everything changes, (thankfully) baseball stays the same.
Whatever happened to judging athletes on results over appearances?
Big Papi led, on the field and off. He performed when the stakes were highest. He will leave the city of Boston a better place.
The state inspector general is right. The BRA's 2013 land deal with the Red Sox could have been handled better. But the result still would have been the same.
In the hills outside of Cooperstown this past July, 11 boys reminded me that there is still joy to be had in picking up the lance and jousting at windmills....
May serenity, strength and wisdom follow from those three brave words.
What is NESN thinking?
Anyone who thinks he’s leaving because he is 70 must also believe in the tooth fairy.
The long snow-bound winter casts a dark pall ... till one day an umpire hollers, “Play ball!”
It has now been determined: I’m a pox on the Sox. At least, I am when I buy the tickets.
Are you ready for some football? Because everyone else seems to be.