I have not been a devoted baseball fan since the 1993 Philadelphia Phillies, who improbably battled all the way to the World Series (and lost to Toronto). This mulleted and paunchy bunch won my heart with the sheer unlikeliness of their superior athleticism, epitomized by first baseman John Kruk, who was once parodied dead-on by Chris Farley and is now a ESPN “analyst” who says insane things like “I’d rather have my leg cut off than hit against a knuckleballer”.
In fact, living in Red Sox Nation for the past 12 years, I’ve grown quite anti-baseball. I’ve never witnessed any phenomenon like the Red Sox, which induces grown adults to block out everything in order to focus on a boring, drawn-out, repetitive sport, and stake all their happiness and self-worth on the outcome.
After last night’s Red Sox loss to Cleveland, which puts Boston in a 3-1 series deficit, the mood is perceptibly grave… it’s life or death. “They’ve been in tough spots before,” one man pontificates in the sandwich line at Viga. His voice raises, and people rip their hungry eyes from the foccaccia-stuffed comestibles to stare. “They can come from behind and win a playoff series. They did it to the Yankees. They can do it to Cleveland. This is a team that’s all about comebacks. This is a team you never stop believing in!”
Many people applaud this crazy man. I’m sure the fact that he looks like a CEO and he’s with a woman who looks like a young Candice Bergen helps his cause. But for me, it just pours a bit more salt on the plot of soil called “baseball” that lays fallow in my brain.
