Sex & Sox

My passions: Sex and the Boston Red Sox!


Friday, December 10, 2004

Reflection

As I was just cleaning (grrr...), I got to thinking about how delightful it would be to go see the Yankees play in Skydome, and how I'd sit there chanting, "Yank-ees CHOKE! Yank-ees CHOKE!" while everyone around me stared out at the field as though I weren't speaking and my beloved boyfriend buried his face in his hands. How the pure joy of taunting them would fill me, how I'd probably have a huge smile on my face, how I'd stand up and scan the crowd for the Red Sox fans that nearly outnumber the Jays fans in the Skydome, how it would be blissful.

And then I wondered, "Why are they so fun to taunt?"

During the 2003 ALCS, I was living with my mother. Her husband doesn't really care for sports, but he roots for the Yankees just to piss us off. We were sitting there staring at the hopeful beginnings of Game 7 when he declared, "This is the real World Series! Who the hell cares about who the winner plays?"

That's stuck with me. When the Red Sox and Yankees play, it is the essence of baseball, to me: the epic struggle, the deep-rooted rivalry, the fiercely competitive siblings battling for the same prize... and the inevitable triumph of one over the other.

What can I say about this year that hasn't already been said? Shit, I can't really say anything that I haven't already said. But it amounts to this: this year, the World Series, even though we won, wasn't a challenge. Maybe it was the baseball gods deciding to give us a break, maybe it was our "greatest comeback in sports history" vibe overwhelming our opponents, maybe it was a cosmic blessing that come to fruition on the night when Hati ate the moon, maybe it was the tantalizing promise of fulfilling a promise made to a nation of hope, maybe it was sheer dumb fuckin' luck. Whatever it was, it wasn't a battle. It wasn't a struggle. It wasn't epic. If it weren't for the fact that it hadn't happened to our franchise in 86 years, it would've been forgettable.

But the 2004 ALCS? Unforgettable. In-the-record-books unforgettable. Tim McCarver, when he's calling a game between the two on FOX next year, will say of Jeter's eyes, "They're much more lively and sparkling today than after game 7 of last year's ALCS, when this steroid-riddled Yankees team failed him and committed the greatest choke in sports history." And the members of Red Sox Nation, card carrying or not, will smile, despite the fact that the word 'Jeter' coming out of McCarver's mouth is etymological fellatio.

I wouldn't mock St. Louis. It wouldn't be fun. Fuck, they mocked themselves, on the biggest stage in baseball. It'd kinda be like kicking a dog (which I condone under NO circumstances!) that someone had run over -- what's the use? It's already done.

So I will continue celebrating not only that we won the World Series, but that we embarrassed the Yankees getting there, because the ALCS was baseball at its finest (okay, minus the whole Slappy McSlaphappy thing).
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