Dinner with John Henry

I don't really know what to make of this. Dan's column today is a slightly overwrought account of his dinner at John Henry's mansion on Tuesday night. My first reaction was: Why the hell would John Henry ever invite this guy over for dinner? Looking at what happened this offseason and CHB's involvement in it, looking at the already questionable ties between the Red Sox and the Globe, what is the point? I'm guessing Henry is trying to head off any future nasty columns before they go to print, but he really should know better.

The first part that jumps out is this:

Looking rested, ever pale, and relaxed in blue jeans and a short sleeve shirt, John greets me in the kitchen and I give him a signed copy of a Red Sox book I wrote a long time ago. What else do you bring when you go to dinner at a billionaire's house? A bottle of Kendall-Jackson? Fruit salad?

Can you believe this? This is absolutely priceless. CHB has dinner at Henry's house, and gives him an autographed copy of what I assume was "The Curse of the Bambino." How arrogant. And silly. Henry is a numbers guy, as Dan aptly points out in the first three paragraphs. He does not believe in curses, and now that the 2004 World Series is two years in the rearview mirror, this gift is even less appropriate. I think fruit salad or wine would have been a much better idea. Good grief.

I am allergic to none of it, but I am a little worried about the two cats -- big as turkeys -- prowling around inside.

It appears that Dan is allergic to cats. I have a cat. I will mail her to Morrissey Boulevard as soon as I figure out the postage. Also, "big as turkeys?" That's a pretty strange simile.

As yes, the Theo winter. I remember that.

Really? You do? Congratulations.

John works the remote and within seconds we see Tina Cervasio and her dazzling teeth reporting live from Kansas City.

OK, I'm sorry. I laughed at this. Yes, it's a backhanded shot, but come on, it's right on point. My favorite Tina moment was an interview of Theo in which she asked him a question, smiled at him, and he flinched and backed up. She's just brutal. "Dazzling" is actually putting it nicely. Bring back Eric Frede, please. Or better yet, scrap the concept of the sideline reporter entirely.

The Red Sox owner is a nocturnal creature. He stays up until 4 in the morning, then sleeps until 10.

That makes two of us.

Like any good sports fan with a clicker in his hand, Henry switches to the Yankees game during commercials. The Yankees are in a dogfight with the White Sox and Henry is rooting hard for Chicago. I tell him that might be a mistake. Seven weeks from now, he might be wishing the Yankees beat the White Sox on this night. That seems to be the way things are going. But like most Sox fans, he cannot bring himself to root for the Yankees. And he will not admit that the American League East is lost.

Wait, the AL East is lost? The season ends on August 10 now? Crap! I was looking forward to another month and a half of baseball. That's a real bummer. Oh, well, we'll get 'em next year.

Anybody who thinks the AL East is lost right now, please get the f*** off the bandwagon and don't come back. The whining is hurting my ears. Although I think Dan jumped off back in the 1970s.

In an unrelated ownership anecdote, he tells me he first talked to Lucchino in 1989 when he wanted to use the Orioles' minor league park in Fort Lauderdale for his team in the newly formed Senior Professional Baseball Association.

``Larry said `no' and that kind of ticked me off," recalls Henry. ``I didn't even know what he looked like. I pictured him being a short, bald guy."

So Lucchino was a jerk back in 1989, too, huh? I'm shocked. Also, I wonder if he knows he comes off as a short, bald guy over the phone.

At 10:30, I stand up and tell the Red Sox owner that polite company would be leaving right about now. He won't have it.

Wasted opportunity, John. Wasted opportunity. Shame on you.