Did someone tell Manny Ramirez in advance that there would be a giant novelty check after the game for the person who performed the best? Because that seems like just the sort of thing that he'd really get excited about. Especially a giant check for a million yen - which sounds like a ton of money (even if it really only amounts to $10,000 or so).

As the MVP of today's Opening Day game versus the A's in Tokyo, Manny won himself that giant check -- plus a snazzy new color copier. (thanks, corporate sponsors!) It was his 10th inning 2-run double that did the trick, brought him the MVP... and sealed the victory for the Sox. Lesson learned for Huston Street and the A's: don't pitch around Big Papi, because Manny will make you pay.

"Before I told Alex (Cora), I want to face this guy (Huston Street)," explained Ramirez. "It came true and I did."

And when asked why he would want to stare down one of the games preeminent closers, the Sox slugger responded, "Because he's nasty. I like those challenges."

More on Manny's Giant Check:

Manny Ramirez lurched toward the man holding the giant check and tried to grab it. The man elbowed him away. Ramirez took the hint for about 5 seconds, then reached out once more. There is something special about a giant check. This one was his, and he wanted it now.

[Manny] acted like a kid who just crushed three packets of Fun Dip. Ramirez, as versed in global currency markets as an inchworm in linguistics, couldn't quite decide what to do with the $10,000 or so.

"That's going to be some gas money," he said one minute.

"Maybe send it to my mom," he said the next.

"Can they give it to me in cash tomorrow?" he said later.

Part of the check ceremony entailed standing next to teammate Hideki Okajima, who had won half a million yen for the "Fighting Spirit Award," and holding up another cardboard sign - this one of a color printer by the opening series' sponsor, Ricoh.

Manny didn't exactly wave it around, and when he found out he would receive the printer, too, excitement didn't take over.

"Send it to Fenway," he said.

Ramirez had one last bit of business. Someone handed him a Sharpie. Perhaps they'd auction off the signs he held. Ramirez leaned over and signed the cardboard printer. And then he took the pen to his check, that big, beautiful piece of nostalgia.

He wrote Manny Ramirez on it, sure to remind everyone that the giant check was his and no one else's.