It's a long story, and worth telling, but not at the moment. Let's just say I broke up with the Boston Red Sox in October of 1986. I had no hesitation, no second thoughts. I knew a bad boyfriend (finally) when I saw one. My youth had been frittered away waiting for them to come through and give me what I needed. The trauma, the agony. (Don't say it. Don't. I had to sit in an elementary cafeteria in 1967 and watch them LOSE. We were led in there like cows to slaughter, told the Sox were finally going to win the World Series. I was in second grade. Take that, Jim Lonborg. Add that to Game 6 of 1986—Bill Buckner, I realize it wasn't really your fault, but—you just better not say it.)
How lucky it was, I suppose, that in 1993 I moved to the New York metro area. My then-husband, a Yankees fan from birth, was relocated for business and while I had not yet turned a burning desire to those perfectly fitting pinstripes I was not adverse to watching a game or two. (I had never willingly watched a Sox game after 1986.) Then...well.
It just happened. I'm not going to apologize. The Yankees, when the machine works, are about as perfect as any team can be. They are clean, good-looking, and polite. Their behavior is identical whether they lose or win. They are gracious. They are well-spoken in public. Not one of them looks like someone I would be frightened of in a dark alley.
And yet.
Today I caught myself looking up the time of Game 6 in the Boston/Cleveland series. "8 o'clock? It's not until 8?" I heard myself thinking. I felt as if I had suddenly glanced up into the mirror while washing blood off my hands in a panic.
Found your blog via NaBloPoMo. Glad I did.
Posted by: TX Poppet | October 22, 2007 at 03:10 PM
Fear not, without Joe Torre, certainly their politeness and graciousness will falter.
Posted by: Candy | October 24, 2007 at 03:58 PM
Ah, 1986. Game 6. The greatest night of my obsessed-Mets-fan life. I was THERE. In the STANDS. In some of the worst seats ever created in baseball history, but THERE nonethess.
And that team hasn't given me a single moment to enjoy since. Of course, I stopped following them in '93, when I moved to LA, but still...
Posted by: TC | October 25, 2007 at 11:39 PM
Found your blog through Fussy and NaBloPoMo. You and I share the same history. I was brought up a Red Sox fan and 1986 made me tear my shirt and declare they were dead to me. For awhile baseball did not figure highly in my life, but when the Yankees started doing better in the 90's, I went over to the Dark Side and became a Yankees fan. My husband was always a Yankees fan born and bred, so it was so easy. And I found it was so nice to root for a team that actually won.
Now it is 2007 and the Red Sox are the new Yankees. Since the Yankees weren't in the Series I rooted for the Sox with no compunction. But they're not the underdog anymore. So next year I'll be back rooting for the Yankees and hoping Joe Girardi can do the impossible and step into Joe Torre's shoes. I have already predicted they will finish in 3rd place without Torre but we'll see. I do wish Girardi well.
Posted by: Mauigirl52 | October 31, 2007 at 05:03 PM
Another lifelong Sox fan here, but I never broke up with them, specifically. I did take a break from baseball all together after the 1994 strike, but I was eventually sucked back in. And rewarded with the most thrilling post season EVER in 2004.
Posted by: ragtopday | November 03, 2007 at 01:22 PM
ah ha ha, that sounds about right, ragtopday...the strike made it hard to be a fan at all, but i can't deny my roots--i've been and will continue to be a red sox fan forever :)
Posted by: maiia | November 10, 2007 at 06:53 PM