The most enthusiastic participant in Red Sox infield practice is putting on a show. He leans to his right, leaps to his left. He snaps errant throws out of the air, occasionally adding a flourish with his glove. He beams for most of the dozen or so minutes he stands out there, his Red Sox beanie and Red Sox fleece and Red Sox hoodie belying the truth that he does not at the moment play for the Red Sox. Second baseman Dustin Pedroia, the heart and soul of a 108-win team to which he contributed exactly one hit, has assigned himself the completely superfluous role of intermediary between the first baseman and, a few feet away, a bucket into which he deposits baseballs.
In a Historic Season for the Red Sox, the Fiercely Competitive Dustin Pedroia Must Watch From Afar
