Spring training is under way and that means just one thing for Red Sox Nation: another fresh start, another shiny new season, another opportunity to dream that this year could be THE YEAR. (Okay, that sounded like three things, but it’s really just the one thing—hope.)
Of course, the possibility of winning the title has become distinctly more plausible since 2004, but that hasn’t changed much for us. We always hoped. We always dared to believe, even after an 86-year drought, even after Buckner and Aaron Boone. And even with three titles under our belt in the last 10 years, even with last year’s poetic, karmic victory, we still anticipate the coming season with the kind of reverie usually reserved for Christmas pageant children gazing adoringly at baby Jesus.
We’ve got a fever. And the only prescription? Is more Red Sox.
A friend of mine asked me yesterday what’s the big deal about being a Red Sox fan. Oh Lord, where to start. It’s about being part of something special. It’s about loyalty and faith. It’s the energy of the crowd at Fenway. And it’s the camaraderie with fellow fans, who are the only other people who understand how crazy the Red Sox can make you.
In Fever Pitch, Jimmy Fallon confesses to Drew Barrymore a few months into their relationship that he’s a Red Sox fan. She says, “Yeah, so?” And he replies, “No, I’m a Red Sox…FAN.” You see, the word fan is short for fanatic. And that’s exactly what we are.
Recently, my brother-in-law, who’s not really a baseball fan, decided that he was going to like the Yankees. Some friends bought him a Yankees hat, and now all of a sudden he’s talking smack to me on Twitter. He posted this picture:
So naturally, I told him he looked like a d-bag and he’s dead to me.
While I respect my brother-in-law’s decision to jump on the Yankee bandwagon…yeah, no, I don’t really respect his decision to jump on the Yankee bandwagon. He got a fancy hat for Valentine’s Day, and now all of a sudden he’s all “talk to me when you have 27 rings.” Love him to pieces! But he must now realize, this means war.
So let the games begin! It’s a fresh new season and I have a fresh new adversary. I’ll never in-the-bag it, of course. Anything is possible, including an embarrassing ass whipping by the Evil Empire. But still, I say to my lovely brother-in-law with all due respect, you don’t yet know what being a real baseball fan is all about. Spend the next 20 years cheering for the Yankees, and maybe we can talk. Otherwise? Yah ass is grass.
The Olive Gal
green of skin, black of heart
