September 27, 2004 (just after last regular season win vs Yankees)
I still haven't gotten over the pain of sitting 8 rows behind home plate last october watching pedro tire on the mound. Munchs silent scream was me, clutching the hand of an errant red sox fan, as I watched ortiz' moonshot evaporate during the yankees turn at the plate.
One learns to withold trust from somebody who has continually let you down. 86, 99, 03 were my years of abuse. Although I was born in boston I have lived in ny for more than 15 years. The personal affliction has become more intense by my location among the primary catalysts of grief, the ny yankees. I watch the red sox as an outsider, both via remote cable broadcasts and web sites and thru the biased pity of local news.
I dare not utter the names of the players, as they promise to dissolve under the slightest attention. After last year's disappointment, I cautioned away my hope for this year by suggesting that the career years of boston hitters could not be replicated.
As we approach another october, the years of ortiz, damon, millar, varitek, bellhorn, and of course ramirez are by and large better than last year. Even nixon and mueller have rebounded from earlier injuries to establish serious hitting momentum going into the post season.
In the shadow of garciaparra, his carpal fidgeting has been replaced with dancing defensive pixies of cabrera, pokey reese, and mientkiewicz. Defense, perhaps the last value to become quantified, has emerged as a strategic choice for the manager depending upon lineup. The lines of substitution have looked more like hockey shifts than traditional baseball lineups. Never before have I so enjoyed seeing a pinch runner like dave roberts come into the game for the explicit purpose of motoring around the bases with other peoples' outs.
Which brings us to pedro, the chastened son begging for yankee support. He cannot become a man until he defeats them and gains their respect. Otherwise his wish is to be buried within the mound, disciplined by the daddy yankees who have his number.
Sunday October 17 2004
Picture of my son Jacob, 5 1/2, at Fenway park for Game 4 on Sunday night.
We were a few outs away from elimination and blow Rivera's save before Papi walks off against Quantrill. Jacob stayed up for the first 8 innings, fell asleep on the chair, then awoke after Ortiz won the game at 130a. We ended up at my dad's in Newton at 230a, woke up at 500a, took a 630 shuttle to laguardia and i rolled him into Kindergarten at 8am. He made it through the day, I barely did.
Wednesday oct 21 2004
11ish
Up 9 - 3 in the eighth.
I will be clear. If the yankees come back and win I will never voluntarily watch another red sox game (or listen, or espn.com or anything) unless they are playing a yet to be named New Favorite Team
("NFT").
I am heartened by DLowe's tremendous performance, JD's rbi-infused pokes, and Belhorn's clutch pole-banging counterpunch to the curious situation of Pedro in the 7th.
As the crowd came back chanting "Whose your daddy?", I was struck by the heretofore impossible to imagine managerial option to invert the pedro terror paradigm of game 7 last year. Whereas before grady left him in too long. With countercyclical force, tito now brought him in as a reliever shockingly soon.
Mintkiewicz spreads his legs, gets down in kunfu stance, and scoops up mueller's athletic toss from the 3rd base line.
Arod swings thru and erases $12m of non-buyer's remorse. Cabrera guns out shef, the last remaining terrorist.
And that's it. The yankee fans give up.
And now I worry suddenly about my identity. Not as a loser but, perhaps (inconceivably), as the victor boston embed. Should I bury my red 75 fisk era cap in my pocket on the way home? No nead to taunt, a simple 1 run win in the end will be sufficient.
Mariano brought in the top of the 9th with a 7 run deficit. Nuf said.
Of course the game isn't over. But it might as well be for me. Now I either have the further momentary torment of a world series, in which case this series win will in any case warm me thru the cold ny winter.
Or else, if the yankees storm back with 8 runs in the bottom of the 9th, then I will at once resign my allegiance.
Last night I went with my friend alan (portnoi), and sat in my friend alan (manevitz)'s seats and got a call from my friend alan (frankel) This morning I told doug atkin that I dreamt the clincher for the sox today would be alan (embree)
Alan is on the mound. 2 outs. Sierra up. We are up 7 runs. Man on 1st and 2nd.
Alan.
Please.
You are a good writer!
Posted by: anon | Friday, October 22, 2004 at 01:27 AM