At last, World Series Champions.
The facts have been said over and over again, but they never get old:
On October 27, 2004, the Boston Red Sox won the World Series for the first time in 86 years.
Hold on a second.
The Boston Red Sox. Won. The World Series.
I would like to make one thing very clear though: there was never a curse. I don't care what people throw at you - statistics, stories, ghosts - in the end, the Boston Red Sox fanbase was never tortured. Heartbroken - yes. Tortured? Absolutely not.
I read some stories from a thread on the Sons of Sam Horn website before Game 4, before the Sox won it all. The thread was titled "Win it For..." and it gave an opportunity for all the posters to list who they wanted the Sox to win the Series for. Sure, players were named and organization members, but what struck me - and obviously everyone reading the posts - were all the mentions of grandparents who had died without seeing their Sox win it, parents who had raised their children to believe in the Sox, children who would learn to love them as their team. Every story was different, but just as important to the poster, just as touching to read. It's amazing, I thought as I read, how much the Red Sox can mean to someone.
I used to say that if I could tell myself that the Sox games were just ballgames, I would. I don't think that anymore. It's not just baseball. The Red Sox mean so much more than that. They mean loyalty and friendship and family and love. And I'm not even just saying that because they just won the World Series (THEY JUST WON THE WORLD SERIES!!!) - okay, maybe a little - but I'm saying it because of what I saw before tonight. For years, I've watched the Red Sox every summer with my dad, and they've been some of my favorite memories. I've loved going to Fenway Park every year. I've loved reading newspaper articles, listening to fan radio, just getting entirely wrapped up in the team. I've loved it all.
I've experienced the heartbreak. I couldn't bring myself to watch Aaron Boone's homerun. I was way too young to remember Game 6 in 1986, but a part of me could imagine what my dad - and all of the other Sox fans who had to witness it - must have been feeling. Basically, my point is that I'm not claiming that every second has been great or easy. But I will say this: every second has been absolutely worth it. No question.
Don't tell me that the Sox have been cursed for 86 years. No way. For 86 years, they've been a team that's been beloved by millions. They've defined summers for countless fans. They've been the foundation of relationships between fathers and sons, grandparents and grandchildren, husbands and wives. Lifelong friendships have been forged because of a common love of the Red Sox. Don't tell me that all of this is a curse. It can't be.
I think of it differently. I think that the Sox have given people a reason to just be happy and believe in something good for the past 103 years they've been around. I don't care about anyone telling me about Babe Ruth. I don't care about 26 championships (and one big choke!). Who cares? And I don't mean that rhetorically. I mean, who really cares?
Did Yankees fans experience the same elation that Sox fans did a few hours ago? Maybe (and that's being generous.) But maybe more importantly - did Yankees fans call up their parents as they watched in the bottom of the ninth? Did they call their grandfathers when their team finally won it? Did they have to sit for a moment, hold back some tears, and try to soak it all in? I don't know. I doubt it.
But I do know that looking around Boston tonight, I saw people on their cellphones, calling their families. I talked to people who told me about their grandfather who just wanted to see the Sox win it in his lifetime. I heard about vintage champagne that was finally going to be drunk. It had finally happened; the Sox had won it - for everyone. In a moment when fans could finally take it all in and enjoy it for themselves, few actually did that. Instead, they talked about how many others deserved to see it, more than them. The Sox winning the Series was more about connecting to their family and friends - some still here, some gone before they got to witness the glory - than it was about winning a baseball game. And that's just it. The Red Sox aren't just a baseball team; they represent all that is good in the world, from family and friendship to determination, triumph, and faith.
In the end, I don't know how the 86 years between championships will be remembered. There have been great years and bad years, talk of ghosts and curses, and there have been moments of elation and disappointment. But, most importantly, there was never - never - a loss of faith. Ultimately, throughout the decades of heartbreak and triumph, there has always been an unwavering sense of hope among all true Red Sox fans, because when it really comes down to it, the truth is, we always believed.
On October 27, 2004, the Boston Red Sox won the World Series for the first time in 86 years.
Hold on a second.
The Boston Red Sox. Won. The World Series.
I would like to make one thing very clear though: there was never a curse. I don't care what people throw at you - statistics, stories, ghosts - in the end, the Boston Red Sox fanbase was never tortured. Heartbroken - yes. Tortured? Absolutely not.
I read some stories from a thread on the Sons of Sam Horn website before Game 4, before the Sox won it all. The thread was titled "Win it For..." and it gave an opportunity for all the posters to list who they wanted the Sox to win the Series for. Sure, players were named and organization members, but what struck me - and obviously everyone reading the posts - were all the mentions of grandparents who had died without seeing their Sox win it, parents who had raised their children to believe in the Sox, children who would learn to love them as their team. Every story was different, but just as important to the poster, just as touching to read. It's amazing, I thought as I read, how much the Red Sox can mean to someone.
I used to say that if I could tell myself that the Sox games were just ballgames, I would. I don't think that anymore. It's not just baseball. The Red Sox mean so much more than that. They mean loyalty and friendship and family and love. And I'm not even just saying that because they just won the World Series (THEY JUST WON THE WORLD SERIES!!!) - okay, maybe a little - but I'm saying it because of what I saw before tonight. For years, I've watched the Red Sox every summer with my dad, and they've been some of my favorite memories. I've loved going to Fenway Park every year. I've loved reading newspaper articles, listening to fan radio, just getting entirely wrapped up in the team. I've loved it all.
I've experienced the heartbreak. I couldn't bring myself to watch Aaron Boone's homerun. I was way too young to remember Game 6 in 1986, but a part of me could imagine what my dad - and all of the other Sox fans who had to witness it - must have been feeling. Basically, my point is that I'm not claiming that every second has been great or easy. But I will say this: every second has been absolutely worth it. No question.
Don't tell me that the Sox have been cursed for 86 years. No way. For 86 years, they've been a team that's been beloved by millions. They've defined summers for countless fans. They've been the foundation of relationships between fathers and sons, grandparents and grandchildren, husbands and wives. Lifelong friendships have been forged because of a common love of the Red Sox. Don't tell me that all of this is a curse. It can't be.
I think of it differently. I think that the Sox have given people a reason to just be happy and believe in something good for the past 103 years they've been around. I don't care about anyone telling me about Babe Ruth. I don't care about 26 championships (and one big choke!). Who cares? And I don't mean that rhetorically. I mean, who really cares?
Did Yankees fans experience the same elation that Sox fans did a few hours ago? Maybe (and that's being generous.) But maybe more importantly - did Yankees fans call up their parents as they watched in the bottom of the ninth? Did they call their grandfathers when their team finally won it? Did they have to sit for a moment, hold back some tears, and try to soak it all in? I don't know. I doubt it.
But I do know that looking around Boston tonight, I saw people on their cellphones, calling their families. I talked to people who told me about their grandfather who just wanted to see the Sox win it in his lifetime. I heard about vintage champagne that was finally going to be drunk. It had finally happened; the Sox had won it - for everyone. In a moment when fans could finally take it all in and enjoy it for themselves, few actually did that. Instead, they talked about how many others deserved to see it, more than them. The Sox winning the Series was more about connecting to their family and friends - some still here, some gone before they got to witness the glory - than it was about winning a baseball game. And that's just it. The Red Sox aren't just a baseball team; they represent all that is good in the world, from family and friendship to determination, triumph, and faith.
In the end, I don't know how the 86 years between championships will be remembered. There have been great years and bad years, talk of ghosts and curses, and there have been moments of elation and disappointment. But, most importantly, there was never - never - a loss of faith. Ultimately, throughout the decades of heartbreak and triumph, there has always been an unwavering sense of hope among all true Red Sox fans, because when it really comes down to it, the truth is, we always believed.
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