E-Mail This Article to a Friend Aftermath: Nomar’s legacy BY CHRISTOPHER YOUNG

To the bitter end, Anthony Nomar Garciaparra was one of New England’s most enigmatic sports icons, and the final chapter of his stay in Boston was written years earlier than anyone could have rightfully expected. When Nomar was traded to the Cubs just minutes before the trade deadline on July 31, it stuck a dagger in the collective hearts of the region’s baseball youngsters. However, for the grown-ups, who understand the notions of drifting apart, breaking up, and business, the deal that sent the local legend packing was not totally unexpected. While still shocking, it seemed sadly appropriate and served as a fitting conclusion. Delivered from one cursed franchise to another, Garciaparra left a trail of aura and intrigue in his wake, in addition to a he-said/they-said brouhaha that even Chief Inspector Jacques Clouseau will never consider sol-ved.

For those who love their legends and wonder when, if ever, a venerated sports icon will begin and conclude his career in the same uniform, Nomar’s departure was a sad reminder of past superstars — Orr, Fisk, Clemens, Mo, and Bourque, among others — who also packed their bags before they qualified for a lifetime-achievement award. While other generations got to see Ted, Larry, and Hog Hannah forever in the local colors, we of the 21st century have become accustomed to Pudge as a Chisox, Roger as a Jay, and Ray as an Avalancher, even though their careers unfolded and blossomed here. Indeed, many stars like Bourque and the Rocket ultimately found their greatest glory in the arms of another fandom. So will it likely be for our Nomah, who left us long before his bust in Cooperstown could take shape.

Where did it all go wrong for number five? The answer is shrouded in mystery. The heroes who liberated local hardball fans from the clutches of the Yawkey Trust’s man-behind-the-curtain regime in 2002 are no longer the demigods who refurbished Fenway Park and gave us Grady Little. Instead, John Henry, Larry Lucchino, and Theo Epstein have united to paint Nomar as a man who wanted out — and they obliged. Ask Nomar, and he says he wanted to stay — and that’s the story to which he’s stickin’ despite the back-and-forth denials and private-meeting revelations.

Somewhere along the way, the California kid who reveled in playing baseball became a grouchy and ill-tempered multimillionaire like the rest of ’em, a man for whom playing ball was no longer just a pastime but a refuge from the inquiring minds of the media. While Nomar always gave his all on the ball fields, he chafed at the obligations imposed by the region’s passionate interest in the Red Sox. Still, ask the kids who attended his baseball camps, and you’ll hear about a devoted instructor who gave an abundance of individual time and attention to the wide-eyed Nomars-to-be. In that element, Garciaparra clearly flourished and became human.

And no man devoted more off-season time to preparing for the baseball season. Nomar’s workout regimens were legendary in their intensity and focus. As a result, he made himself into a heck of a ballplayer, with a hunger and commitment to winning that made him stand out from all others. He never dogged it, and it was always obvious that he cared — for his craft, and for the greater good of the team itself. That is why the kids adored him, why the fans embraced him, and why he became known as a singular talent. That should have been enough for everybody.

But Nomar was a private guy, and the cramped quarters of the Red Sox clubhouse and the national spotlight were not his style. As the years wore on, he made greater efforts to distance himself from a media that wanted to know more than he cared to share. About baseball he could talk for hours, but throw a hint of off-field controversy into the mix, and he viewed it as an intrusion into his psyche and the holy sanctuary that was the Boston Red Sox. As the rabid journalists who needed sidebars and features and insights into personalities became more and more prevalent in the clubhouse, it was too tight a fit.

That summer of 2001 — when Garciaparra lost nearly five months to wrist surgery — was the first time since 1997 that Sox fans had to get used to their team without its shortstop. When Nomar missed the first 57 games of this season because of his Achilles problems, fans again required an adjustment period, albeit short-term. How this permanent adjustment — a pennant race, an autumn, and forevermore without Nomar — will be handled by the masses remains to be seen, but the questions and finger-pointing linger.

Did it have to play out this way? When the Texas Rangers approached the Boston brass in the off-season to explore the possibility of dealing Alex Rodriguez to the Sox, Nomar was the unfortunate pawn. The bitter ALCS loss to the Yankees still hung in the air, and the fact that Garciaparra had performed dismally throughout September and the post-season made the possibility of losing him — especially considering his impending free agency — that much less remote.

This is where the really bad stuff began, and Nomar — team player that he was — couldn’t imagine how he could be expendable. Having gotten married a month before and purchased a new home on the Cape, Garciaparra’s commitment to the team and the region was implicit. His name being bandied about in trade talks was an insult that he would never be able to accept. Couple that with management’s rescinded four-year, $60 million contract extension — adjusted to $48 million just eight months later — and you had wounded pride. And then: the wound itself, that maddening heel injury, which allegedly happened during spring training and was expected to be a day-to-day thing. Instead, Nomar was on the shelf for nearly three months, and the whispers began about whether the shortstop was using his prolonged recuperation to stick it to management for their perceived disloyalty.

I will never criticize Garciaparra for not accepting the $60 million offer 17 months ago; indeed, he and his agent counter-offered without a response from the team, and the offer was tabled (and ultimately withdrawn) until the end of the season. Negotiations of this nature are rarely a matter of "Here’s our offer." "I’ll take it!" There should have been some back-and-forth, and there wasn’t, and that wasn’t Nomar’s fault, other than his apparent yearning to earn Jeter money ($17 million per year).

But what of the following ambiguities, which continue to fuel conspiracy theories?

1) How come no one witnessed the original BP-batted-ball incident that supposedly impaired Garciaparra’s heel to begin with? Did it really happen? (WBZ-TV’s Bob Lobel reported Thursday night that sources indicate that the injury may actually have happened during a pick-up soccer game prior to spring training. Hmmm.)

2) Even if the injury was exaggerated, does it follow that Nomar would remove himself for months from the game he loved merely to punish the Sox brass — particularly during his free-agent year?

3) Why did he and Mia buy the new house, and why did he stalwartly maintain his interest in remaining a Red Soxer if he was so unhappy here? And why does a man of superior upbringing and manners treat kids so wonderfully and adults so rudely? Why be so petty as to initiate in the clubhouse a team-wide cone of silence to the media, and take steps to have lines taped down in front of lockers to keep the writers at bay? And did he alone really need to be compensated for his "participation" in the Still, We Believe Red Sox documentary, when the film was obviously a tribute to last year’s overachieving team and its loyal following?

4) Why on earth did he feel the need to sulk all season long because of the off-season trade machinations (as opposed to the happy-go-lucky Manny Ramirez, who indeed was in the same boat deal-wise but chose to draw closer to the fans this season), instead of using that anger to provide the leadership that the team so desperately needs this season? Why exhibit such unhappiness in the dugout and in the clubhouse when his presence was so integral to the team’s success — in what was shaping up to be his last season?

Here’s my take: had he played out this season, Nomar knew he would have had some splainin’ to do come season’s end when he chose to leave the Sox via free agency. He would have had to ’fess up as to why a man who proclaimed practically through tears how much he wanted to stay here was instead spurning a four-year, $60 million offer to go elsewhere. Turning down that kind of money would have contradicted all he had said before, and like Clemens before him, Nomar would have looked like just another greedy ballplayer chasing the big bucks — destination be damned.

Garciaparra likely didn’t want to face such an uncomfortable situation this November, so he may well have orchestrated the series of events that ultimately got him out of town. He pouted, he may have pushed a trade, and in all likelihood he did mislead either the Sox trainers or the Cubs as to the severity of his recurring heel injury. All this allowed him to avoid having to tell people the truth — that in spite of all he said and did during his magnificent career in Boston, he simply didn’t like it here, and wouldn’t be staying.

Whose fault is that? Ask him.

Until we get a straight answer, the mystery continues.

But thanks, Nomar, for everything. See you in pinstripes.

Step up, Tom Brady. You’re The Man now.

"Sporting Eye" runs Mondays and Fridays at BostonPhoenix.com. Christopher Young can be reached at cyoung[a]phx.com