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….