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Balls…

September 29, 2011

From my first game at Fenway

Alright, let’s get the confession out of the way: I haven’t watched a single preseason hockey game. I’ve half-heartedly glanced at a few minutes of some. In total, I’ve probably watched about 30 minutes of preseason Canadiens and about 15 minutes of preseason Leafs and/or Sens.

I haven’t stopped loving hockey all of a sudden.

But baseball’s been on. And I needed to watch my Red Sox complete their historic collapse.

The first time I cheered for the Boston Red Sox was in 2004. Call me a pink hat. I mean, I was. I watched Boston that year because the Expos had just left, there was no hockey on, and the guy that I had a crush on was into the Red Sox so I wanted to know who these people he kept talking about were. I didn’t cheer for them because of him, though. I cheered for them because of them.

So did a lot of you.

I fought it, though. I fought it hard. I had decided that if I was ever going to be a baseball fan, I was going to cheer for anybody BUT the Yankees or the Red Sox. For the next couple of years, I tried so hard to convince myself that I was just cheering for history and that I could be a fan of any other team. I dabbled in some Blue Jayism, I peeked over at the Mets, I thought about being a Grady’s Lady, for some reason I experimented with the Colorado Rockies, and, even more bizarrely, I test-drove the LA Dodgers. Anybody but the two Most Obnoxious Teams. Eventually I went back to mostly ignoring baseball, but every once in a while a game would be on and I’d have nothing to do (unless you count being productive) so I’d watch. I’ll pretty much watch any sport if you put it right in front of me.

I remember watching a lot of the 2007 postseason on the phone with my friend Adam. I remember telling him I didn’t expect Anaheim to beat Boston anyway, but Cleveland would do it. I remember telling him multiple times that I did not want the Red Sox to win. I remember trying to be pissed every time the Red Sox beat Cleveland, and trying damn hard, too.

I remember making fun of all the Red Sox.

I also remember the World Series. After every Red Sox win, I was forced to admit to myself that I was happy about it. Overjoyed even. I hate that. It’s like admitting to yourself you like that annoying dude. You know. The weird one that’s been getting on your nerves for a year but now you’re doodling his name in your notebooks?

The other thing about the Red Sox is that they’re pretty much what I have in common with my godfather. We are two very different people otherwise, but the Red Sox are something we can talk about. He took me to Fenway and bought me my very first Red Sox shirt a couple of years ago.

I didn’t get to my first game at Fenway until this year, though, and I still have very, very much to learn about baseball. I can’t pronounce all the players’ names, I can’t figure out some of the more complicated stats, and I pretty much exclusively watch the Red Sox except for the playoffs. I guess I still have a ways to go.

But here I am, crying like I do when the Habs break my heart. I didn’t know it would suck this much. And I didn’t know how great that would feel.

I’m in love.

Balls.

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3 Comments leave one →
  1. September 29, 2011 1:52 am

    Well said. The first step is admitting you have a problem.

    In all seriousness, I feel incredibly sorry for anyone who watched pre-season hockey over any of those baseball games tonight. What pure and incredible drama.

    • theactivestick permalink*
      September 29, 2011 1:59 am

      It was just spectacular. It must have been pure joy for everyone who didn’t have a dog in the fight.

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  1. On suffering, and waiting, and hanging on, and why « The Active Stick

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