Baseball players are a diverse and notoriously eccentric lot. I believe the 90s had a decent comedy (or maybe two) that spoofed this motif. I don't think there was anything tremendously unique about the '11 Red Sox clubhouse in terms of their dysfunctionality, petulance, or entitlement. The problem was a bad mix of guys vastly under-performed expectations and collapsed down the stretch. I don't view it as causal, in fact, the collapse can largely be explained away by injury and ineffectiveness. However, and as always, the narrative has more compelling demands of its antagonist.
I'm a firm believer that where there are billowing clouds of putrid smoke a fire is likely nearby. While the clubhouse problems facing this team were probably not unique they were certainly pervasive. I'll never be convinced Crawford sulking about his batting spot or Lackey/Beckett/Lester draining beers cost them the season more than Weiland and Miller getting a half dozen starts in must win September games. From my perspective, the clubhouse stuff didn't derail the season, but maybe it did just enough peripheral damage to keep them from putting the train back on the tracks. Talent is what kept them from achieving, but maybe the ugliness of the fail was a product of the club house. If they had a glue guy or a bit less toxicity, perhaps the fail is a bit more common. If that's the case though, then they don't clean house in '12 and assemble that '13 team. So, thank you Adrian Gonzalez for paving the way for Mike Napoli.
