There's Always Next Year, Part 5

Sunday, October 24, 2004

           

For the first time in almost twenty years, The Red Sox were heading back to the Fall Classic and would be facing the St. Louis Cardinals, and the effects were felt all throughout the city of Boston. The story was all over the local news, on the radio, and it was being talked about everywhere. Fans were exuding a mixed sense of confidence and jubilation. The catch phrase was the same everywhere you went: Go Sox! It was a great time to be a part of the city of Boston.

My Uncle Ray and I were heading to the bleachers for game two. Game one had been on Saturday night, and my father went with Josh. I didn’t have many opportunities to go to games with my uncle, but I appreciated it when I did. I thrived off his passion for the game, which was always in full display. He always increased my enjoyment of the whole experience of attending a baseball game.

I missed most of game one because I had to attend a wedding. I spent most of the night running between the reception hall and a separate bar that had the game on. The Sox were up 7-2 early, but allowed the Cardinals to tie it up in the sixth inning. Thanks to a late inning home run by Mark Bellhorn, the Sox would go on to take game one 11-9.

           

I had a much more positive attitude compared to the Yankee series. The way I felt about the rivalry with the Yankees over the years was that they were the bullies of the playground, and the Sox were a constant victim having their lunch money stolen. There was a lot more tension in the ballpark during those games, and when they were over I always felt drained. But now the Sox had stood up and defeated the bully, and with the roll they were on, they appeared to be untouchable.

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Schilling was starting for Boston. I wasn’t sure how he would be able to follow up his performance in New York, but he was up to the task. He pitched six innings, allowing only one unearned run. The Sox pitching was too much for the Cardinals to handle, and the Red Sox took a 2-0 series lead with a 6-2 win as the series headed to St. Louis. Sox fans, including myself, could feel what had eluded them for decades finally within their grasp.

Wednesday, October 27, 2004

           

Alan and I once again decided to go out near Fenway, this time meeting friends at Tequila Rain on Landsdowne Street. As we walked down Landsdowne, many fans were lined up at the other bars and clubs that occupied the street located behind the Green Monster. I was worried that we weren’t going to be allowed into the bar because the place was already going to be full.

           

Once inside, we made our way towards the large back area, which opened up to a long bar along on one side of the room with numerous large screen televisions on the wall behind it. Tables were packed in all throughout, and we were able to find a seat relatively close to the bar. It was a great venue to watch any type of sporting event.

Game three of the series was on Tuesday, and the Cardinals couldn’t figure out Pedro Martinez, who pitched seven shutout innings. St. Louis would score their only run in the bottom of the ninth, but it wasn’t enough to beat the Sox, who took game three 4-1.          

Derek Lowe started for the Red Sox in game four, and was just as masterful as he was in game seven in New York, giving up only three hits and no runs in seven innings. The Sox scored three runs early, and were holding onto the 3-0 lead as the game rolled towards the later innings.

           

As the ninth inning approached, I was standing next to the table that my friends were occupying. Reminiscent of Coogan’s only a year before, I found that I couldn’t sit. I was brewing with nervousness, excitement and anticipation. I didn’t know how I was going to handle a wish that I had been holding onto since I was a child finally coming true.

When Red Sox pitcher Keith Foulke made the final out of the game, broadcast announcer Joe Buck said the words that will reverberate in my mind forever.

           

“Red Sox fans have longed to hear it. The Boston Red Sox are World Champions.”

           

As the bar went crazy, so did the players on the field. The Red Sox all rushed towards the pitcher’s mound, jumping on top of each other. The leaps of joy turned into embraces as the cameras worked their way between the players. They all received World Series hats and t-shirts, and eventually moved the celebration from the field to the locker room for toasts and champagne showers.

The party in the bar made its way out to Landsdowne Street. Everyone was cheering, exchanging high fives and hugs. Alan and I shuffled through the crowd, following droves of people heading away from the park towards Boylston Street. For a long while we joined fans strolling up and down the middle of Boylston, reveling in the festivity.

As the crowds began to thin out, Alan and I headed back home. I was too amped to even think about sleeping. I continued to watch the celebrations on television, switching between the team’s highlights in St. Louis and the stragglers who were still hanging around the streets of Boston. Eventually I forced myself to turn the television off, and was able to find some sleep.

Saturday, October 30, 2004

           

I met a group of my friends behind my office early in the morning and we began walking up Commonwealth Avenue towards Kenmore Square. It was the day of the rolling parade, where the Red Sox would ride on Duck Boats through the city, saluting fans and showing off the World Series trophy.

           

As we arrived on Boylston Street in the Back Bay, people were already lining up on the sidewalks to claim a front row seat. We decided to duck into Whiskey’s, one of the several bars across from the Prudential building, which was already starting to fill up. A beer at 9:00 in the morning never tasted so good.

           

The parade began around 10:00, and hit Boylston Street shortly thereafter. As the Duck Boats rolled by, the reality of what I had experienced over the past couple of weeks really hadn’t sunk in yet. I still couldn’t believe they had won. But they had finally done it. A group of self-proclaimed “idiots” had defied the odds and had broken a curse that had been hanging over the organization for eighty-six years. They had done it not only for me, but for Red Sox fans young and old all over the world.

I later found out that on the night they won that my father and my uncle were on the phone with each other at the end of the game; my father at his home in Massachusetts and my uncle at home in Florida. My uncle had taken my grandfather’s ashes off his mantle, and was holding them on his lap during the final out. My uncle even flew up from Florida to attend the rolling parade. For many around Boston and New England, the win meant more than just the breaking of a curse and trophies. It bonded family, friends and generations, and we gladly thanked them for it. For my family, the years of agonizing and torment we subjected ourselves to had finally come to an end. More importantly, fans no longer had say those words that had haunted them for decades: “There’s always next year.” Next year had finally arrived for Red Sox Nation, and it will hold a special place in our hearts and memories forever.