I’m fine. No, really, I am.
A little embarrassed. But that’s just empathy. It can’t be a good morning for Francona, Pedroia and the rest of the gang. For one thing, some of them will be wondering where the next paycheck will be coming from. There’s the houses to sell in Newtonville, Marblehead or whatever upscale suburb the Red Sox players and front offices gravitate to. Weston? Boxford? Gotta be one or two in Boxford…
But I’m fine. No open houses for me and I don’t even have a resumé to dust off.
Am I going native? It’s true, I don’t even mind the Yankees. At least, not these Yankees; Jeter, Rivera and Posada. They’re just not Nettles, Hunter and Munson.
No comparison.
A-rod? Hate him but so do most Yankee fans. It doesn’t really count.
I don’t even hate those nutty kids from Tampa Bay. Can’t really blame them for being hungry.
Enlightenment? Have I reached a higher plane?
Possibly.
But I have another theory.
I don’t want to sound like I’m crowing but as a Boston native (yes, I call myself that) I have had a really good last decade with the Patriots, Sox, Bruins and Celtics. In fact, I’m pretty sure that Boston fans will never have it so good again. It was nice while it lasted and if it lasts a little longer, cool, but I won’t cry if it doesn’t.
Here’s the thing.
2004.
It was great but…
As hard as I tried, I couldn’t make it feel as great as I thought it would be. It exposed the myth, you see. Like the wizard behind the curtain, your team winning it all is cool but it does not make you any better looking, bring world peace or make you a better lover.
What I learned was that the high you get from winning is not as low as the low you get from losing. Bucky Dent in ’78 was a much lower low than Damon’s flare and Roberts’ sweeping slide across home on that crisp October evening (full moon, too). Those Bruins. When they blew the 3-0 lead to the Flyers? That was horrible and I could not believe that the sun rose the next morning but when the very (almost) same team did the very same (almost) thing in reverse to the hated Montreal Canadiens…
They just don’t balance.
They don’t balance because…
Well, they just don’t.
Here’s an idea. When Mr. Dent lofted Mike Torrez’ one-and-one pitch into the screen that used to sit on top of the Green Monster, I cried. I cried because I knew that I would have to wait at least another year before I could taste that sweet fruit of victory that seemed to hang so low for my Yankee-fan cousins. They teased me. But then I drank of the nectar and I discovered…
Dang, it’s Tang!
Ordinary. Better than a cold bath.
So, as much as I would have liked for the Boston Red Sox to have won just one or two more games out of the 162 they played this spring, summer, and fall, I know that even another blingier-than-bling World Series ring on David Ortiz’ meaty paw would be kind of, well, great but not any better than great.
I was talking to my brother the other night. My brother the Yankee fan. It was before the boys of summer played their last regular season game of 2011. He had a proposition for me.
“Let’s root for the same team,” he said.
Go Manchester United!
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