Dangling somewhere between a hallucinogenic fantasy and a small amount of logic, so crazy it just might make sense, I present to you: the year.
Move over, Sports Guy. Who are you to pronounce the Boston Red Sox season dead? In case you missed it, self-proclaimed Boston sports guru Bill Simmons wrote on ESPN.com on Monday that the Sox once again have fallen apart and were out of contention for that ever-elusive World Series title.
Well, Billy, perhaps you haven't checked the standings recently. Did you not notice that the Sox are still in (mathematical) contention for the wild card? Sure, with five games remaining the Angels need only win one more game or the Sox lose one more for it to be over.
But this is a team that triumphs over adversity and has won an almost dynastic five of 15 World Series? That the 15-year stretch I allude to was from 1903 to 1918 is clearly irrelevant for the purpose of my article.
Who knew that this would be the year? The year of fables. The Red Sox bring home a World Series after 84 years of torment to Sox fans everywhere? The very thought of it generally excites a sadistic chuckle out of most baseball fans; the inhabitants of Red Sox Nation can only emit a sad sigh of resignation.
The Sox began the 2002 season with a Major League Baseball-best 40-17 record, prompting my inner circle of friends to change some of society's most basic and traditional practices.
We were sufficiently gripped with excitement that we could not bother toiling through incessant repetition of tired old pleasantries like "hello" and "what's up?" before delving into our most recent analysis of our favorite baseball team, for whom this was the year. Instead, our greetings and salutations quickly morphed into quick exchanges of "Go Sox."
The running joke among my friends was always that allegiance to the Sox could be equated to bungee jumping with a stiff cord. Bungee jumping affords you an exhilarating thrill -- a regular Sox winning streak -- but it yanks you back just as suddenly -- a just-as-regular Sox losing streak. (Anyone else notice the similar root there: "yanks" and "Yankees"?).
And the stiff cord element is just to maintain the particularly violent nature of these swings, which always end with the cord snapping and you, the pitiless Sox fan, falling on the most pointed rock in the abyss below.
My brother and I maintain an acutely keen insight into the inner-workings of the Sox and immediately recognized the year.
For instance, we realized that only a manager like Grady Little, often known to refer to himself in the third person, could manage a like-spoken Rickey Henderson. That Rey Sanchez should be deserving of the nickname "MVP" simply for replacing beleaguered Jose Offerman. That we would see the emergence of Frank "Big Game" Castillo, known early for his heroics and now only for his 5-15 record with an ERA over 5.00. That John "All-Star" Burkett outright refused to participate in the All-Star game for labor reasons -- never mind that he of all players should not be worried about attending such a game. That we would be treated to Darren "Cy" Oliver -- the untalented acquisition we had to show for removing the capable, yet psychotic, Carl Everett. It has to be the year.
Simmons argued the Sox did not have "it" this year, but truly this was a team marked with destiny and charisma. Opening Day, Pedro Martinez pitches after a long off-season rehab program and proceeds to receive one of his career's worst shellings.
Later, Manny Ramirez would slide headfirst into home plate (a baseball cardinal sin) and break his finger. Most curious, however, is that he seemed reluctant to rejoin the club after his six-week absence and to leave his rehab stint in Triple-A Pawtucket, prolonging his stay there more than once. The year, no doubt.
Furthering the indescribable, Sox reliever and fan favorite Rich "El Guapo" Garces inexplicably self-destructed during the season, putting unproven Wayne "Shouldn't be relieving in big games" Gomes in position to relieve in big games. Then, the world's greatest hitter, Ted Williams, dies, and his son controversially chooses to freeze his remains. The year!
The signs were there when the Sox lost consecutive 9-8 heartbreakers in New York and then followed that two days later by winning the first end of a doubleheader, 22-4, and then blowing a four-run lead in the ninth to lose the second game.
Of course between the time I wrote this yesterday afternoon and the time you read this today, this article may have been made moot, depending on last night's baseball games. But I don't see how that could possibly be a problem or how anything could go impede Boston's march to glory. It is, after all, the year. Go Sox.
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