Some disjointed, terrified thoughts before tonight's Biggest Game Ever:
*Four days ago, I had written off this series as another bit of misery, a nasty blast of bad luck. I had stopped thinking about it. I watched Game Four out of sheer loyalty. Then came the 12-inning classic and the 14-inning insanity. When Ortiz hit the walk-off homer, I was back in; when he hit the single, I started screaming. Last night, as Schilling pitched with blood soaking through his sock, I almost started dry heaving. Today, after perhaps the greatest win in Red Sox history, I can't work, I can barely eat and I'm struggling to carry on lucid conversations. I'm that nervous.
*Curt Schilling walks into the press room last night, wearing a black "Why Not Us?" tee-shirt. A reporter asks him about how he endured the pain of a sutured ankle for seven innings.
He replies: "Well, I don't know that pain was the thing. Seven years ago I became a Christian, and tonight God did something amazing for me. I tried to be as tough as I could, and do it my way, Game 1, and I think we all saw how that turned out. I knew that I wasn't going to be able to do this alone. And I prayed as hard as I could. I didn't pray to get a win or to make great pitches. I just prayed for the strength to go out there tonight and compete, and He gave me that. I can't explain to you what a feeling it was to be out there and to feel what I felt."
Now there's a man. The more I read that little speech, the calmer I feel about tonight. Whether we win or lose doesn't matter. That a man has found the comfort from God to give his all to his cause, that matters. I'm so happy for Curt.
*Other people I'm happy for: Bronson Arroyo, a tiny grin breaking between his cornrows as the Fenway crowd gives him a 10th-inning standing ovation. Johnny Damon, weeping as he runs home. Mark Bellhorn, finally breaking through.
*Alex Rodriguez embarrassed the Yankee organization last night. I may loathe the Bombers, but I respect them like no other franchise. Last night's player and fan behavior was pure bush-league, a disgrace to their legacy. My lasting memories from this series will be Schilling's courage and A-Rod's petulence, no matter how tonight turns out.
*My place. Tonight. Eight p.m. Bring cigarettes and smelling salts. I'll need both.
*I keep waffling between keeping an ironic distance from this team and believing wholeheartedly in their dream. I've made up my mind, consequences and heartbreak be damned. I believe in these Red Sox. I love them.
Posted by mesh at October 20, 2004 02:06 PM | TrackBack