John L.
Yelp
A quick caveat before I begin Review 300 (and no, it's not about Sparta): when I was very small, I briefly rooted for the New York Mets. This sacrilege may not be atoned by this review, but I'll try (I should point out that this was in the period when I was about 4, during the '86 World Series, and I liked the color blue more than red.) I just wanted to be different. I eventually came around, but that has to be directly addressed before I continue.
Now, onto my review. I remember the times in the 1990s when it absolutely sucked to be a Red Sox fan. Butch Hobson couldn't coach a team over the 2008 Detroit Lions, not to mention the early 1990s baseball machines in Oakland and Toronto. The pitching made puppies cry. The hitting, while led by Mo Vaughn, wasn't cutting it in a league where Joe Carter and Mark McGwire ruled baseball with their mighty blasts. But we stuck there, with those damn losers.
A quick side Red Sox story from this period: I had my heart broken for the first time during one of those Middle School dance-type things. No, it wasn't because some girl didn't want to dance with me (though that did most certainly happen). It was the Sox being trounced by the Indians in the 1995 ALDS. While this was the first of many heartbreaks, it's one of the more memorable. But that was always part of the Sox mystique. We fail. We epic fail. And we were really good at that.
The two years that most directly shaped this, and my love of the Sox though, were 2003 and 2004. I had the opportunity to see the 2003 playoffs at school, as I didn't go home during Columbus Day break. On a weekend/week where the world saw Steve Bartman interfere in a foul ball, and I and some friends saw "Lost in Translation" in Seekonk after getting directions from a man with a double pipe, Game 7 was the ultimate punch in the gut. Grady Little. Aaron Boone. Fail. Epic fail.
But it was 2003 that made 2004 so special. We never saw 2004 coming, particularly after losing A-Rod to the Evil Empire. But then the ALCS happened. Games 1, 2, and 3 were bad. The Yankees were dominant, the Sox had nothing, and Schilling did a number on his ankle. And then Dave Roberts happened. And Papi. And the Bloody Sock. By Game 7, nothing else really mattered, as the Sox had done the impossible, being the first non-hockey team in professional sports to rail off a series win after going down 3-0 in a 7 game series.
I was at UMass at the time. My first semester of grad school sucked, as I was separated from the collegiate world I had known for so long, knowing very few people, and not doing well in work I didn't understand. Simply put, I was suffering.
The Red Sox were my escape, where perseverance would bring about victory, where even the most improbable result was possible. If the Sox could turn around the ALCS, I could turn around my performance in my Foucault class (well, not really).
While the first round of Grad School did not work out, what did work out were those Sox. And despite the fact that the 2004 Series was in the bag, we never took that for granted. Game 4 of the 2004 World Series can best be compared to the night of the 2008 election, primarily the period between Obama winning Ohio and 11 PM EST: You knew it was over, but you would never say it aloud, lest you jinx it. And then it happened. Jubilation. Happiness. The suffering of a disparate and diverse group of individuals destroyed in one utterly insane moment. Whether it was Mientkiewicz catching the ball or CNN calling the election, the moments were more electric than anything I had ever experienced in my entire life. It was over. And the world (or in the case of the Sox, the Nation), were forever changed for it.
Yes, the Sox have changed since then. People have come and gone, the Sox won another World Series, and the team has shifted in its championship outlook (as in, we want championships).
And there are the grating sides. The pink hats, when Rem-Dawg goes a little too far with the self-promotion, the end of Manny period, and the ticket prices/availability at Fenway are all not fun.
I still love it though, because even at its performance low, the Sox can still brighten up a day just by playing. And I'll take that. While I may never be the perfect Red Sox fan, I'm content in just being the best fan I can be, watching the boys in Red rock this city like no other. :)
