ACTON, Mass. -- It's a pristine Little League field in this leafy little town about a half-hour west of Boston, the place where Dan Duquette spent part of the summer coaching one of his kids.

It all seems a long ways from Fenway Park.

But it is here, on this beautful September morning, that Duquette is talking about his future.

Once, Fenway Park was the epicenter of Duquette's world. He had become the Red Sox general manager in 1994, and at the time it was as though he'd come direct from Central Casting. He was only 38, and had done wonders in the baseball wilderness that's Montreal. He also came from western Massachusetts, knew all the Red Sox' tortured history and the psychic price
fans pay. He had been born to be the Sox general manager. Or at least that was the thinking.

Now?

He has spent the summer without a job, let go shortly after the new owners bought the Red Sox last winter. And even if he wants to get back into the game, maybe as a president of a team, this has been the first summer he's been on the sidelines, the first time in a long time there's no baseball to consume him.

"It took a few weeks to get in the habit of not going to Fenway Park," he says.

He is wearing dark slacks, his eyes hidden behind dark glasses. People say Duquette is more mellow now, more relaxed. A year ago, no one ever would have said "Duquette" and "mellow" in the same sentence. Back when Duquette was in the center of the storm, being blamed for just about everything as the Sox season unraveled like some old baseball that's lost its
cover.

He was blamed for his supposed lack of people skills. He was blamed for bleeding the farm system dry in an attempt to win now. He was blamed for a lot of things. Most of all, he was blamed because the team didn't win enough.

But all that seems long ago and far away on this morning, at the end of this summer where Duquette has had the time to take some personal inventory and plan what happens next.

"Life goes on," he says. "My father always told me that change was good. That it was good to change jobs every five years."

He coached one of his kids in baseball this summer. He's coaching another in Pop Warner football this fall. He's also in the middle of a project that could just be his legacy in ways that being the Red Sox general manager didn't turn out to be: the Dan Duquette Sports Academy that will open next summer in the Berkshires, not far from his hometown of Dalton.

It's an ambitious undertaking, one that's going to be both a baseball camp for kids, and a center for things such as father/son camps, fantasy camps, basketball clinics, you name it. It's a 100-acre site on a beautiful lake, and Duquette plans to make it first class, complete with fields, dormitories, a conference center, everything state of-the-art.

"The thing about Dan is he has such a passion for baseball," says Joe Siderowicz, who is on Duquette's board, right there with Tommy Lasorda and Carl Yastrzemski. "I think that was the thing I was most surprised with when I got to know him. Baseball is not just his business. He truly loves it.

"This camp is an example. He might go years before he makes any money off this. But this is his way of giving back to where he came from, giving back to the game, of passing down his love for the game to kids. This is not just something he's doing to keep busy. This is something he's going to be involved in for a long time, regardless of where he ends up in baseball."

Siderowicz also has a certain insight into the private Duquette that few people ever see. At least not when Duquette was with the Sox, when he often was perceived as aloof, off in some personal bunker somewhere,

"We really don't have any celebrities here in Acton," says Siderowicz, who became friendly with Duquette through their kids. "Dan was it. But he always seemed unapproachable. He'd be at a Little League game watching his kids and it was like people were afraid to talk to him. That's changed. Dan is much more comfortable with himself now."

"What's the other thing you found about Duquette that you never knew before?" Siderowicz is asked.

"How much he loves the Red Sox," he says. "It's not just words with him. He really does love the Red Sox, regardless of what happened."

So how much hurt is there when you have your dream job, only to lose it? How do you deal with that? Are there nights when you lie in the dark and what you lost eats away at you?

If so, Duquette's not telling.

"I had the opportunity to be the general manager of the Red Sox for eight years," he says. "And I enjoyed every minute of it. It was a privilege to work for the Red Sox. It was a privilege to represent them, to be the public face. To me, that was the job."

He is asked if he'd so anything different if he could turn the clock back to 1994 and start all over again.

There's a pause.

What's it going to be? Spend more time on the farm system? Not sign Jose Offerman to a $26-million contract? Not stand up for Carl Everett in his showdown with manager Jimy Williams in September of 2000, an incident that sealed Williams fate in Boston? Is Duquette really going to wax poetic about some of the roads not taken?

Maybe next time.

For he is territorial about his tenure with the Sox, protecting it like an artist protects a body of work. He talks about how the Sox really are the fans' team, almost a sort of public trust, and that he always understood that, tried to give fans a competitive team.

He is asked his take on what happened to this year's team, the one he assembled, the one that began the year 40-17, the one that was going to be his last gift to the Red Sox, before it, too, swooned into September.

He says hows there's a lot of talent on this team, a lot of great players. How the Sox have two 20-game winners. How they might have the batting champion, too. And when's the last time those things happened?

"Something just doesn't add up," he says.

"What's that?" he's asked.

He pauses again.

Is this going to be the time he shoots from the hip, rips the new owners for dumping him, blasts the media, so many of whom used to say he was the reason there was no chemistry? Is this the time?

Maybe next time.

"The won-lost record doesn't add up," laughs Dan Duquette.

Then again, he can afford to laugh.

It's not his problem anymore.