When you live in New England it’s a known fact that you are either a Yankees fan or a Red Sox fan. Clearly, I am not a Yankees fan. Never have been even when we didn’t live here. 
I have watched the suffering closely since 1986. I admit, I was a Mets fan at age 16, until that fateful game and the sox took my heart. Yes, I no longer rooted for the Mets to win the World Series that year. That year, that fateful year, I turned a corner and committed myself a Red Sox fan. And the true suffering began.
Ten years later I found myself living the dream. I was surrounded by sufferers like me. Die-hard fans who truly believed in their home team. When the 20yo was born, he too was dragged down the path, I bought him those cute Red Sox baby t-shirts, complete with wood bat and baby glove. (Ok, he was born into a baseball family, the husband a head baseball coach.)
When he was only 8 months old he attended his first game. All we could afford was one ticket in the bleachers, so of course, a baby doesn’t count! Dressed in a cute little baby boy blue overalls, they “sat” in the bleachers. Dead center. Under the hot sun. (This is when I let you know that both the husband and the 20yo are extremely, well, pale).
They lasted four innings. Not sure if the Sox won or not, but it was, nevertheless, his first game. We had the opportunity to enjoy many more games. But I never attended the games. You know what I’m talking about. The Red Sox vs. the Yankees. It’s epic to watch on TV. “Yankees Suck” t-shirts and shouts from the grandstands. Oh of course, NESN ensures the viewer gets the whole picture.
Winning the World Series was a dream come true. The 20yo and I were home, he was only 8 at the time, along with the girl who was just a baby at the time. Watching under a full moon, they won, they finally won the World Series. Was the suffering over? No, not so fast. There were more wins to come. And more baseball to watch. More t-shirts, now baby Red Sox dresses (not my purchase), and more love for the Sox. We joined the parades. We relished in the victories.
My favorite part about being a Red Sox fan is Sunday Night Baseball. Nothing for me was better than listening to Joe Morgan and Jon Miller. Sure they weren’t well liked. Joe Morgan wasn’t everyone’s favorite “grumpy” analyst. But I learned more about baseball from him. Out they went after 21 years of baseball on Sunday night. They brought in Bobby Valentine. The guy who couldn’t hold down a job had replaced my baseball professor, Joe Morgan.
One year later the baseball Gods turned on me again. Bobby Valentine became the Manager of the Red Sox. I panicked. What was I to tell the children? How could I explain this debacle to my mother? More suffering. Painful, painful suffering. 2012 was a tough year. The Sox only won 5 out of 17 games against the Yankees that year. I couldn’t watch the suffering. Last place.
How quickly another firing came for the ousted Valentine to my pleasure! Enter the hero, from the bullpen. Literally. The rivalry flared again. The love of the game came back. Not because they won the World Series again, but because the game became more important. The rivalry found its place back in my heart. By the way the Red Sox won 13 against the Yankees in 2013.
A fan through and through, I still watch Sunday Night Baseball. I still watch as many games as I can on NESN. I have the MLB app on my phone now. Game time 7:05pm. Against the Yankees.
Yesterday’s post received a lot of commentary from close friends and family members. Mostly women. “Don’t feel that your texts are bad when you send them to (the 20yo),” or “Are you ok?” In all honesty, I’m quite superstitious. Having not sent a text of encouragement since the tournament began, I’m feeling that now I can’t. They won again last night. And I can’t possibly switch things up at this point.
