October 27, 2004
Travels in Red Sox Nation
I've been basking quietly in history for the past week, but it's time for a few thoughts before Game Four:
* I flew to Florida this weekend, wearing my Red Sox jersey through the streets of Chattanooga and two international airports. And the strangest thing happened: Wherever I went, every ten minutes or so another person would walk up to me, pat me on the back, yell cheers of "SOX!" or just smile at me. I have never felt so much friendship from strangers. It was as if the whole country was quietly partying, rejoicing, and looking for someone to share the feeling with. Even the people examining my baggage for bombs wanted to talk Sox.
Of course, every few hours I ran into a Yankees fan, or a general wet blanket, who would call out, "The curse lives," and stride away. And then there was the Federal airport security agent, a woman in Orlando's terminal, who took one look at my wardrobe at a checkpoint and said she wouldn't let my bags through, "after what you guys did to us."
"I'm sorry," I said. I paused, then grinned. "But not really."
She then proceded to keep my suitcase, wallet and shoes on the x-ray conveyor belt for the next two minutes, stopping and starting the belt three or four times. She just stared at me. She wanted revenge.
I just kept smiling. I didn't care. We won.
* Let's be honest: This World Series, so far, hasn't been a classic. It's been ugly, actually, and something of an emotional anticlimax after the Yankees series. And yet it's been glorious to watch, like watching a train gather momentum after bursting through a mountain. It feels, and I know it's too early to say this and all, like a curtain call: a chance to take a last, lingering look at our team's history and our heroes. It was such a pleasure to watch Pedro dominate last night, to see him have what could be his last flash of Boston beauty.
* Speaking of heroes, you really should read Schilling's interview with the Dirt Dogs. Here's my favorite bit:
While many think you're a great pitcher and a courageous human being, some don't understand why you think the supreme being cares about whether you win a baseball game or not.
CS: "I never said he did."
Don't you pray before every game?
CS: "Yes."
What happens with your god when you lose?
CS: "With my God? Or God? I don't think anything happens to him, but I think pretty much every time I do lose I get taught some sort of lesson. Be it preparation, aggression, execution, or humility."
* When I read stuff like that, when I think over Pedro's roller-coaster season, when I remember Varitek shoving his glove in A-Rod's face, or Ortiz smashing the Angels out of existence, or Damon's hair streaming behind him as he cries his way to home plate, my strongest feeling now is that I don't want to say goodbye to this team. I like them. They feel like friends. I've been spending the past two weeks begging for them not to lose, and now I just want them to stay. Bill Simmons -- as usual -- put it best:
With an elusive championship only two victories away, I'm surprised how much I'm thinking about the end of the road -- not the possible end of the (rhymes with "Schmurse") and all that media-driven crap, but how much I'm going to miss watching this team. It's almost over. I can't stop thinking about it. Baseball teams resonate more than teams from any other sport, only because of the frequency of the games, the up-and-down nature of the season and the endless array of characters. For better or worse, 25 to 30 strangers impact your life for six straight months. Day in, day out. Only rarely is it worth it.
This season was worth it. My generation of Sox fans grew up with stoic heroes like Yaz and Rice, along with an invisible ownership that didn't care about the park or the fans. Many of our favorite players ended up skipping town -- Clemens, Mo, Lynn and Fisk -- for reasons that never really made sense. And the legacy of misfortune hung over everything. The 2004 Red Sox made up for everything, a good group of guys who bring out the best in one another. It's the kind of team you dream of following.
* All that said, am I terrified about tonight? Of course.
* We are now 27 outs away from something beautiful, the happy ending, the validation of hope. And the first unveiling of my double chin in more than two years. Which is why the party begins tonight at my place at 8 p.m., and will continue until it's done. Be there. Bring scissors. We believe.
Posted by mesh at October 27, 2004 03:01 PM | TrackBack