Jeer squad

You think the whole Chris House-Gary Sheffield ordeal was a mess, you ain’t seen nothing yet.

No more booing. That’s it, folks. Kevin Millar has had it. You get caught booing any player for any discrepancy, and there’s going to be hell to pay from here on out. Party’s over.

There were apparently some cretins in the stands at Fenway Park Sunday who decided to boo the struggling Edgar Renteria after the shortstop went 1 for 13 on the three-game homestand with a pair of errors. Brutes. Think about all that wasted energy when it could have been channeled positively in a group reading of “The Little Engine That Could.”

Renteria didn’t stick around to meet with the media after Sunday’s game against Atlanta, electing instead to shower at home, where his cashmere toilet paper and hundred-dollar bill hand towels provide a more soothing atmosphere.

Fans need to realize that expecting excellence night in and night out for a $200 box seat isn’t realistic. And when that excellence is on hold, they have to fight the humanistic need within themselves to lash out. Booing at a sports event. What has happened to our society indeed.

After another hitless day from the bat of the Red Sox’ $40 million man, Millar lashed out at the unappreciative fans. “It doesn’t matter what you make. I make $3 million and I suck. That’s the business. That’s the game. [Booing him] because of the salary, is that fair? Is that a reason to boo? I don’t think so.”

Some fans actually tried to reason their actions by pointing out Renteria’s .239 batting average as a source of their frustration. Please. As a follow up to its cycle of stories on beer sales at Fenway, the Globe is soon to run a nine-part series on which fans are the evildoers, and which ones are simply saying “Boo-urns.”

Don’t be surprised if there is soon a disclaimer on the back of your ticket stub, warning of immediate ejection if you are caught booing, jeering, or saying all-around general bad things about a player at Friendly Fenway. “Sweet Caroline” will be heretofore replaced by “I Love You, You Love Me,” and Barney will take over for Wally, which will really only make things slightly less annoying.

If David Wells gets shelled and is pulled in the third inning, please give him a standing ovation as he walks off the mound.

If Keith Foulke blows another save in the ninth inning, you’re not helping by getting frustrated. Instead, blow him a kiss.

And the next time you see Renteria play, if he goes 0-14, please have some common sense. Wear a smile and encourage him instead of getting all over him. “Go get ‘em next time, Edgar.” It’s what they would do in St. Louis, after all, where they know a major league baseball player should be treated no differently than seven-year-old T-ball Timmy. Who gave you the God-given right to express your dissatisfaction?

The booing ends here. Millar and the Red Sox are cracking down on a shameful exercise at Fenway Park. I guess the only question is, why did it take so long? Where was Millar for Billy Buck and Wally’s debut? Where was Millar when Matt Young, Jeff Sellers, and Ricky Trlicek took the hill at Fenway? Those are dark days in the annals of Fenway jeering. With a sprinkle of Millar, to think what horrors we could have avoided. For the children. For us. Most importantly, for the ultta-sensitive players. Think of them next time, please.

It’s not over…

The New York Times’ Murray Chass writes that the Red Sox’ exorcism is not complete until they win the American League East. Oh. This plays like a desperate episode of Mike Myers (the murderer, not the lefty). “The curse is back. And this time, it’s angry.”

In related news, Sumner Redstone is not a billionaire until he fires Dan Rather.

“Being the division champion is what it is all about for the Red Sox this season, whether they admit it or not. Which is a roundabout way of saying the Red Sox have blown it.”

That’s right. Blown it. To think, we wasted money on a parade, memorabilia, and everything else. Shame on us. The exorcism isn’t complete. We were snookered. Oh, thank you, Mr. Chass for opening New England’s eyes.

Someone get ol’ Murray a calendar of some sort and point out the date. Someone needs a refill on the old clue juice. On the bright side though, at least he didn’t write the 5,000th “Roger Clemens will arrive in New York on…” column.

Held hostage
If a professional killer ever captures me and uses me as a bargaining chip, is it possible to put in a request for Mia Kirshner?
If I’m Tony Almeda, even though she’s beaten me and threatened to kill me, used me as a human shield, and is a cold-blooded killer, I gotta say I’m still a little turned on.
But what of Jack Bauer, the man who no longer exists? Does he hook up with Jason Bourne? Anakin Skywalker? Ken Griffey, Jr.?
All in all, a solid end to the second-best season of “24.” And you know, in television today there may be no sadder words than “A new day begins next January.” Which, I guess will still make it beat “The Sopranos” by a year or two.
Wedding daze
Sorry, but the Greatest Bar can simply no longer hold that superlative in my book for hosting a party for tonight’s “Rob and Amber Get Married” on CBS. Two hours? Mark Burnett, you have got to be kidding. As if Peggy Sue weren’t enough, now we have to suffer through this trash?
Then again, the alternative is David Wells. So, I guess choose wisely.
Irish argument
The fact that “War” is only getting five percent of the vote in this poll asking “What is your favorite U2 album?” (behind the way overrated “All You Can’t Leave Behind”) is enough for me to understand that U2’s fan base has significantly changed from what I remember it to be. Nowadays, there are simply too many who inexplicably answer, “Beautiful Day,” when asked their favorite U2 song. Ugh. I’ll wait until the next time they come around, thank you.
And for the record, “War” and “Seconds.”