The notion of a close-knit team is nice, but not necessary.
Is Boston Red Sox manager Bobby Valentine presiding over one big happy family, or a pending house revolt?
The Red Sox say they all get along fine, and that reports of a "toxic'' clubhouse are ridiculous.
Josh Beckett, who looks at media the way drivers look at bugs on their windshield, tells us so. His words were echoed by Cody Ross, one of the most approachable and agreeable of all the Sox, and David Ortiz.
They refute a report from ESPN's Buster Olney that portrays the Red Sox clubhouse as a simmering cauldron of unhappiness and dissatisfaction, ready to explode at a moment's notice.
How can I put this delicately? I .... DON'T .....CARE!!!!
The days of caring whether this was one big, happy Red Sox family have been replaced by the harsh reality of watching these guys up-close.
This outfit can cue up "Kumbaya.'' Or steal each other's batting gloves.
I don't care. Just win games.
My eyewitness accounts back up Beckett, Ross and Ortiz. Having spent many hours in the clubhouse lately, I have not seen the seething turmoil described in the Olney report.
The only seething is done by players who probably wonder why the media insists on standing around in the locker room. Why, on Saturday in Chicago's cramped clubhouse, we wasted an hour doing just that.
We were expecting Beckett to talk about his shoulder injury, since he had indicated to a media member on Friday that he would. He didn't speak until Monday, but hanging around for no reason did give us a chance to observe the mood of the club, which seemed rather normal and even congenial for the most part.
But what if it's not? I still don't care. It's time we all stopped fooling ourselves into thinking a big-league clubhouse is just like a high school locker room, only with older guys and not teens.
The need for closeness is one of the biggest fairy tales in pro sports. The fan prefers to think he is watching a team that's all for one and one for all, fist-bumping in the clubhouse and hugging after the walkoff hit.
Sometimes that's true. Usually, it comes when a team is winning.
The Red Sox are winning half the time. This is a touchy situation for a team that still wants to believe it should be winning 60 percent of the time.
For at least the past year, the Red Sox have done all a team can do to take the fun out of rooting for it. Stripped away is the image of a spirited, unified group of lovable ragamuffins, all doing their golly-God-best to win another one for Red Sox Nation.
The enjoyment of watching this group comes from two avenues. One is seeing scrappy, likeable guys named Nava, Aviles, Podsednik and Middlebrooks - in other words, guys who have not been around this climate for long - play with brains, zest and gusto.
The other is the simple pleasure that comes when our heroes win. Beyond that, is this team really worth getting all dreamy and idealistic about?
If there is dissent, there are reasons for it.
How ya feelin', Kevin Youkilis? Is it the injuries of the trade rumors or the .215 average that keeps a big smile off your face?
How 'bout you, Big Papi? It's been a couple of weeks since the last time you said you felt unappreciated.
Yo, Adrian Gonzalez. The world would like to know why you're hitting .261 with five home runs and making a lot of money. What, you don't want to chat cheerfully about that?
Even you, Dustin Pedroia. The media pesters you every day, because you're Dustin. That couldn't have been fun when the recent slump reached 6-for-45.
This doesn't mean the Red Sox are quarreling with each other. As for how they think about their manager, that is really where I don't care.
Olney's description of the pending palace revolt was vague. Reading between the lines makes us think a lot of this is about Bobby Valentine, or a combo pack of Bobby V and the people above him who run the team.
I've been hearing this since before Valentine was hired. Even that voice of truth named Curt Schilling told us so, so it had to be true, right?
Maybe it is. I can't say I know.
The veterans loved their last manager. That much was evident when he showed up in the clubhouse Sunday before his ESPN gig.
There was backslapping and hugs all around. Too bad the team tuned out the big lug last September and essentially cost him his job.
If I'm a guy like Daniel Nava, I love Bobby Valentine. He gave me a chance to start and appreciates the little things I do to win games.
If I'm a veteran holdover, I have convinced myself that my achievements are my own. Anything this new guy might do differently requires an adjustment, and I thought my adjustment time ended with the signing of my last guaranteed contract.
The 1970s Yankees were famous for a divided clubhouse, and they won tons of games. Joe Tinker and Johnny Evers were not on speaking terms for most of their careers, but they were two-thirds of a Hall of Fame double play combination that was immortalized by a poem.
There have been no reports of problems in the Pirates clubhouse, but they have been lousy for 20 years.
So, I don't see why we would care if these guys get along or not. They want to be judged on results, or at least that's what we've been told, which means all we should care about is whether they win games.
Beyond that, I don't care if there are 25 entries in the Dustin Pedroia Team Unity Cribbage Tournament, or whether guys exchange menacing stares after accidentally-on-purpose bumping into each other.
I don't care if they give each other or Valentine a high-5 or the finger. And if Red Sox fans want to pin their loyalty on the assumption of one big charitable operation, my recommendation is to ... get real.
The players can lock arms and skip forward like Dorothy did with her new friends on the Yellow Brick Road. Or they can start a food fight with the postgame spread, aiming either at the teammate they like the least or better yet, the manager's office.
I don't care. Let's skip the illusions. Just win games.