The Boston Red Sox are World Champions. Again.
Yes, I realize that the world consists of more than just twenty-nine cities in America and one city in Canada. But it’s called the World Series anyways. I agree with you, that’s very shortsighted..
One of my earliest childhood memories is watching Carlton Fisk’s home run in Game 6 of the 1975 World Series. I had just turned five, so apparently I was a big boy who could stay up late and drink highballs with the older bigger boys. Remember, it was the Seventies. I recall our smoky living room erupting with screams as Fisk used his voodoo magic to wave that ball fair. I can still see my father skipping around the room cackling into his can of Schlitz.
I remember the first Sox game I ever went to. It was a Sunday morning and we were getting ready to go to church. Because that was something that I did back in those days. Because I was a five-year old child who possessed neither the vocabulary skills nor the upper body strength to convince my mother otherwise.
My father came into my room and asked me if I wanted to go to church, or if I wanted to go to the Red Sox game instead. I didn’t believe him at first.
People didn’t just let their little sinner children skip Sunday Mass for a baseball game, did they? Is that what Jesus died for? So Billy can enjoy a couple of Fenway Franks, and eat ice cream out of a miniature batting helmet? Seems to me, if Jesus knew that this was the way it was gonna go down, he might have reconsidered the whole sacrificing himself for the sins of others schtick, and concentrated more on the carpenter side of things. Maybe go back to school and get his contractors license. Make some bank.
Dad said he had already talked it over with my mother and she said that it would be okay for me to miss church this one time, because I was such a sweet beautiful angel baby of a boy anyway, so God would totally forgive me.
But she still took my heathen brother and sister to church because sometimes a kid needs to have God beaten into them in order to let them know that God loves them.
We took the train into Boston. Dad worked for the T, and when we got on the train we went up to the engineer booth. One of his friends was operating the train, so we sat in the booth for the ride. At one point I sat on his lap and he let me “drive” the train. Not in a sexy way. In a little kid driving a train way. I’m sure that it was against the train driving rules and people could have lost their jobs for letting the five-year old drive the train in a not sexy way. Even though I was actually just hitting the horn. I was so good on the train horn. Probably one of the best ever. At least in my age group.
But once again, it was the Seventies, so rules didn’t really apply. I mean, it’s not like I was texting while driving or something
“Hey, let the kid drive the train. I’m to busy applying Chapstick and being discolicious to drive it myself. Does anybody want to touch my mutton chops?”
I remember walking into Fenway Park and seeing the field in person for the first time. I’d never seen anything so green. It reminded me of the Emerald City in Wizard of Oz. It amazed me. We took our seats and I watched the game with rapt attention, while also keeping an eye out for flying monkeys. It was exhausting. When I woke up, it was the seventh inning and my father was asking me if I wanted to leave. I did.
Baseball can be a long ass game for a little boy to sit through. It might be different nowadays, but they didn’t prescribe ADHD drugs to kids back then. If the kid didn’t pay attention, you would just smack them and say, “Pay attention”. Now people give you the stink eye for that.
We left Fenway and made the train ride home to the suburbs south of Boston. I don’t remember if the Sox won or lost. I just remember that Dad got me out of church on a Sunday for a day of fun. Just the two of us.
Dad died in 1996 without having ever seen the Sox win it all. If I could talk to him today and tell him that they have won three championships in the last decade, he would shake his head, laugh at me, and ask me if I was high.
And I would say, “That’s really not any of your business, Dad. I’m a forty-three year old married man. I own a house, Dad. A house!! The Boston Red Sox are World Champions! Again!! And yes, I’m a little high right now.”
But now let me fill you in on what the Pats, B’s, and C’s have been up to.
You’re not gonna believe it….
BOOYAAH! or whatever…you know…
Holler!!! And what not.
Love all of this but especially this: upper body strength.
It’s a good day.
Hahaha, Mom was a tough lady.
Wicked Pissa! What a night!! Billy, I’ve missed you so… where have you been? Not on my blog or yours. So happy to see you back, and with such a kick ass, wonderful post! This is touching, sarcastic, funny… classic Bill. Love it!
I’ve had some serious writers block going on Dawn. Funny how a world championship can get the words flowing. Hahaha
No shit! This is a fabulous post, Bill! May the force remain with you…
Great story Bill. My dad saw Teddy Ballgame’s last game, was in The Bronx with me for the Bloody Sock in 2004, and he got to see them win one. Not sure he would believe 3 in 10 though! I’m a 46 year old father of 2 with a house…and your story choked me up good. Well done!
Thanks for the kind words, Mike. I remember the sense of urgency before they finally won in 2004. The whole, “Am I really going to never see this happen” aspect. So many people lived their lives without seeing it. We’re so fucking spoiled now. Hahahaha!
Damn I love this post! I love the way you write. Not only do I love this post but you have convinced me to be a Red Sox fan. Of course I live in Seattle and we don’t have a baseball team, do we? No, we don’t. Enjoy the victorious splendor of it all!
Thanks, John. I appreciate it man. And feel free to hop on the bandwagon, my friend. There’s more than enough room.
You don’t have SoDo Mojo?
Hahaha, I had to Google that.
NoGo SoDo Mojo
Are there any Karate places out there called SoDo-Mojo-Dojo? Cause that’s a money maker.
I don’t think so. For out of town guests attending workshops, they could stay at the SoDo-MoJo-Dojo HoJo.
Man, I wish Flo Jo was still alive.
It makes me sad that you don’t have your mom and dad around, but somehow the way you write about them makes me happy at the same time. It also makes me sad that I’m a Cubs fan, but no amount of writing will ever change that. =)
Thanks Stacie. It’s been so long since they were here. 31 years for my mother and almost 18 for my father. It’s funny, the things you remember sometimes. Little mundane things that take on a whole new significance. Like the smell of Old Spice, or a sip from a highball. Hahaha. Also, I would love to see your Cubs win it all. Just for poor Steve Bartman. That dude got fucked.
I was at that game. That dude is a fuck.
Hahaha, everyone around him did the same exact thing though. I feel bad for the dude. I’ll shut up now.
The company I work for is located in Boston, and during every business meeting for the last FOREVER people have brought up the Sox. The company even gave away tickets throughout the year. On Friday there was not one peep from anyone via e-mail. I imagine they were all celebrating.
You bastards are already crazy, I can’t imagine how it was being there when they won.
Hahaha, It’s pretty insane. Although having won in 2004 and 2007 might have tempered the insanity a little bit. I couldn’t imagine if they had won 2004 at home. The city most likely would have imploded.
I love every one of your posts! You always make me laugh out loud : ) Smacking kids and mutton chops – awesome. Fantastic photo of you and your dad – excellent post as always!
Thanks, Molly! I really appreciate it. I love that picture of us as well.
Another great read!
Thanks for checking it out, Steve.