Tag: red sox

The Red Sock

Even the moon turned blood red in support.

My friends, the Red Sox have won the World Series. That bears repeating: THE RED SOX HAVE WON THE WORLD SERIES. They swept the World Series. They ended it with a shutout. The Red Sox have won the World Series.

And we rejoice! Boston wholly rejoices that the curse is lifted, that the grandfathers of the Red Sox nation who lived until this day will not go into the dark without knowing that sensation of victory! We do not yet truly believe it in our hearts, but with our minds we know that the thing which is both impossible and greatly desired is NOT impossible. That sometimes, your best hope instead of your worst fear comes to pass.
The Red Sox have won the 2004 World Series.

In the rejoicing, however, there is a sense of loss. I think it’s like watching your child get married. You are happy, so happy for them. But yet, you know your relationship to them will never be the same. And in the first and closest case, it means that you will not be with them while they are having a marvellous time on their honeymoon.

It is the best lonely period to be hoped for. I find it impossible to be glad that the baseball season is over. I find myself jealous for just another day or two of baseball, please. But it is over. Gone. I am left alone — gaily waving with tears in my eyes at the door of the church. Five months of happy memories, but no new ones.

Do you believe me that my life changes when there is no baseball on? The sound of it. The schedule. The way it slips easily into my ears and keeps me company as I work, rest, travel. Football is no replacement. NPR is too depressing. Music insufficiently engaging.

A sacrifice I am happier to make this year than ever. You bunch of Idiots, who have become my friends unbeknownst to you, enjoy your offseason. Many of you I will see again next year. Others will go to other teams, where I’ll secretly root for you as long as you pose no threat. And in spring, new faces will be on the field.

World Series winning Boston Red Sox, thank you. Thank you for 85 years of anxiety, and one of exultation. Thank you for 170 games of baseball, sometimes beautiful, sometimes ugly, sometimes heart-dropping, sometimes boring. Thank you for getting into fights with the Yankees, saying dumb things in post game interviews, and growing some of the world’s worst-concieved hair styles. Thank you for a year of fun baseball.

What Can Be Said?

What can I say about my boys, the Red Sox, which has not already been said by my friends this morning? They are a beacon of hope in a dreary world, even while they raise in us such high anxiety it is hardly to be believed. Who didn’t have heart palpitations last night, with Foulke up, facing the go ahead run in the bottom of the 9th having walked two? Who didn’t wonder if a ball sailing over a right field wall would dash our hopes of life and further sleeplessness? Who failed to marvel as umpires got not one, but two difficult calls correct?

Not I — that can be said.

For the record, I would also like to state that I honestly thought Alex Rodriguez was a better man than that. I have not forgotten that his youth and mine coincided in Seattle.

And tonight, hope again! And fear, my friends. Fear that destiny, fate, and long history move us towards heartbreak once again. Hope that this year, this time, this at bat, might be different. In a world where polling numbers and analysts tell us who we will elect, where reality tv is shot months before we watch it, where even a baby’s face and sex are known before it is birthed… two great nations stand facing each other, and do not know whether the morning brings joy and exultation, or the bitter and ashy taste of defeat.

How few things we do not, or do not expect to know in advance. How ill-prepared we are for the mystery of wait and see. But we were not supposed to be here. The prophets told us our hope was lost, our cause barren. The sages said that it had never been done before. Our own hearts told us that our team labors always under an ill star. But we are here. We hope. We live. We strive.

And all that may be said with certainty is that tomorrow, we will awaken to a great emotion. One nation will stand. One will fall. And the roll call of history will go on.