A hollow ring to it

Remember when a championship ring was a reward for athletic performance, when owning one was as rare as winning the World Series or the Super Bowl?

Not anymore. Not in Boston.

Now all you have to do is write a check.

A lawyer, a businessman, and a speech pathologist will be on the field at Fenway Park tomorrow night to accept championship rings that are identical to the ones hard-earned by David Ortiz, Curt Schilling, Manny Ramirez, and their teammates on the field last October. The Red Sox fans won them in a $10 raffle.

Talk about depreciation.

It was disheartening enough when the Red Sox distributed World Series championship rings to every limited partner of the organization, including corporate executives of the Globe, whose corporate parent, the New York Times Co., owns a minority share of the baseball club. Brooks Brothers might have tailored the closest thing to a uniform these guys will ever wear, but apparently he who writes the checks gets to cash in on the glory.

Now, fans, too, can get into the act. That the misguided raffle prize is part of an admirable effort to raise money for charity is beside the point.

Surely the nonprofit Red Sox Foundation could have raised the same $2 million, or even more, offering a bat, a ball, a batting helmet, or a pair of cleats that were pressed into service during the series that ended the Old Towne Team's 86-year losing streak. When did an autographed baseball become so passe?

Instead of a sentimental slice of Boston sports history, the three raffle winners will take home gold rings inlaid with thousands of dollars worth of diamonds and rubies, a piece of professional sports bling typical of the times.

Who could blame the lucky Red Sox fans for being ecstatic, even if their sudden windfall means taking out riders on their home insurance policies.

Why shouldn't they take a page from Russian President Vladimir V. Putin, who pocketed New England Patriots owner Robert Kraft's 2005 Super Bowl ring last month?

The National Football League might not have much of a following in Moscow, but Putin didn't have to count all 124 diamonds on that ring to recognize a potent symbol of American excess.

Doling out unearned World Series championship rings brings to mind the earnest sideline debates among parents about the proliferation of trophies in youth sports.

What message are we sending if the whole Kinderkick team is rewarded with plastic trophies, they ask? How will children ever learn about competition and merit, they fret?

For all the adult hand-wringing, the kids actually play the game and, because they do, they know who has athletic talent and who does not, even if all the trophies are the same size.

They don't care. Their Kinderkick trophies are imbued with collective memory and personal effort, if not accomplishment. They will display them on the bedroom shelves that someday might or might not hold a trophy for a league championship.

Either way, that Kinderkick trophy is testament to their participation.

Where will the raffle-winning Red Sox fans and the club's limited partners display their World Series championship rings? In the family room under glass? In a safe deposit box? On eBay?

Given the weight of 18-karat gold, 10 rubies, and 11 diamonds, the nonathletes among the recipients will require personal trainers to get their hand muscles in shape if they actually intend to wear their rings.

It is bound to be an exciting evening for Rick Ryan of Weston and Kristin Vona of Malden and Mike Pandolfi of Hopkinton when they pick up their rings.

It might have been just as exciting, and a lot less crass, if the Red Sox had raffled off tickets to tomorrow's game against the New York Yankees instead. Those seats are as rare as a World Series championship ring used to be.

Eileen McNamara is a Globe columnist. She can be reached at mcnamara@globe.com.