Dredslocks!

As you certainly know, Boston's Boys of Bedlam have been absolutely tear-assing across the American League recently. After the NYPD-bathroom treatment he got last night, Tim Hudson of the A's was last seen 12 hours ago sobbing uncontrollably in the Oakland trainer's facility, having bat splinters removed from his G.I. tract. The unflappable Red Sox have seized control of the Wild Card playoff berth, and signs are popping up among fans at Fenway Park with messages like "Attention Yankees: Objects in Mirror are Closer than they appear."

But not lost in the hysteria of streaking victory is an interesting side-drama I've been pointing out for a long time: The Red Sox are doing their damnest to look as crazy as possible. This column about the dressed-down stylings of Yawkey's motley crew was long-needed, and it points out one root of the wildness is in trying to contrast the Steinbrenner Chic 300 miles south. (Mattingly, get rid of those sideburns! What sideburns? You heard me, hippie.)

Looking at it this way really does work:
The Yankees are the evil Empire.
Uniform, clean-cut, ruthless. A bunch of stormtroopers.
The Red Sox are the Rebellion.
Rag-tag, slovenly, unrefined, but bent on winning and playful at heart.

Steinbrenner is the Emperor. Torre is Tarkin. Pedro is Solo. And Manny is Chewbacca.