For Those Who Went Before
By The Yawkey Way Philosopher
I was sitting at a local sports bar on Wednesday night as Keith Foulke took the mound to complete one of the greatest postseason stories of all time. My knees were weak, my heart raced, and I was ready to shoot the group of Cardinals fans in the corner who were convinced that a comeback was eminent and had been all
night. Never had I been so nervous and ready to explode with joy in my life. It was like knowing you're about to get laid for the first time or Christmas morning is just a couple hours away. More importantly was the overwhelming feeling that I was about to see baseball history.
Single up the middle. One on, no outs.
My grandfather loved the Red Sox and I don‚t believe he ever recovered from the 1986 playoffs. The last time I saw him he told me to never forget the lessons
he'd taught me about being a good man and a good person. He also told me to think of him the day the Red Sox finally broke the curse and won a World Series. He was in my thoughts last year when Aaron Boone ended the season with his walk-off home run and I hoped whatever happened to him after his passing, he
was not pained by another disappointing finish to a season.
One out.
I grew up intoxicated with baseball. I played, I collected cards, I watched every game I could. My grandfather told me stories about the good old days when, as he loved to say, pitchers threw complete games every night and the only closer was the guy who locked the doors and turned off the stadium lights. He talked about seeing Ted Williams hit a homer in Fenway and complained that Pesky's Pole sounded like something inappropriate to call a part of the stadium. I was too
young in 1986 to fully understand the impact of what I was seeing but my grandfather called me the next morning and consoled a grieving baseball fan of six years old who thought the world was over.
Two outs.
My grandfather was a devout Christian, went to church every Sunday and read his bible most nights. He was the one person in my family who accepted my atheist beliefs better than anyone. He understood that everyone must make their own choices in life and that everyone deserved acceptance no matter what their
beliefs or creed. I think he worried about me and was not pleased in my choice, but he understood. Every time I visited him, I would always go to church with
him because he like to gloat about his grandson to his friends.
Three outs. World Champions at last.
Sitting in the bar I watched the celebration on the field and wished more than anything I was in Boston. During a commercial break, a Nike ad played that
showed a family of Red Sox fans through eighty-six years and multiple generations sitting in the same seats at Fenway. At that moment I started crying and collapsed in my chair, much to the concern of the patrons around me. In 2002 my grandfather passed away at the age of 82. He never got to see his "damned ol‚ Sox" win the World Series. I just hope he knows they finally won. I just hope all those like him who loved the Red Sox and never saw the misery finally come to an end know that the curse is over and, after so much pain, there is joy in Beantown at last —and I hope he saw Kieth Foulke lock the door and turn off the stadium lights.
