Like I Said...
I don't know if this is a good idea.
I meant to write about the beginning of the playoffs at the start of the week, on Monday afternoon, before any of the games started. It was going to be about how post-season baseball is the most wonderful time of the year, with some memories of 2004 thrown in there for good measure. I was going to write about how I was going to watch the major moments of the ALCS and World Series wins from last year just to get psyched, kind of like how kids watch "It's a Wonderful Life" and "Frosty the Snowman" to get ready for Christmas.
Yeah, that never happened, because my life got in the way.
I never got to watch those moments from 2004; I never had a chance to write an optimistic piece about the Red Sox post-season; I didn't have the available time to even watch both games in their entirety; and perhaps most appalling, I wasn't even able to wear my lucky Red Sox shirts. I mean, I am ashamed of myself. What a crappy Red Sox fan.
Last night, I reached my personal all-time low for my Sox fandom: while at a meeting, I had friends text message me score updates. The Red Sox were winning, 4 - 0, in a must-win game following the 14-2 debacle. Our meeting ended, and I left the auditorium to go to the nearest sports bar to watch Wells continue his domination and the Sox nail down the win so they could return to Boston with the 1-1 split. Wake on Friday, Schilling Saturday... I could see them taking it in four. And just as I was thinking this, as I was stepping outside and dialing my friend to thank her for the updates, it all started to come down.
"Hey," I said when my friend Ashley picked up. "Thanks for the text messages! Those updates were great! I'm out now, on my way to T's, so if you want to come..."
"Umm, the White Sox just scored. Go back inside," she said. At the time, I thought she was kidding, but just for the record, I momentarily did consider the option of retreating back into the auditorium and having her send me text messages for the duration of the game. I realized that option may make me certifiably insane, so I nixed it and decided to be a mature adult and go to the bar with my friends.
This turned out to be a bad idea.
In the time it took us to travel two blocks, order two drinks, and find two bar stools, the White Sox had regained the lead, 5-4, thanks to one bad error and one bad pitch. About an hour or so later, the game ended and depression set in.
As I sat at our table, waiting for the check, I started to feel absolutely horrible. I could not get out of that place fast enough, even though kareoke was starting (don't ask). It's hard to explain, and even when I try, I realize how crazy it sounds, but it was like being in that bar made that game - the error, the homerun, the final out - seem interminable, lasting forever. (Same thing with the 2003 heartbreaking game seven loss: I pretty much sprinted out of the building. It was like a desperate attempt to separate myself from the grotesqueness of it all, just as though if I ran away from it, I could leave it all behind me. Man, I wish.) It's like all I could think about was the loss, as long as I was still sitting at that table. I practically screamed at the waitress to just get our check so we could leave. Fifteen agonizing minutes later, we were gone, but the bad, sunken feeling has pretty much stayed with me (and other Sox fans) all day.
The thing is, I kept thinking of ways to make myself feel better. "What else is good in life?" I asked, outloud, several times, to both myself and others. "We won last year," I kept saying, several times, to both myself and others. "We can't win every year." "We were lucky to be holding on this long, with the pitching rotation we have." "Did you see our bench graphic? No Kapler. No Roberts. No Mientkiewicz." "Well, I guess I'll have more time for school stuff." I tried everything, and nothing worked.
Why do people get so involved in sports? I mean, why is it so important? Has my life changed since the Red Sox won the World Series last year? No. As a Sox fan, life is better, but I mean, my personal life has not been changed by the Red Sox winning. I'm in a considerably better mood if the Red Sox win a tough game than if they lose, but aside from my mood (which I acknowledge can dictate a lot), that's all that's truly affected by the Red Sox wins or losses.
I finally came to the conclusion that it isn't so much how the season ends that is getting me, it's that it's going to end. The playoffs, while they are the most wonderful time of the year, they're also the toughest, because you know it's all about to end. I mean, I love Christmastime, but I don't really enjoy Christmas that much. Sure, you could make the case that my preference is because I don't actually celebrate Christmas Day, but I think it's more that I don't like that Christmas Day marks the beginning of the end of the holiday season. The lights aren't going to be up anymore; Christmas carols are now out of season; no more trees, wreaths, or Santas. Depressing.
The playoffs are the same. You get excited because it's THAT time of the year, but you also recognize that this also means it's the end of the season. Whether it's in three weeks or three games, the Red Sox season is going to end. November first, there's going to be a five month hiatus for baseball. And I think that's the toughest part to take: it's not the Graffanino error, the Clement catastrophe, the bullpen implosion, the lack of offense, Francona being asleep at the wheel, Dale Sveum's right arm (God, how long IS this list?!); it's the idea that no matter what, we're seeing the demise of the season.
Obviously, the World Series winner is happy to spend November through March in the celebratory haze of parades and t-shirts and DVDs. Last offseason, I spent an embarrassing amount of money on all the commemorative books and clothes and movies. My friend Taldus and I spent an embarrassing number of afternoons re-watching "Faith Rewarded" and the NESN broadcast of the parade (and, ok, we also watched "Newlyweds" and "Elimidate"... there were a lot of snowdays.) This off-season, what are we going to do? Can we really watch the 2004 season highlights? (Umm, even if you can't, I'm going to.)
I wish I could be more optimistic, but I don't know. Nobody was afraid of Chicago, but I was. Chicago had what Boston had last year: the emotional edge. These guys want to win. The Red Sox? I don't know. You've got guys in their contract years, guys who feel like the Red Sox aren't going to come calling when the time really counts. (I'm gonna miss Millar.) And as tough as it is to admit, the bond that united the 2004 Red Sox seems to be absent - or, at the very least, severely skewed - this year. Between injuries and bitterness and egos, I feel like we're watching some horrible TV show where all the characters who were regular folk suddenly won the lottery and now you have the stratification between guys who deal well with it and guys who go nuts. I don't know, but it doesn't feel the same.
Maybe everyone got spoiled by the 2003 and 2004 Red Sox. Here were a bunch of solidly good guys who just wanted to win for their city. Well, they did that. Everyone was happy and satisfied, and the 2004 team became instant Boston heroes. And when the 2005 season began, the eternal question changed. It was no longer, "Is THIS the year?" Instead, it became, "Now what?"
Well, pretty soon, we'll know the answer. Whether tomorrow or in three weeks, it will all be over, and it will be time to wait again. Not for the once-eternal "next year", but for spring.
Still, perhaps somewhat greedily (and this is what kills me!), in some ways, doesn't that just feel the same?
I meant to write about the beginning of the playoffs at the start of the week, on Monday afternoon, before any of the games started. It was going to be about how post-season baseball is the most wonderful time of the year, with some memories of 2004 thrown in there for good measure. I was going to write about how I was going to watch the major moments of the ALCS and World Series wins from last year just to get psyched, kind of like how kids watch "It's a Wonderful Life" and "Frosty the Snowman" to get ready for Christmas.
Yeah, that never happened, because my life got in the way.
I never got to watch those moments from 2004; I never had a chance to write an optimistic piece about the Red Sox post-season; I didn't have the available time to even watch both games in their entirety; and perhaps most appalling, I wasn't even able to wear my lucky Red Sox shirts. I mean, I am ashamed of myself. What a crappy Red Sox fan.
Last night, I reached my personal all-time low for my Sox fandom: while at a meeting, I had friends text message me score updates. The Red Sox were winning, 4 - 0, in a must-win game following the 14-2 debacle. Our meeting ended, and I left the auditorium to go to the nearest sports bar to watch Wells continue his domination and the Sox nail down the win so they could return to Boston with the 1-1 split. Wake on Friday, Schilling Saturday... I could see them taking it in four. And just as I was thinking this, as I was stepping outside and dialing my friend to thank her for the updates, it all started to come down.
"Hey," I said when my friend Ashley picked up. "Thanks for the text messages! Those updates were great! I'm out now, on my way to T's, so if you want to come..."
"Umm, the White Sox just scored. Go back inside," she said. At the time, I thought she was kidding, but just for the record, I momentarily did consider the option of retreating back into the auditorium and having her send me text messages for the duration of the game. I realized that option may make me certifiably insane, so I nixed it and decided to be a mature adult and go to the bar with my friends.
This turned out to be a bad idea.
In the time it took us to travel two blocks, order two drinks, and find two bar stools, the White Sox had regained the lead, 5-4, thanks to one bad error and one bad pitch. About an hour or so later, the game ended and depression set in.
As I sat at our table, waiting for the check, I started to feel absolutely horrible. I could not get out of that place fast enough, even though kareoke was starting (don't ask). It's hard to explain, and even when I try, I realize how crazy it sounds, but it was like being in that bar made that game - the error, the homerun, the final out - seem interminable, lasting forever. (Same thing with the 2003 heartbreaking game seven loss: I pretty much sprinted out of the building. It was like a desperate attempt to separate myself from the grotesqueness of it all, just as though if I ran away from it, I could leave it all behind me. Man, I wish.) It's like all I could think about was the loss, as long as I was still sitting at that table. I practically screamed at the waitress to just get our check so we could leave. Fifteen agonizing minutes later, we were gone, but the bad, sunken feeling has pretty much stayed with me (and other Sox fans) all day.
The thing is, I kept thinking of ways to make myself feel better. "What else is good in life?" I asked, outloud, several times, to both myself and others. "We won last year," I kept saying, several times, to both myself and others. "We can't win every year." "We were lucky to be holding on this long, with the pitching rotation we have." "Did you see our bench graphic? No Kapler. No Roberts. No Mientkiewicz." "Well, I guess I'll have more time for school stuff." I tried everything, and nothing worked.
Why do people get so involved in sports? I mean, why is it so important? Has my life changed since the Red Sox won the World Series last year? No. As a Sox fan, life is better, but I mean, my personal life has not been changed by the Red Sox winning. I'm in a considerably better mood if the Red Sox win a tough game than if they lose, but aside from my mood (which I acknowledge can dictate a lot), that's all that's truly affected by the Red Sox wins or losses.
I finally came to the conclusion that it isn't so much how the season ends that is getting me, it's that it's going to end. The playoffs, while they are the most wonderful time of the year, they're also the toughest, because you know it's all about to end. I mean, I love Christmastime, but I don't really enjoy Christmas that much. Sure, you could make the case that my preference is because I don't actually celebrate Christmas Day, but I think it's more that I don't like that Christmas Day marks the beginning of the end of the holiday season. The lights aren't going to be up anymore; Christmas carols are now out of season; no more trees, wreaths, or Santas. Depressing.
The playoffs are the same. You get excited because it's THAT time of the year, but you also recognize that this also means it's the end of the season. Whether it's in three weeks or three games, the Red Sox season is going to end. November first, there's going to be a five month hiatus for baseball. And I think that's the toughest part to take: it's not the Graffanino error, the Clement catastrophe, the bullpen implosion, the lack of offense, Francona being asleep at the wheel, Dale Sveum's right arm (God, how long IS this list?!); it's the idea that no matter what, we're seeing the demise of the season.
Obviously, the World Series winner is happy to spend November through March in the celebratory haze of parades and t-shirts and DVDs. Last offseason, I spent an embarrassing amount of money on all the commemorative books and clothes and movies. My friend Taldus and I spent an embarrassing number of afternoons re-watching "Faith Rewarded" and the NESN broadcast of the parade (and, ok, we also watched "Newlyweds" and "Elimidate"... there were a lot of snowdays.) This off-season, what are we going to do? Can we really watch the 2004 season highlights? (Umm, even if you can't, I'm going to.)
I wish I could be more optimistic, but I don't know. Nobody was afraid of Chicago, but I was. Chicago had what Boston had last year: the emotional edge. These guys want to win. The Red Sox? I don't know. You've got guys in their contract years, guys who feel like the Red Sox aren't going to come calling when the time really counts. (I'm gonna miss Millar.) And as tough as it is to admit, the bond that united the 2004 Red Sox seems to be absent - or, at the very least, severely skewed - this year. Between injuries and bitterness and egos, I feel like we're watching some horrible TV show where all the characters who were regular folk suddenly won the lottery and now you have the stratification between guys who deal well with it and guys who go nuts. I don't know, but it doesn't feel the same.
Maybe everyone got spoiled by the 2003 and 2004 Red Sox. Here were a bunch of solidly good guys who just wanted to win for their city. Well, they did that. Everyone was happy and satisfied, and the 2004 team became instant Boston heroes. And when the 2005 season began, the eternal question changed. It was no longer, "Is THIS the year?" Instead, it became, "Now what?"
Well, pretty soon, we'll know the answer. Whether tomorrow or in three weeks, it will all be over, and it will be time to wait again. Not for the once-eternal "next year", but for spring.
Still, perhaps somewhat greedily (and this is what kills me!), in some ways, doesn't that just feel the same?
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