Playoffffffffs
In the very early hours of October 17, 2003, after I had turned my back on the Aaron Boone homer, after I had gone home angry and bitter and depressed, after I had finally reconciled it that I would have to still remain a Red Sox fan - after all of that - I came to a very sad realization: it would be another tweleve months until another October came around.
I remember thinking that exact sentence and being really sad about it, being annoyed that I would have to wait through another off-season and another six months of the regular season before we would get back to the fever atmosphere that was created last October. It's the same feeling I had as a kid when I'd go sledding down a huge hill: you'd climb up the hill, all the way up that monster - dragging your sled, your hats and mittens, maybe if you're nice, your little sister - all to get to the top, slide down, and then, if you want to enjoy that ride again, you have to go all the way back up. And that's how it was last year, only discount the entire part about having fun sledding down the hill. The 2003 Playoff season was like climbing up to the top of the hill, starting to sled down, just getting to enjoying the ride, when you reach that flow state of "holy cow this is so much fun," and then boom! veering into a huge maple. Yeah, like that.
I wasn't really around in 1986 when they were a strike away from winning the Series. I mean, I'd watched the 1999 series when the Yankees once again beat the Red Sox, and I've been around for the whole Yankees-Red Sox rivalry and I get the idea that the Sox need to win it. All that said, it wasn't until last year, until I saw Pedro Martinez trot back out to the pitchers mound in the 8th inning, while a fully capable and rested bullpen with a postseason ERA of 0.00 (ZERO POINT ZERO ZERO) watched, that I really experienced a Red Sox heartbreak.
I knew the game was done when it was tied. You can ask my friend Amanda. As soon as Posada hit that bloop single, I knew it. The Sox were done. The momentum had shifted. They had been five outs away from the World Series. Now they were twelve months from another postseason.
People wrote a lot of things about the Red Sox. They wrote how there was no curse, there was only bad management. Yankees fans said that it had happened - the Sox had finally beaten the Yankees... sort of. They wrote about disappointment and how this was yet another example of the Sox motto "Nobody loses like the Red Sox." But my favorite line came from Dan Shaughnessy: "The 2003 Red Sox were an admirable bunch. Keep them in your heart for a while."
And maybe that line made me the most depressed out of anything. Say what you will about the Yankees and their 26 championships and their dictator boss. Say what you will about 1918 and no decorum for the Sox clubhouse. When it comes down to it, the Yankees to me seem like a business baseball team. The Sox though - the Red Sox feel like a family. And that's why I wanted them to win so badly, and that's why when they finally lost, I had to wonder whether they had just lost a game or whether they would ever be able to regain the spirit and camraderie and excitement that the Sox had generated. For two weeks last October, Boston took its role as the official Red Sox Nation headquarters to heart. Sox shirts were everywhere. "Go Sox" became the Boston greeting and goodbye. They lit up the Prudential Center. You couldn't go a block without seeing some sort of Sox devotion. I swear, I was in heaven.
This year, it didn't seem the same. Maybe it was because of the potential free agent situation. Maybe it was just the bitter taste of the A-Rod trade gone sour. Maybe it was no confidence in Terry Francona. I don't know. Nobody really knows, but they've been throwing theories out there about Varitek's mask-to-the-face punch and Nomar's better-late-than-never send off as the turning points in the Sox season. Whatever it is, I'll take it. I'll take the 21 August wins. I'll take Cabrera and his million and one handshake routines. I'll take Doug Mientkiewicz and his impossible last name. I'll take the wildcard finish. Screw it, I'll even take the Millar KFC commercial. I'll take it all.
Yesterday officially ended my one year wait. I'm nervous and excited and just loving every day being able to wear a Sox shirt without getting the "ANOTHER Sox shirt?" look from my friends who accuse me of having just too much Sox devotion in the wardrobe department. I love planning my days around gametimes. I like that tonight I have a meeting and a legitimate question is, "What time are we getting out because I have to be back to watch the game?" Even the non-basball fans are understanding that no, I can't do that paper because the Sox ae on TV. It's like this amazing two-week window where you can basically say the word "Sox" and suddenly, you're excused from everything.
It's also though, like getting to the end of a great book. You're about a hundred pages off, but you've loved the book so much, and you want to finish it and be rewarded by knowing what happens in the end, but you also know that when you finish the book, it's gonna take time to find another book just as good. It might be impossible to find one you like as much. And the thrill of reading a book so good that you just can't put it down, well, that's hard to find.
You can apply this to the movies too. You're watching a great movie, and an hour and ten minutes into it, you realize you're nearing the end. And part of you - just this small part - wants to just put everything into slow motion so you can make sure you tell yourself, "Enjoy this. This is great. This, THIS, is what you LIVE for." And you want to really be able to experience that feeling of pure enjoyment.
But, whether in fifteen minutes or fifteen days, you're gonna finish the book. In twenty minutes, the movie is going to end. You can't stop it. Just like that, the postseason ends. Although I'm hoping that the ending isn't the book being stolen from me before I get the satisfaction of reading the ending, and I hope the movie projector doesn't just die right as the happy ending is about to take place, but it might. And the thing is, in those cases, I guess you just have to accept that until the book was stolen and the projector crashed, life was good. It was a good book. It was a good movie.
These analogies sometimes scare me because I get way too into them, but it's really the only tangible way to describe it. That's how I am with the Red Sox: completely incoherent and whacked. There's just no sensible way of describing the hype and anticiption of the postseason for me. I can't sleep the night before. I go to the souvenir store bleary-eyed, in search of a good luck charm. I'm insane.
This brings me to my next issue. I'm no longer confident that I can wear the Daubach shirt during the postseason. As much as I have loved and been devoted to the Dauber, he's not part of the team. It makes me feel a little stupid to be walking around with a Daubach shirt. I almost wore it today but then switched to Damon. My Derek Lowe shirt, bought after his miraculous ALDS Game 5 appearance, seems... not great, to say the least. And my Trot Nixon shirt is my clutch shirt. I only wear it when we REALLY need it. Like, possible clinch or elimination games only. ONLY. So, I'm back to my old 2003 routine. I'm freaking out. My knuckles hurt from knocking on wood every two seconds. I've saved up my lucky socks. I've read every headline I can about the Sox. I've stopped saying "Yankees Suck," for fear of bad karma. I've set my homepage to mlb.com to monitor the rest of the playoffs. I am sick. I carry around "The Catcher in the Rye" because that's the book I was reading last year while the Sox had their success. I refuse to wear any clothes that I've had bad luck while wearing. I eat the same food if they won the day before. It took me a good ten minutes to decide which beer to have at Cask N Flagon because I knew that if they won, I'd have to drink that each and every game following. I'm addicted. I love it.
I'll say it once more: I live for this. It's the most wonderful time of the year. And I just can't help it - I really wish it would last forever.
I remember thinking that exact sentence and being really sad about it, being annoyed that I would have to wait through another off-season and another six months of the regular season before we would get back to the fever atmosphere that was created last October. It's the same feeling I had as a kid when I'd go sledding down a huge hill: you'd climb up the hill, all the way up that monster - dragging your sled, your hats and mittens, maybe if you're nice, your little sister - all to get to the top, slide down, and then, if you want to enjoy that ride again, you have to go all the way back up. And that's how it was last year, only discount the entire part about having fun sledding down the hill. The 2003 Playoff season was like climbing up to the top of the hill, starting to sled down, just getting to enjoying the ride, when you reach that flow state of "holy cow this is so much fun," and then boom! veering into a huge maple. Yeah, like that.
I wasn't really around in 1986 when they were a strike away from winning the Series. I mean, I'd watched the 1999 series when the Yankees once again beat the Red Sox, and I've been around for the whole Yankees-Red Sox rivalry and I get the idea that the Sox need to win it. All that said, it wasn't until last year, until I saw Pedro Martinez trot back out to the pitchers mound in the 8th inning, while a fully capable and rested bullpen with a postseason ERA of 0.00 (ZERO POINT ZERO ZERO) watched, that I really experienced a Red Sox heartbreak.
I knew the game was done when it was tied. You can ask my friend Amanda. As soon as Posada hit that bloop single, I knew it. The Sox were done. The momentum had shifted. They had been five outs away from the World Series. Now they were twelve months from another postseason.
People wrote a lot of things about the Red Sox. They wrote how there was no curse, there was only bad management. Yankees fans said that it had happened - the Sox had finally beaten the Yankees... sort of. They wrote about disappointment and how this was yet another example of the Sox motto "Nobody loses like the Red Sox." But my favorite line came from Dan Shaughnessy: "The 2003 Red Sox were an admirable bunch. Keep them in your heart for a while."
And maybe that line made me the most depressed out of anything. Say what you will about the Yankees and their 26 championships and their dictator boss. Say what you will about 1918 and no decorum for the Sox clubhouse. When it comes down to it, the Yankees to me seem like a business baseball team. The Sox though - the Red Sox feel like a family. And that's why I wanted them to win so badly, and that's why when they finally lost, I had to wonder whether they had just lost a game or whether they would ever be able to regain the spirit and camraderie and excitement that the Sox had generated. For two weeks last October, Boston took its role as the official Red Sox Nation headquarters to heart. Sox shirts were everywhere. "Go Sox" became the Boston greeting and goodbye. They lit up the Prudential Center. You couldn't go a block without seeing some sort of Sox devotion. I swear, I was in heaven.
This year, it didn't seem the same. Maybe it was because of the potential free agent situation. Maybe it was just the bitter taste of the A-Rod trade gone sour. Maybe it was no confidence in Terry Francona. I don't know. Nobody really knows, but they've been throwing theories out there about Varitek's mask-to-the-face punch and Nomar's better-late-than-never send off as the turning points in the Sox season. Whatever it is, I'll take it. I'll take the 21 August wins. I'll take Cabrera and his million and one handshake routines. I'll take Doug Mientkiewicz and his impossible last name. I'll take the wildcard finish. Screw it, I'll even take the Millar KFC commercial. I'll take it all.
Yesterday officially ended my one year wait. I'm nervous and excited and just loving every day being able to wear a Sox shirt without getting the "ANOTHER Sox shirt?" look from my friends who accuse me of having just too much Sox devotion in the wardrobe department. I love planning my days around gametimes. I like that tonight I have a meeting and a legitimate question is, "What time are we getting out because I have to be back to watch the game?" Even the non-basball fans are understanding that no, I can't do that paper because the Sox ae on TV. It's like this amazing two-week window where you can basically say the word "Sox" and suddenly, you're excused from everything.
It's also though, like getting to the end of a great book. You're about a hundred pages off, but you've loved the book so much, and you want to finish it and be rewarded by knowing what happens in the end, but you also know that when you finish the book, it's gonna take time to find another book just as good. It might be impossible to find one you like as much. And the thrill of reading a book so good that you just can't put it down, well, that's hard to find.
You can apply this to the movies too. You're watching a great movie, and an hour and ten minutes into it, you realize you're nearing the end. And part of you - just this small part - wants to just put everything into slow motion so you can make sure you tell yourself, "Enjoy this. This is great. This, THIS, is what you LIVE for." And you want to really be able to experience that feeling of pure enjoyment.
But, whether in fifteen minutes or fifteen days, you're gonna finish the book. In twenty minutes, the movie is going to end. You can't stop it. Just like that, the postseason ends. Although I'm hoping that the ending isn't the book being stolen from me before I get the satisfaction of reading the ending, and I hope the movie projector doesn't just die right as the happy ending is about to take place, but it might. And the thing is, in those cases, I guess you just have to accept that until the book was stolen and the projector crashed, life was good. It was a good book. It was a good movie.
These analogies sometimes scare me because I get way too into them, but it's really the only tangible way to describe it. That's how I am with the Red Sox: completely incoherent and whacked. There's just no sensible way of describing the hype and anticiption of the postseason for me. I can't sleep the night before. I go to the souvenir store bleary-eyed, in search of a good luck charm. I'm insane.
This brings me to my next issue. I'm no longer confident that I can wear the Daubach shirt during the postseason. As much as I have loved and been devoted to the Dauber, he's not part of the team. It makes me feel a little stupid to be walking around with a Daubach shirt. I almost wore it today but then switched to Damon. My Derek Lowe shirt, bought after his miraculous ALDS Game 5 appearance, seems... not great, to say the least. And my Trot Nixon shirt is my clutch shirt. I only wear it when we REALLY need it. Like, possible clinch or elimination games only. ONLY. So, I'm back to my old 2003 routine. I'm freaking out. My knuckles hurt from knocking on wood every two seconds. I've saved up my lucky socks. I've read every headline I can about the Sox. I've stopped saying "Yankees Suck," for fear of bad karma. I've set my homepage to mlb.com to monitor the rest of the playoffs. I am sick. I carry around "The Catcher in the Rye" because that's the book I was reading last year while the Sox had their success. I refuse to wear any clothes that I've had bad luck while wearing. I eat the same food if they won the day before. It took me a good ten minutes to decide which beer to have at Cask N Flagon because I knew that if they won, I'd have to drink that each and every game following. I'm addicted. I love it.
I'll say it once more: I live for this. It's the most wonderful time of the year. And I just can't help it - I really wish it would last forever.
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