Theresa O’Connor


In which I contemplate Trot Nixon’s steely, steely eyes of doom.

The ever-amusing Bill Simmons had this to say on August 15th, 2001:

There’s usually That Guy in a basebrawl who comes flying out of the dugout throwing haymakers and trying to pull a Kermit Washington on someone[…]

The weird thing here is that you usually know the identity of the Crazy Guy from year to year. For instance, on my beloved Red Sox team, our token Crazy Guy is Trot Nixon, who would probably chase a pitcher out of Fenway Park and onto the Mass Pike under the right circumstances. Trot hasn’t enjoyed his breakout basebrawl moment yet, but it’s coming, I promise you. Sometimes you can just tell. [Emphasis mine.]

Fast forward to April 24th, 2005:


Image from Boston Dirt Dogs.

Basegirl’s calling this [Trot’s] steely, steely eyes of doom. Over at Cursed to First, they’re wondering Why was Trot Nixon so furious? Did Lance Carter kill his childhood dog with a pitch?

Well, it seems Brazelton was trying to gouge Trot’s left eye, which infuriated our right fielder. But Trot claimed afterwards that I wasn’t threatening him. I was just giving him information. What sort of information, you ask? I was giving him information about what I’d do to him if he’s going to do some crap like that, you know. [Emphasis mine.] An interesting if nonstandard interpretation of what it means to inform, and to threaten.

So my public service announcement for MLB players is this: don’t mess with the Red Sox because if you do, Trot will go after you. If that happens, he’ll be ejected. And if he’s ejected, we’ll put in Jay Payton, who will hit a grand slam off of you in the next inning. So you’d be four runs and several bruises better off if you didn’t start anything to begin with.