Party Like It’s 1918

Ten years ago I was still licking the wounds from the Red Sox-Yankees ALCS fiasco of 2003.  I had watched Grady Little leave Pedro on the mound for one inning too many on a microscopic 13-inch television crammed into my little Smith College dorm room with a dozen or so housemates.  My dreams of a Sox World Series win my senior year of college crushed like the ball hit over the monster by an unlikely hero named Aaron Boone. 

Aaron Fucking Boone.

I finally understood the Curse of the Bambino. I wasn’t around for 1967, 1975, or Bucky Dent and was only 4 years old for Buckner. My Mom is the biggest sox fan I know – she keeps score during every game while watching the game on NESN. (For years it was while listening to the game on the radio). She made sure I heard the stories, knew the lore, I couldn’t have escaped my childhood without knowing. But I hadn’t felt the raw searing pain of the curse first hand until that night in October in 2003.

This is my mom and me on my first day of kindergarden.

She's wearing a 1986 ALCS Champions t-shirt.

She still has it, though it's more holes than shirt these days.

Mom pulled out this old ticket stub from a game she went to in 1981.

$6.25

Damn

Here is my ticket for last Wednesday's game.

What I would have thought if in November of 2003 you had told me then that within the next decade the Sox would not only win 3 World Series Championships, but that one of those would be clinched at home and I would be there for it…

Side note: less than a month after the 2003 ALCS I would meet a loyal Cubbie named Andy Jenkins who was simultaneously trying to recover from the Curse of the Billy Goat and the infamous foul-ball fan. It didn’t take me long to fully convert him from a long-suffering Cubs fan into a Sox fan.

It isn’t often in life one can say they witnessed history, but last Wednesday night I literally witnessed sports history. After winning 2 World Series on the road, the Sox finally did it at home, at beloved Fenway Park for the first time since Babe Ruth still wore a Red Sox uniform.

Historic.

I wrote in my last blog about my experience at Game 6 of the ALCS, how our friend with MLB connections got us tickets, how we turned down Game 1 of the World Series, realized how stupid that was and jumped at the offer to attend Game 6.  We burned some airmiles, flew from Atlanta back up north Tuesday night, and left Tess with my Mom Wednesday afternoon when we left Western Mass for Boston.

Shipping up to Boston!

We went to Massachusetts in late September.

Then again for the ALCS on October 19.

And again for the World Series. 

We also went to San Francisco and 

Andy went to New York for a night in between those trips.

Needless to say, we would rather not see another airport any time soon,

but Tess is getting great at flying.

On the road, heading east!

That ALCS game was anxiety-riddled and exhilarating.  There was certainly a tension in the air. Maybe it was because for 6 innings it was a close game. Maybe it was because memories of the curse and 2003 still lingered in my subconscious.  Whatever the reason, I wasn’t counting any chickens until the 27^th out. Then, when Victorino hit that Grand Salami, tension turned into pure, unadulterated joy.

Game 6 of the World Series was different.  There was no anxiety, no tension – at least for the fans. I’m sure the players would give different reports. But in the stands it was just a big party as soon as we walked in.  

In fact, it was a party even earlier than that.  Andy and I stopped at a rest stop on the pike on our way out to Boston. As I walked out of the ladies room wearing my Sox jersey a couple of women yelled “GO SOX!” and high-fived me. This instigated an entire line of people heading to the bathroom, all wearing sox shirts and hats, to slap my hand while whooping and hollering. 

We saw this guy at dinner.

A priest with a world series ticket.

I think he must have put in a good word...

All of Massachusetts, and likely all of New England were celebrating the day. Everything and everyone was focused on the game and Fenway Park. That morning on the local tv news in Springfield, Mass – a good 2 hours from Boston – the weatherman spent considerable time reporting that the weather at Fenway at 8pm that evening would be 50 degrees, cooling to 45 by the end of 9 innings. He even went so far to say that the wind would be blowing out towards right field. Not that the wind would blow in a southeasterly direction, but towards right field.  He never mentioned what the weather would be in the Pioneer Valley, however.

Every newspaper devoted their front page to the game.  Everyone I saw when I went out for coffee and donuts that morning was wearing sox gear. My Facebook news feed was full of World Series talk, at least from my fellow Massholes.

Meanwhile, apparently the front page of the St. Louis newspaper made no mention of the game.  It was as if they already knew it was over.

The entire city of Boston was electric the night of the game. Everyone was out on the streets.  People were walking towards Fenway in droves. Only a small percentage of whom were ticket holders, most people just wanted to be down in Fenway to be as close to the magic as possible. The line to get into Jillian’s went so far down Lansdown Street I couldn’t see the end.

As we walked toward our seats in the bleachers, everyone was high-fiving and hugging, all strangers who were instant best friends. The crowd knew this game was ours. The trophy might as well have already been engraved, and champagne bottled popped.  All 9 innings felt like a celebration.

People were on their feet from the first pitch to the last. No one sat.

Best fans in all of sport.

The Dropkick Murphys sang the National Anthem and Shipping Up To Boston, again - just like in the ALCS Game 6.   This is what I love about the Sox.  To sing the Star Spangled Banner at the World Series? Could have certainly gone to a bigger name act than the Murphy's, but they rewarded Sox loyalty instead. And Carlton Fisk (wearing a fake beard) and Luis Tiant threw out the first pitch(es) - bona fide Red Sox legends!

Big Papi, without whom the Sox batting average in the series to that point would be a measley .151, would not get a chance to hit.  He was walked 3 times intentionally, once unintentionally, in the midst of chants of “MVP, MVP” from the crowd.  But every little thing was gonna be alright, because the rest of the lineup would step up to the plate in Papi’s place.  

Andy with the man with the tickets.

The sox clinched the American League pennant 

AND the World Series with us in the stands.

The Sox should hire us to be there for all their games!

Victorino came through with another big hit in the 3^rd, knocking in 3 RBIs.

Lackey, who has been a major target of the haters since joining the Sox roster, was a beast on the mound. 

"Started from the bottom now the whole team here."

Drew and Ellsbury came out of their hitting slumps.  Drew with a homerun. And Ellsbury got out of a pickle and back to first! When does that ever happen? My mom said she didn't even know how to score that.

Workman and Tazawa put a stop to the Cardinals’ last ditch efforts at a come back, then Koji came in to stick the final knife in the Cardinals’ hopes to tie the series and force a game 7.

Officer Horgan!

My friend Liz from Baldwin House at Smith 

was also at the game so I went over to visit with her and her husband in their seats!

This was their view.

We had to leave quick though because while we were over there Lackey let in a run.

I'm superstitious and had to go back over to my seats.

Koji action shot!

We did it. In our house.  A celebration 95 years in the making.

No words....

After a 93-loss season, finishing in dead last place.  That season having followed one of the most epic September meltdowns in baseball history in 2011. 

There was no better way to honor the city of Boston after the season began in tragedy.

We could see these crowds from the back row of the bleachers looking out over the Pike. 

I think these people were over on Newbury St.

From my nephew Chris who was at the parade.

We went up to the very back row of the bleachers in center field 

to look out over the city after we won.

This was our view of this sign from right underneath.

Leaving Fenway.

The cops had cleared most of the people from the bars in the area by the time we left.

Boylston did not look like this.

It was 1am before we left Fenway, and we were certainly not the last ones there. Not even close. The party was still going strong in fact.  We walked towards Boylston and I’ve never seen so many people.  We tried getting on the T at Hynes, Copley and Arlington. Too many people. We just walked all the way to Park Street since we were just trying to get to the Red Line. Our amazing friend from Smith, Steph, and her soon-to-be-husband Mark were nice enough to let us stay with them in Southie so we could get some sleep before driving back to Western Mass.

The crowd was a little crazy, but honestly considering the sheer number of people in the streets it’s pretty amazing it didn’t get out of control.  It actually made me realize what a special city Boston is.  While walking through a T station, I dropped a glove.  A girl, probably in college, ran clear across the station to give it back to me.  In the midst of what could have been riots breaking out, this girl wanted to make sure I didn’t lose my glove. A young couple walking through the station who saw this couldn’t help but comment on how awesome that was.   “That’s Boston right there,” they said as we all walked by a man in full military regalia waiting for a train next to a bum sleeping on a bench who both threw up a hand in agreement. “Go Boston!”  The sox bring all kinds of people together, bums, soldiers, drunk college students. Everyone was feeling the Boston love that night. Amazing.

What a town. And what a team.

We are already planning a trip to Fort Meyers next Spring.

Last out!
World Series Champs!!!

Sweet Caroline

What a crowd.

From my nephew Chris who was at the Parade.

Big Papi had a lot to celebrate.