Remember that scene in "A Christmas Story" where Scott Farkus, the yellow-eyed bully, cracks Ralphie in the face with a snowball? After having an ultra crappy day in thh world of kid-dom, poor Ralphie snaps and in a flash he's unloading a flurry punches on his adversary. With mittens flying, he unleashes vengeance for countless wedgies, chicken wings, and other childhood tortures until hus rival lay bloodied on the ground, his nose bleeding, his Yankees cap stomped on in the snow. Oh wait, am I getting ahead of myself?
Last night was a thing of beauty. For once it was the Sox fans rejoicing, we WERE the team that wasn't from Mudville. This is uncharted territory for Yankees fans, something they've not known. With two of the most despicable Yanks going 0-8 with 3ks (Alex "Anti-Ruth" Rodriguez and Gary "Who's Your Dealer" Sheffield) David (Ortiz) and the Sox have slain Goliath.
It's easy to bring back memories of 1986, Hendu going yard off of Moore and my stomach, at the tender age of 10 being so tied in knots having to go outside beween innings so I wouldn't throw up. As we grow older, baseball loses a great deal of it's mythical power. I remember the days on the porch in Maine watching the Sox with my grandfather, the smell of salt air permeating the cool night. I remember turning my back on baseball in 1994, the strike year. I remember countless games on the TV while life happened all around.
What baseball does is it gives men a chance to be boys, of course, but it also lets the fans feel something that echoes of boyhood dreams. You are removed from the present and brought somewhere in the past, a place of games and friendship, watching darkness come over the land and playing until the ball was only a vague shadow in the gloamin'. It reminds one of the days of oncoming manhood, seeing your strength visable and viable in reaching fences that just a year ago seemed untouchable, it's feeling the strength in your arm, the pop in the mitt, and a transformation into miniscule versions of our heroes. For a minute, this grand game let's us transcend so much--young and old--and revel in truly being in the moment.
Of course, there's still the world series. And to win that...let's say you'd have a whole legion of New Englanders with a whole new outlook on life. Too much you say? Why attach yourself to a sports team that cares nothing about you? Because so much in life is an investment in the intangible, it serves to connect fathers and sons, stranger to stranger, and in a bigger picture gives us heroes and villians where they belong.
I haven't eaten in three days. I can't wait for the series. And remember, NEVER GIVE UP!! YA GOTTA BELIEVE! GO SOX!!
Oh and if you need a turning point in the season, how about July 24 when JV tucked his mitt into A-Fraud's jaw?
