I'm the reason the Sox won
Sitting in my living room in Iceland by myself last night, listening to WEEI on the net, 4:15 am local time, streets dark and quiet outside my window, feeling elated and amazed by this sudden reversal of the expected order of things, and yet sad that I was stuck here when my old neighborhood was the place to be. "Why do I have to be up here when the Sox are winning down there?" was racing through my head.
And then it occurred to me...
Maybe I'm the reason the Sox won.
See, in 2003, I moved into an apartment at 61 Brookline Ave, directly across from Fenway Park. I thought, "wouldn't it be great if this was the yeeah and I was heeah". And I *was* there, yelling "Cowboy Up!" out of my windows, watching the hordes ride a moving taxi and tip over a Jetta after Oakland Game 5, yelling down at unsupecting Yankee fans in line at Beer Works, and of course, I was there to feel the empty heartache after Aaron Boone's homer, and walk out onto a deserted Yawkey Way after that game.
Then I got to see a sight every day that few in the Nation think about: Fenway Park, frozen over, hibernating through an endless Boston winter, grey light towers standing sentry against a grey sky. It's cold and forgotten at Fenway in the winter, in the wasteland between another crushing defeat and the distant promise of spring training.
Then the new season started, I cheered and got excited and yelled out my window again. I was getting ready to move to Iceland for a new job. On July 21 the movers came and crated away all my things, desks, tables, the bed, the couch, my Sox hat, my Red Sox Century book, the team jacket, and even my Derek Lowe No-No ticket stub... it all went into 2 big crates, into a shipping container, to a warehouse, and then onto an old rusty ship headed north.
So what I think maybe happened was, during the cold cold winter those old ghosts and apparitions at Fenway need somewhere warm to hang out. And they took a liking to my apartment (who wouldn't? the place was great... and you can't beat the couch... and all the Sox stuff made 'em comfortable) and kept coming by, made a habit of it, hanging around in the comfy chairs ... so comfy they hardly noticed when they got wrapped up in brown paper and cellophane, and boxed, and crated...
And then they were in a steel box on a ship steaming into the North Atlantic, no escaping. After two weeks found themselves outside in a the cold and brightness of an unfamiliar (and many say haunted) place...
Meanwhile back in Boston, without the weight of the past the Sox went on a tear... and by the time they got to the ALCS the Yanks couldn't figure out the difference, cause those old superstitious friends they always rely on just weren't there anymore.
Cause I brought 'em all here. And now there's no getting back...
On to the Series! Go Sox!
And then it occurred to me...
Maybe I'm the reason the Sox won.
See, in 2003, I moved into an apartment at 61 Brookline Ave, directly across from Fenway Park. I thought, "wouldn't it be great if this was the yeeah and I was heeah". And I *was* there, yelling "Cowboy Up!" out of my windows, watching the hordes ride a moving taxi and tip over a Jetta after Oakland Game 5, yelling down at unsupecting Yankee fans in line at Beer Works, and of course, I was there to feel the empty heartache after Aaron Boone's homer, and walk out onto a deserted Yawkey Way after that game.
Then I got to see a sight every day that few in the Nation think about: Fenway Park, frozen over, hibernating through an endless Boston winter, grey light towers standing sentry against a grey sky. It's cold and forgotten at Fenway in the winter, in the wasteland between another crushing defeat and the distant promise of spring training.
Then the new season started, I cheered and got excited and yelled out my window again. I was getting ready to move to Iceland for a new job. On July 21 the movers came and crated away all my things, desks, tables, the bed, the couch, my Sox hat, my Red Sox Century book, the team jacket, and even my Derek Lowe No-No ticket stub... it all went into 2 big crates, into a shipping container, to a warehouse, and then onto an old rusty ship headed north.
So what I think maybe happened was, during the cold cold winter those old ghosts and apparitions at Fenway need somewhere warm to hang out. And they took a liking to my apartment (who wouldn't? the place was great... and you can't beat the couch... and all the Sox stuff made 'em comfortable) and kept coming by, made a habit of it, hanging around in the comfy chairs ... so comfy they hardly noticed when they got wrapped up in brown paper and cellophane, and boxed, and crated...
And then they were in a steel box on a ship steaming into the North Atlantic, no escaping. After two weeks found themselves outside in a the cold and brightness of an unfamiliar (and many say haunted) place...
Meanwhile back in Boston, without the weight of the past the Sox went on a tear... and by the time they got to the ALCS the Yanks couldn't figure out the difference, cause those old superstitious friends they always rely on just weren't there anymore.
Cause I brought 'em all here. And now there's no getting back...
On to the Series! Go Sox!
posted by JB at 21.10.04
1 Comments:
Meanwhile, my new neighborhood (soccer) team, KR, a team historically as dominant and hated in Icelandic soccer as the Yanks had been in baseball, is suffering through one of its worst seasons of all time.
The ghosts seem to have taken over a new neighborhood. Maybe 80+ years until KR wins again, then?
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