Mestee Blogger

I'm still not sure if it has completely sunken in yet. I couldn't even get too excited. It just seemed too easy. Aren't these things supposed to go down to the last pitch? Aren't the Sox supposed to be just successful enough to keep us interested, only to let us down in the most ironic and terrible and (to non-Sox Fans) almost laughable way possible? Where was Aaron Boone? Bucky Dent? Bill Buckner? Where were the ghosts that make the ball take a funny hop at just the right moment, or cause the umps to make a call that no ump in his right mind could possibly uphold? Where was the bone-headed Red Sox manager? Where was The Curse?

On Saturday night, Fernald, Rudman, and I turned off the game in the 5th inning of Game 3. It was too painful to watch. Like most of Red Sox Nation, we were living and dying with every pitch, holding out hope that they could come back from this lead. The deficit grew too wide. For the sake of sanity, we decided to play some Tiger Woods Golf on the X-Box and only check on the score intermittently. It seemed that every time we checked back, our worse fears were confirmed. The Yankees had scored more runs, while the Sox tally remained steady. As the Sox grounded out to end the 8th inning with a score of 17-8 in favor of New York, Rudman declared, "That is the last play in Major League Baseball that I will watch this year. I'm done." Brendan and I agreed, though I couldn't help but see if they could avoid the sweep in Game 4 on Sunday. The question that ran through my head was: If the Yankees beat this Red Sox team, with Schilling and Pedro, Manny, Ortiz, and Foulke, how would we ever put a team together that could beat them? If not last year or this year, then when?

With each win, all I could think was "Wow, they might actually have a shot at winning the next one, too." In Game 6, this series started to feel different than those of years past. Surely the umps would maintain the initial call that Bellhorn's homer never really cleared the fence and hit that guy, but then they had a conference and made the right call. Of course A-Rod would get away with knocking the ball out of Arroyo's hand by delivering the Bitch-Slap Heard 'Round the World, but again, the umps convened and made the right call. It just didn't seem like this luck could continue. What was next? A grand slam from the super-slumping Johnny Damon?




Last night, it happened. The Red Sox won. My previous experiences wouldn't allow me to enjoy myself until the last out was made. I still remember the scene in 1986, staying up past my bedtime with my parents and standing on the couch in preparation of a celebratory leap that I would make when Boston got the third out of the last inning to win their first World Series since 1918. I was left stranded on the couch. The Sox had squandered a 2 run lead with 2 outs in the 10th inning and went on to lose Game 7 as well. Last year, Aaron Boone only confirmed my worst fears when he launched Wakefield's pitch into the left field stands. It reaffirmed my belief that no lead was ever big enough, no situation ever safe enough to be able to relax and truly enjoy the game until the last out was made. Not in the playoffs, and especially not against the Yankees. But they did it. The Sox are going to the World Series to face the winner of Game 7 in the St. Louis/Houston series. It will be a surreal experience during Game 1, knowing that the Yankees are behind us, and there is only one team to keep us from breaking the curse. I just hope nobody has any big plans for Saturday.

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