My Red Sox Obsession
I went to see "Fever Pitch" when they were holding a sneak preview at the local theatre (in an old pineapple factory), and I was struck by the level of fanatacism displayed by the accoutrements of the main character. But I wasn't struck as much by the ridiculous level to which his Sox mania soared, as by the stark, raving mad envy it caused in me.
I want that stuff too!
Ever since the ALCS, I have been thinking more and more about my beloved Sox. It is still amazing to me that they/we accomplished such legendary feats last october. I've become more and more rabid as each day passes. It started with t-shirts, then team jerseys, then flags, and now I am hungry for anything BoSox! I'm tempted to buy pins, placemats, pictures to hang, seat covers, car accessories and more . . . It is becoming an all-consuming desire!
And I must admit to feeling a bit guilty. This happened during the post World Series celebration at our favorite pub. This guy comes up to me and he says, "You ahhn't one-a-those bandwagonnahs ahh you?!"
I had to stop and think about it. Am I? I've always loved the Red Sox, always rooted for them. I watched the 1986 World Series, and saw the moment of terrible moments: "Behind the BAAAAG!!!...It gets through Bu-"...I can't go on. It hurt so much I could not bear to watch another game. Of any kind.
I was convinced that the Curse extended to any competitive event I ever saw, and because of my being a Red Sox fan, I'd jinx whoever I rooted for. I had the belief that if I saw or even heard the game, or match, I would bring defeat on whoever I wanted to win; so I'd block my ears, turn away from the TV screen, or even pretend to root for the other guy (though never for those GD Yankees), just so that the one I really wanted to win would! I'd actually try to use reverse psychology on the gods whose curse I carried with me everywhere! Even in Fiji, when our sevens rugby team was in the world cup match against the dreaded All-Blacks, I refused to actively watch or listen to it, for the certain knowledge of what my cursed presence would do to Fiji's efforts. We/they won, and as I cheered, I secretly thought: "Up yours, evil deities! I outsmarted you!"
But am I a "bandwagonnah"? Still, I pondered...
I stopped watching the Red Sox, stopped watching because it caused too much pain, and because I thought watching them would make them lose. It became my curse, and I was ashamed to bring it on them. Being a Bostonian was defined by this constant understanding. Greatness can never be achieved, only glimpsed in the heavens before darkness descends! Losing was scripted, and it became our collective neurosis. So I stayed away for years, wandering in the wilderness of unremitting loserdom.
Then something magical happened.
We lost the 2003 ALCS!
You see, my wife was watching her very first complete game, and, knowing that my presence would make the outcome certain, I was out back, watering the lawn and trying not to even think of what I wanted, lest the gods punish my team for my impudence. Such was my mania.
My wife came out some time later, and she had this look of utter disappointment that only a Boston Red Sox fan can truly understand. I kissed her forehead, gave her a gentle hug, and said, "welcome to being a Red Sox fan."
It was then that I realized that I was over it. I was over the curse, over Bucky F-n Dent, over even Buckner. I was ready to love again, fully knowing that a great deal of pain might lie in store for me. I didn't care anymore. I wanted to support my Red Sox, no matter the consequences.
I followed their progress throughout the next season, and kept a mental record of where they were in the overall standings. When Fall came, and we were still in it, I thought, "well, we'll probably meet the same end as always, but I don't care. Rise or fall, I'm with my team." And I was, up until game 3 of the ALCS,when I had another moment of doubt. I almost turned away in self-protective fear, but I couldn't. I needed to be a part of it, even if the story ended badly.
I planted myself at my favorite Irish pub, wished and prayed through every play, and willed my team to victory!
I actually felt like the will of all New Englanders, everywhere around the world, pushed our team to the great feats they accomplished. We didn't just squeak by, we conquered. We stomped that curse right out of existence!
And still that question lingered.
Finally, I decided. No, I am not a bandwagonnah, I am a long-suffering Red Sox fan. I may not have been as rabid as some folks, but I suffered as deeply as any one of them. It invaded every part of my psyche, the same way it did to countless others. And when we finally overcame, I screamed for hours, cried, hugged my fellow former sufferers, strangers though they may have been, and revelled in the unknown euphoria being on the winning side can actually bring.
And now, I am more fanatical than ever before, and worrying that it is overtaking my ability to reason. Such is the emotional rollercoaster of the Red Sox fan.
I don't know where we will go from here, but I know that I am happy to be part of it again, and to know that anything is possible - if 2004 was...
I want that stuff too!
Ever since the ALCS, I have been thinking more and more about my beloved Sox. It is still amazing to me that they/we accomplished such legendary feats last october. I've become more and more rabid as each day passes. It started with t-shirts, then team jerseys, then flags, and now I am hungry for anything BoSox! I'm tempted to buy pins, placemats, pictures to hang, seat covers, car accessories and more . . . It is becoming an all-consuming desire!
And I must admit to feeling a bit guilty. This happened during the post World Series celebration at our favorite pub. This guy comes up to me and he says, "You ahhn't one-a-those bandwagonnahs ahh you?!"
I had to stop and think about it. Am I? I've always loved the Red Sox, always rooted for them. I watched the 1986 World Series, and saw the moment of terrible moments: "Behind the BAAAAG!!!...It gets through Bu-"...I can't go on. It hurt so much I could not bear to watch another game. Of any kind.
I was convinced that the Curse extended to any competitive event I ever saw, and because of my being a Red Sox fan, I'd jinx whoever I rooted for. I had the belief that if I saw or even heard the game, or match, I would bring defeat on whoever I wanted to win; so I'd block my ears, turn away from the TV screen, or even pretend to root for the other guy (though never for those GD Yankees), just so that the one I really wanted to win would! I'd actually try to use reverse psychology on the gods whose curse I carried with me everywhere! Even in Fiji, when our sevens rugby team was in the world cup match against the dreaded All-Blacks, I refused to actively watch or listen to it, for the certain knowledge of what my cursed presence would do to Fiji's efforts. We/they won, and as I cheered, I secretly thought: "Up yours, evil deities! I outsmarted you!"
But am I a "bandwagonnah"? Still, I pondered...
I stopped watching the Red Sox, stopped watching because it caused too much pain, and because I thought watching them would make them lose. It became my curse, and I was ashamed to bring it on them. Being a Bostonian was defined by this constant understanding. Greatness can never be achieved, only glimpsed in the heavens before darkness descends! Losing was scripted, and it became our collective neurosis. So I stayed away for years, wandering in the wilderness of unremitting loserdom.
Then something magical happened.
We lost the 2003 ALCS!
You see, my wife was watching her very first complete game, and, knowing that my presence would make the outcome certain, I was out back, watering the lawn and trying not to even think of what I wanted, lest the gods punish my team for my impudence. Such was my mania.
My wife came out some time later, and she had this look of utter disappointment that only a Boston Red Sox fan can truly understand. I kissed her forehead, gave her a gentle hug, and said, "welcome to being a Red Sox fan."
It was then that I realized that I was over it. I was over the curse, over Bucky F-n Dent, over even Buckner. I was ready to love again, fully knowing that a great deal of pain might lie in store for me. I didn't care anymore. I wanted to support my Red Sox, no matter the consequences.
I followed their progress throughout the next season, and kept a mental record of where they were in the overall standings. When Fall came, and we were still in it, I thought, "well, we'll probably meet the same end as always, but I don't care. Rise or fall, I'm with my team." And I was, up until game 3 of the ALCS,when I had another moment of doubt. I almost turned away in self-protective fear, but I couldn't. I needed to be a part of it, even if the story ended badly.
I planted myself at my favorite Irish pub, wished and prayed through every play, and willed my team to victory!
I actually felt like the will of all New Englanders, everywhere around the world, pushed our team to the great feats they accomplished. We didn't just squeak by, we conquered. We stomped that curse right out of existence!
And still that question lingered.
Finally, I decided. No, I am not a bandwagonnah, I am a long-suffering Red Sox fan. I may not have been as rabid as some folks, but I suffered as deeply as any one of them. It invaded every part of my psyche, the same way it did to countless others. And when we finally overcame, I screamed for hours, cried, hugged my fellow former sufferers, strangers though they may have been, and revelled in the unknown euphoria being on the winning side can actually bring.
And now, I am more fanatical than ever before, and worrying that it is overtaking my ability to reason. Such is the emotional rollercoaster of the Red Sox fan.
I don't know where we will go from here, but I know that I am happy to be part of it again, and to know that anything is possible - if 2004 was...
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