Mr. Pesky

There is nothing more in baseball that brings me to tears than Manny, Papi, or anyone else giving Johnny Pesky a hug in the dugout. Pesky, who has spent more time in a Red Sox uniform than anyone else, alive or dead, is an icon in Red Sox history. And if you did not shed a tear when Wake or Schill poured a beer over his head and kissed him after the Sox won the World Series in 2004, you do not have a heart.

Shoot, he even has a foul pole named after him. He is an ambassador for Red Sox baseball the likes of which we will never see again.

Tonights post is short and sweet. John Henry, do the right thing. Erect a statue of Johnny outside Fenway, forthwith. Don't do it after he is gone, do it NOW. So the man can see it, touch it, feel it. He is the last link of a bygone era, and deserves his place in Red Sox history.

For the man who has seen Williams, Yaz, Rice, Lynn, Manny, and Papi come and go: Do the right thing. Honor the man before he passes.

He deserves that much.