ANAHEIM, Calif. – It would be wonderful, so much simpler, and certainly cheaper, if an overachieving ballclub were merely a reflection of the chummy relationships in its clubhouse. If a group dinner at Applebee's was worth a few wins. Hold the elevator: a quality start. Aim your spit politely downwind? That's a walk-off gapper.

Of all the immeasurable stuff in baseball that's now sort of measurable, including a man's worth as compared to a fictional player with skills relatable to a quadruple-A standard, which does not exist either, there is no metric for getting along. Yet.

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So, when the Boston Red Sox deconstructed a spectacularly dysfunctional 93-loss team, their first last-place team in two decades, and rebuilt it with what had become known as "character guys," there were misgivings. While some among Red Sox management believed the club could be "sneaky competitive," most of the world saw an earnest, hard-working and poised last-place team whose players would, nevertheless, root hard for each other to succeed. Because that's what character guys do.

Well, turns out, the Red Sox are good. Barring something very ugly on a West Coaster through Anaheim, Seattle and Oakland that brings them into the All-Star break, they'll open the second half leading the AL East and with the best record in the American League. Anyone who saw that coming had conveniently ignored the immediate past, which came with an erratic bullpen, a worse starting rotation, David Ortiz's heel, Mike Napoli's hip, Jacoby Ellsbury's various X-rays, Shane Victorino's second half, Jose Iglesias' bat, Daniel Nava's glove, Jonny Gomes' splits, Stephen Drew's career arc, the Baltimore Orioles' 2012, the Toronto Blue Jays' winter, the Tampa Bay Rays' heart, and a lot of other signs the Red Sox just might get worse before they got better.

After missing so badly on Bobby Valentine, they'd hired John Farrell. They'd moved out Josh Beckett, along with Adrian Gonzalez and Carl Crawford and Kevin Youkilis. They'd loaded up on Gomes, Victorino, David Ross, Napoli, Drew and Ryan Dempster. They'd hoped for more out of Clay Buchholz and Jon Lester. They'd maybe get their clubhouse back, their manager's office back. They'd exhale, retake their dignity, work at that sneaky competitive thing, and get back to playing the game.





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It's worked. You know why? Not because they're exchanging Beanie Babies on their birthdays. Not because Gomes can tell a joke. Not because Dempster does a great Harry Caray during rain delays.

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