 |
Look, I’m not going to slice this cake any other possible way: The Red Sox absolutely and 100 % collapsed on us. It adds yet another dark pages to the annals of Boston sports history that will cause us (by “us” I mean people who care deeply about the team, known in some regions as “fans” and not douche bag pink hats who wave their cell phone at Fenway Park to get on TV) all to avoid eye contact with everyone and stare blankly into our beer glasses. This type of event is always accompanied by the same miserable set of actions that fans take to shut out additional pain: avoiding any type of sports broadcasting medium at the risk of blood shooting out our eyes, second guessing a million different managerial decisions over the course of a season, and stumbling around our existence with a sullen faced, glassy eye disposition similar to that of a proverbial Eeyore.
 |
| How every Red Sox fan feels right now I suppose the earliest indicator that set the foundation this miserable futility actually occurred in mid-July post All Star break, when we lost 3rd starter Clay Buchholz for the season. It was a tough hit to take even then, but it truly exposed how thin the team was at middle relief as a bullpen. Everybody not named Alfredo Aceves (whose fucking FANTASTIC season will largely be forgotten in lieu of how the season finished; Jacoby Ellsbury will also be a victim of this as well.) decided to engage in various levels of epic suckitude over the next few months, with a special type of awfulness reserved for September. Throw in the fact that Kevin Youkilis, a key fixture in our lineup, was playing with 481 separate injuries and producing nowhere near what he was capable of, Adrian Gonzalaz had the “Home Run Derby” second half power outage. (I think he hit 3 or 4 home runs in the second half of the season. I’m too tired/still bitter to look up exact numbers) not to mention his strikeout rate went up about 10-15 %. Our 4th/5th starters became just a synonym for “automatic losses,” especially when Andrew Miller pitched. Lackey and Crawford, despite all those zeros on their paychecks, weren’t turning around their shitty seasons. The blood stained writing was on the wall of the massacre that was to descend on our season, we just didn’t see it until we were in complete free fall and fans everywhere were panicking like an extra in a Jason Voorhees film. |
Nothing will ever elicit the utter heartbreak and palpable grief generated in such droves as did the ending of the 2003 Red Sox season. That season was akin to dating a dream girl, having everything going perfectly, pulling power moves you never knew you had, coming home to surprise her with an engagement ring, only to find her having sex with your asshole neighbor: crushing, emotional pain right to the core of your being, and an inability to function as a human stemming from the shattering disappointment that you were so loyal for such a miserable ending. The 2011 season, while also shitty and miserable in its ending, generated of a different breed of pain. This one was more like you found another dream girl and for a while it was going perfectly, maybe even better. But then you discovered she had some annoying habits, started casually flirting with other guys at the bars, didn’t seem as into you as before, and ultimately tells you she’s breaking up with you. It was a slow poisonous pain that coursed through our collective veins, causing us vast amounts of psychological distress as we tried to come up with a plan to eradicate or at least slow down the misery. But, like a breakup you can see coming, there’s the initial gut punch, then a strange sense of acceptance, a sort, “All right, This sucks, but I guess I knew this wasn’t going anywhere anyway.” Did I want the 2011 Red Sox to make the playoffs? You bet your ass I did. Worst case scenario, I would much rather be labeled an underachieving team than one that was historically bad in the most crucial month of the season. But in all fairness, what were these Sox going to do in the playoffs? In all likelihood, based on the overall shittiness of the pitching/complete no show days of offense, we likely would have bowed out to a superior Texas team 3-1 at best.
However, the point of all this painful recollection is to high light something I did this morning upon finishing my breakfast (oatmeal with peanut butter and raisins, a fantastic fucking budget meal for a college undergrad) The Red Sox hat I had been holding as last night’s traumatic events were unfolding, was sadly dropped to the floor as I headed off to bed, dejectedly asking myself why I even bother following these teams. But this morning, I dusted off the hat, and will proudly wear it as I always have. Despite all of the emotional turmoil, I am damned proud to be a Red Sox fan. Year in and year out, the Red Sox have a (mostly) competitive team to root for, as rabid a fan base as you will find ANYWHERE in the country (I challenge any other city to have fans as knowledgeable about the sports they follow than in Boston.) and a team ethos that is committed to making improvements on the previous year’s edition. There are literally 15-18 others teams that are completely content, despite having ample resources because contrary to popular belief, baseball owners are rich motherfuckers, to wallow in mediocrity without the chance of even sniffing greatness. Our owners, like many others, have shitloads of money, but they pump significant amounts of it into our team to ensure that we at least have a chance at the ultimate prize. We may not take the World Series every year or even make the playoffs sometimes. The past two years are indications that having your best players get season ending injuries isn’t conducive to long term success in a season.
But fandom with any team, especially the Red Sox, isn’t a “hit-it-and-quit-it” arrangement. Despite the reactive nature of Boston fans, they will recover and in time will be concocting visions of grandeur based on how next season’s team will look. This is a marriage, “a til death do us part” pact, and like the institution just mentioned, there are going to be both good times and bad. This happens to be one of those times where you hang your head and take the daggers thrown at you by national media and other fans alike. But when we come back (and we WILL come back; this team was a fucking powerhouse pre-injuries) the victory at the end of the road will taste that much sweeter because of the doldrums we lifted ourselves from. That my friends, is why I for one will remain steadfast in my devotion and even in the current dark days for our franchise, declare proudly, “I am a Red Sox fan.”
