Thursday, October 28, 2004

Those of you that have been listening to the Podcasts know that I spent the first 26 years of my life living in Massachusetts. I was 11 years old and was allowed to stay up late for the first time in my life in 1975 when Joe Morgan blooped a hit to shallow left center field. That was my introduction into the misery of being a Red Sox fan. In 1978 I rushed home from a soccer practice, turned on the TV and watched Bucky bleepin Dent hit a popup that carried into the screen above the green monster. In 1986 my college roommates and I were dancing around in our rental house at UMass when Johnny Mac and Bill Buckner combined to take years off our lives. We barely bothered watching game 7. Last year I curled up at home and watched in horror as Aaron Boone added another name to the curse mythology.

This year when making our annual pilgrimage back east to visit our extended families I decided to pick up a Red Sox cap. I've been wearing it faithfully for the whole playoffs. Somehow, deep down, I knew that this was the year. Last night I had to leave the house after the 7th inning to play soccer. At around 9:00 I subbed out, there was a new text message on my phone. The moon was in full lunar eclipse. The game was over. The Sox had won. The curse is dead.

The Red Sox can now be like almost every other team. Sox fans can stop waiting for the shoe drop. Now we can just sit back and enjoy the games. I'm a happy guy.


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