Keeping Soximistic
“What the f*ck happened to the Delta I used to know? Where's the spirit? Where's the guts, huh? This could be the greatest night of our lives, but you're going to let it be the worst” - Bluto, “Animal House”
Every once in a while, an event takes place of such Earth-shattering proportions that it’s supposed to change the way we look at the world forever. Pearl Harbor was the punch in the jaw that proved to America it could never let its dukes down. The moon landing was the kick in the pants that was going to jump start man’s Great Quest. Watergate was the tittie twister that would wake us up to the fact that public office holders are just as corrupt as we’d be if you let us make the laws and control how much of people’s money we can keep for our own benefit.
The thing about these Earth-shattering, perspective-changing events is that the next day, you wake up and the Earth is still in one piece. Your perspective changes only for as long as it takes your eyes to adjust; then the world looks the same as it always did. America still has its guard down, the only Space Race is taking place between Dish Network and DirecTV, and there are still people standing out in the cold holding signs on Election Day. Remember 9/11? Wasn’t everything supposed to change after that? Every social commentator who socially comments on such things promised it would be the death of our whole culture of ironic humor, celebrity worship and superficial consumption. Six years later, there are 750 web sites whose sole reason to exist is to make fun of actresses’ exposed vaginas. (barstoolsports.com being a prime example)
Which brings us, in a roundabout way, to the Red Sox. Remember 2004? Seriously, does anyone? Because it sounds like fewer and fewer of us do. Wasn’t THAT supposed to change the way Sox fans looked at the world? The whole thing... The Comeback. The Sweep. The Idiots. Dave Roberts. The Bloody Sock. The Legend of Papi. Bellhorn hitting the foul pole twice. Keith Foulke. The season ending in such a wildly, improbably successful fashion that once and for all we could spare ourselves the endless complaining and caterwauling about how unfair it all is and the constant, dire predictions of certain doom. For the first time in our lives and forever after, we could be like fans of every other team and just take the season for what it’s worth. No more whining about your grandfather who never saw them win. No more Dan Shaughnessy books. No more purple prose in the Globe editorial page about Calvinist New Englanders and our dour pessimism. No more guys in sweater vests going on TV and comparing the Sox to Sisyphus pushing a rock up a hill. We could leave that sissy boy “Oh, woe is us. Whatever shall we do?!!!” crap to Cubs fans. We could finally just be flippin’ baseball fans, trying to have flippin’ fun, flippin’ rooting for our flippin’ baseball team to win the flippin’ World Series, just like everyone else.
But seriously, how much of that has actually gone on this year? The Sox came out of the shoot at the beginning of the year like a Peter North money shot, led the majors in wins by the time the Kenyans reached Comm Ave, and really never looked back. They finished the year atop the AL East, with the best record in baseball and home field advantage throughout the playoffs.
So naturally this created an atmosphere of unbridled optimism, goodwill and eager anticipation of the great things ahead. Except for the parts about the optimism, goodwill and anticipation. Sure there were some people following this team who could read the damn standings and know we were witnessing a good thing. But we were outnumbered by the steady diet of the same old pre-championship self-pitying from the haters out there.
In the mid ‘80s, when the pop music world was ruled by hair bands like Culture Club and Duran Duran, a critic named Dave Rimmer railed about it in a book called “Like Punk Never Happened.” His point was that bands like the Sex Pistols and The Clash were supposed to put an end to that pretty boy crap forever, but couldn’t. I appreciate the sentiment. The 2004 Red Sox championship, the signature sports moment of the early part of the 21st century, was supposed to give the lethal injection to the whole “The Sox’ll break your heart every time” industry. But you wouldn’t know it to listen to the Complainey McWhineys I still talk to on a daily basis.
The Sox lost a grand total of 66 games this year. Again, the fewest in baseball. But there are huge segments of the population who responded to every loss by doing the death scene from “Scarface.” Who treated every bullpen failure (few though they were) like a nuclear plant meltdown. Who jumped on every slumping Sox player and tried to devour him until he started hitting, then moved onto the next slumping guy like locusts. Pedroia Coco to Manny to Lugo to Drew and so on.
You know who you are. Some are just casual fans, who really don’t know better and can be forgiven. During the last Yankees series I was hanging with a really good guy who probably couldn’t name the Red Sox double play combination, but he knew he didn’t want to know what was happening in the game because “you know they’re gonna lose; they always do.” Others are the ones who like to prove how much they know by perpetually squawking about how badly the club is being mismanaged. Guys who’d rather wake up tomorrow handcuffed to a chair in the torture factory from “Hostel” than give Terry Francona credit for ever making the right move. (Read: WEEI callers.) Still others are just miserable jagoffs who’d do us all a favor by just giving up sports altogether to read novels, become opera buffs, or better yet, die in a fire.
Here’s a news flash for all the haters, pessimists, naysayers, professional complainers, bitchers and Shaughnessy: the 2007 Red Sox are a very good baseball team. Legitimately, they’re the favorites to win the World Series. They’ve got pitching, experienced veterans, defense, young talent, a balanced lineup, power and speed. They’ve got home field. They’ve got a solid bullpen and a manager who’s got guys knowing their roles. Are they the prohibitive favorites? No. But no one else is either. You can make an objective case they’ve got a better chance than anyone else.
But aside from that, why would anyone feel like this team is doomed? This is a likable, tight-knit, hard working group. The roster is full of guys who’d rather play here than anywhere else. And in our lifetimes, there have been plenty of Sox players who treated this town like they were doing a stretch at MCI Cedar Junction (I’m looking at you, Renteria.) I’m not guaranteeing a title by any means, just saying that if they don’t win it all, for once it’ll be because they got outplayed in the playoffs, not because of Babe Ruth or Grandpa or Sweater Vest Guy and his stupid BS in Mythology.
Still, if you’re a normal Sox fan, you’ve got to like their chances. Just remember it wasn’t over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor.