Mike Napoli and Jake Peavy Celebrating the Red Sox winning the East last September (Photo by Kelly O’Connor/sittingstill and used with permission) I will miss Peavy but am happy for the opportunity this trade affords him.
Sunday is big family dinner day at my parents’ house. Yesterday there were fewer people there than usually are and there were still 7 people at dinner. So we’re eating our dinner, enjoying each other’s company, when my brother-in-law turns to my cousin and asks, “So…what’s wrong with your Red Sox this year? Last place, huh?”
You’ll note I didn’t write that he said this to me. He knows better. My cousin is a pretty mellow guy. He laughed my brother-in-law off, said something about winning the World Series in 2013 and it was over. But it stuck in my craw.
So tonight I’m at dinner with my sister and my parents and I bring it up and my sister tells me that she couldn’t believe he said it because he had just said the same thing to her before they got to my parents’ house. She then told me that he asked her why he hadn’t heard me talk about the Sox that much lately and asked “What is she a fair-weather fan?”
My eye began twitching when I heard this. It actually started twitching. I’ve been called many things in my life, but a fair-weather fan has never been one of them. I mean holy cow, really? My sister pointed out that I don’t see him that often (about once a week, really) so he wouldn’t know how much I talk about them – or that I spend each night watching them while being snarky on Twitter.
I suppose it’s worth mentioning that my brother-in-law (who is generally a nice guy) is a sports fan, but not a baseball fan. He is very involved in the seasons of the Celtics and Bruins and especially the Patriots but he has no use for baseball. Not sure why but I’m okay with it. Live and let live and all that. He also only seems to bring up the Red Sox when they’re doing poorly or there are negative stories about them in the news. There are a lot of people I know who are like that. Drives me buggy.
As I’m writing this, the Red Sox are getting a butt whooping courtesy of the Toronto Blue Jays. It’s bad. Like watching the Bad News Bears play against the 1978 Yankees bad.
And yet…it’s still on my television. (I very much enjoyed Don and Jerry talking about what it would be like if announcers had to worry about getting traded at the deadline the way players do.) It is 13-0 in the sixth inning, I hear fans in Fenway booing Felix Doubront (who only deserves some of the boos, let’s be honest, there are plenty to go around, sadly) and my tv still has them on.
Admittedly, my attention is divided into different places. The game is on but here I am writing while I check Twitter to make sure another tornado doesn’t touchdown in the city where I grew up (holy cow a tornado touched down in the center of the city I spent my first 18 years in and that is only a city or two away from where I live…my little brain can’t deal with that and sadly the Red Sox did not provide the distraction I was looking for).
Because of a new job that I began back in March, I haven’t been to Fenway as much as I would like this season (new job is in the suburbs and getting into Fenway isn’t as convenient as it once was) and that bums me out a little. But on a night like tonight all I can think of is if I went to this game I’d be sad at what’s going on and mad at the fans who are getting drunk and belligerent and booing the team that just won the World Series nine freaking months ago. So it’s kind of a good thing I’m not in Boston right now.
Fair-weather fan my Aunt Fanny.
So how do we deal with the folks who want to kick us while we’re down? I have no bloody idea. I really don’t. 2013 is the best I have (which, in fairness, is pretty damn good) but that won’t shut up the folks enjoying rubbing salt in the wound.
This season is painful. This game is a root canal without any anesthesia. I can not fault anyone for turning it off. If I wasn’t multitasking and my entire attention was on the tv, I’d probably be shutting it off too (hey as I type this Papi knocked in David Ross for the first run for the Red Sox – no shut out – woo!).
I might not be writing as much about them and maybe I haven’t talked about them with my brother-in-law, but there always there and, for the most part, so am I.
Nights like tonight make me think I’m a glutton for punishment. Then I look at the photo on my wall of all three World Series banners from the 2000s and I figure it’s worth sticking around to see what they have in store for us next.
. . .and what they had in store next was to BE the store for 2014 playoff contenders to shop for spectacular pitching help for their stretch drives (Lester, Lackey, Miller) plus some platoon moxie (Gomes) and an actual shortstop (Drew) to play when the Captain Intangibles Farewell Tour rests over in the Bronx. Henceforth the Pawsox rotation takes over in Fenway for the 2014 duration, and we get to see up close and personal just exactly what we’ve got on the farm.
. . . meanwhile, we’ve picked up two righty outfielders with power (one of them a bona fide QuasiStud with a howitzer arm and a couple of Home Run Derby trophies)–and a comp pick in next year’s draft–and three kid pitchers, one (Berry) with an iffy hamstring but good promising creds in the show. In exchange for a 2-month rental on two pitchers who were headed to free agency in any case (. . .and might, just possibly, end up signing with Boston next year).
Given the truly crappy circumstances, it seems to me like Ben and his merry men had a pretty good day at the office. Jury’s Out, as ever in trading season–but I’m liking what they were able to do here. It gives us lots of kids and question marks to learn about and hopefully get a kick out of in these last 53 games. And though the departure of Uncle Dirt Drew from short saddens many teammates who like and respect him greatly, no doubt the chance to prove himself at short one more time has cheered up Xander Bogearts immensely.
But what a fire sale for a Series champion. It makes the head spin–especially because it makes sense. It really shouldn’t. If the team hadn’t slid into zero offense funk it never would’ve happened.
And that’s baseball. You need a lot of fierce heart, and a lot of Buddha nature too, to ride the twisting turning train of this game. Here’s to the next zoom round the next bend.