Feeling the Pain

After our first visit to Fenway, we found ourselves returning every year. We had a great time, although it was difficult to see the Sox lose at home. I remember one game in August 2002. The Red Sox were playing the A's, and the Sox were down 3-2 in the bottom of the ninth. There were two outs and two men on base. Manny Ramirez stepped up to the plate.

At the time, I didn't know who Manny was; I only knew from overheard conversations in the grandstands that he was one of their best hitters. I had long since consumed my fingernails and had started in on the fingers themselves. My wife and I held our breaths as he swung. The ball sped towards the right field wall. It had the right height, but was it hit hard enough? The A's right fielder, Terrence Long, tracked the ball. If it went out of the park, the Red Sox would win. We leapt to our feet, the game was won, the ball was...caught, by a leaping Terrence Long. It sounds ridiculous to say this, especially in light of terrible events like the recent tsunami in South Asia, but we were crushed. It was our official inauguration into Red Sox fandom...a fanatical, bittersweet existence that is equal parts joy and agony.

Dodging Defeat

My newfound affinity for the Red Sox was born, but did little more than simmer for the next 20 years. I had missed the heartbreak of the 1975 World Series, when the Reds beat the Red Sox despite Carlton Fisk's never-to-be-forgotten walkoff homer in Game 6. (I bitterly remembered it, however, because I'd rooted for the Reds out of spite. My friend Jimmy and I argued about the Red Sox and, being ten years old, I figured the best way to get back at him was to hope for his team to lose. Ah, youth.)

The eighties brought my turbulent high school and early college years. By the time the Red Sox made it to another World Series in 1986, I was struggling to find both a job and a place to live. I remember rooting for them in a distant way, and being disgusted when they lost, but I can't honestly say that my heart was broken or that I shared in the abiding frustration of true Sox fans. I was nothing more than an onlooker; a person who affliated myself with the Red Sox but who didn't invest any serious time into watching or supporting the team. I didn't even have a hat. How lame is that?

My interest began to bloom in the late 90's. My wife and I were married in 1994, and she was also a Red Sox fan with a level of commitment similar to mine—happy if they won, sorry if they lost, but that's about as far as it went. We had visited Boston many times while we were dating and after we were married, but we'd never been to a baseball game at Fenway Park. When I heard that there were plans to demolish the park and build a new one, I decided I had to see a game there before it was gone forever. (And by the way, I couldn't be more thrilled that those demolition plans never came to fruition...the current owners have shown a refreshing appreciation for the history and importance of the park.)

We bought our tickets and stepped through the gates, and it was every bit as wonderful as I'd imagined. What an incredible place to see a ballgame! We were sitting in deep right field, up in the grandstands, but the view was terrific. The Sox beat the Seattle Mariners that day, and my Red Sox fandom began a growth spurt that hasn't stopped to this day.

Concerning the Red Sox...

Where do I begin? This was a special October for Red Sox fans, and while I would not be so presumptuous as to call myself the "best fan ever," I've been smiling since Game 7 of the ALCS.

My life as a Red Sox fan began in 1979, when I visited Boston on a field trip. I'd always been a student of history, and Boston is rich with it. As you walk around the city, you still get the sense—even 200+ years after the events occurred—that something momentous happened on these cobblestone streets. Our trip included a visit to the top of the Prudential Center, where I used one of those large pay telescopes. In my panoramic sweep of the city, I suddenly saw the fabled Fenway Park. A game was in progress; the Red Sox were playing the A's. It may sound silly or contrived, and may be a bit of both, but I think a connection was made in my mind between the scrappy, underdog Red Sox and the scrappy, underdog colonists who fought back the British and not only declared but won their independence. The Sox remind me of the Minutemen. Their weapons may not be the best, their tactics are unpolished, but their have the heart of a lion and an unbreakable spirit.

If you can stand more of this romaticizing, stay tuned...

The Treehouse

Welcome to the Treehouse, the blog site of author Patrick R. Spadaccino.