Sox appeal

(Yes, I know the title of this post is a completely overused cliche. But who fucking cares.)

I'd resolved when I moved away from Boston that I would take a preemptive strike. I would cut the Red Sox out of my life before they could break my heart. The writing was on the wall, Theo Epstein quit, Manny wanted a trade, Johnny Damon signed with the Evil Empire, Edgar Renteria was traded and no new shortstop was in sight. It looked bleak, every time I went to the Sons of Sam Horn messageboard (filled with crazed Red Sox fans and occasional appearances by players, GM, and the owner) there were threads with alarmist titles like "is it time to blow it all up?" and "who will be our SS?" I figured it was a sign, that I needed to make a clean break. After all, I was bringing my mojo to a new city; it was only natural the previous city would experience a mojo vacuum that would be brutal to watch unfold.

You see, I have always been lucky in sports. I may sound immodest, but my record speaks for itself: My freshman year of college, after 12 agonizing years of coming ohso close but always falling short, Florida State not only beat Miami but won its first national championship. The summer of 1995 I was back in my hometown of Orlando working at Disney, while the Magic managed to make the NBA finals in only their 5th year of existence. (OK, so they got swept by Houston, but it was still a magical run until then.) In 1997 I moved to Boston, and while it took a few years, the Patriots won their first championship and then two more in becoming one of the greatest football dynasties ever. Most importantly, in 2004 after I had lived in Boston for 7 years, the Red Sox broke an 86 year curse to complete the greatest comeback in sports history and win the World Series.

I really can't put it into words what that experience was like, but I had lived and died with the Red Sox ever since I arrived in Boston, so as you can imagine the past few years have been an exhiliarating, nerve-wracking and frustrating time to be a Sox fan living in the city. Every night when I got home from work, I turned on NESN. I watched roughtly 3/4 of the games each season and I agonized over them. I watched the standings and calculated strength of schedule and scenarios, I cursed the Yankees, I prayed at the end of close games, and in 2003 when Grady left Pedro in too long I'd lit 9 candles to signify the 9 outs we needed before finally beating the Yankees. I was making the sign of the cross before every pitch, and sadly I only got to blow out two of those candles before it was all over. Yes, I am a little obsessed with the Sox. I mean, I WAS. What should really scare you is I'm not even Catholic.

I tried to quit them cold turkey. I avoided the messageboard, only took the occasional look at the Spring Training standings, I resisted the urge to see who was being signed to replace the players I'd grown so fond of (Damon, Bill Mueller, Kevin Millar, Bronson Arroyo...) and I generally tried to convince myself that my mojo was now in Atlanta working for the Braves and I just needed to forget about the Sox. We were over, and I needed a clean break.

Well, it's 4 games into the young season and already I'm slipping. I'm reading scores, I'm thinking about ordering the MLB TV package that will let me watch every game again. I'm buying tickets for the Sox/Braves series. And I'm seeing a glimmer of hope. Perhaps the Sox aren't going to be terrible this year--maybe the awesome pitching rotation will be enough. Maybe the Yankees' aging pitchers' arms will fall off, Johnny Damon will discover he has Samson syndrome and can't bat worth a shit with short hair, and the Red Sox can make a chase of it. I hope so. The Red Sox gave me a great ride there, and I'll always have a soft spot in my heart for them. Every time they're in town I will want to stop by, see how they're doing, and if we end up rekindling things for old time's sake, that's not the worst thing in the world. And the Braves never have to know.