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I usually write my monthly articles a few days before the end of the
month. On the evening of October 30 I said to my wife, “I’ve
been so busy with speaking engagements and so caught up watching the Red
Sox in the playoffs and World Series that I haven’t even started
to write my monthly article.” I added, “Not only haven’t
I started to write the article, I haven’t even had time to think
of a topic.”
My wife said, “Why don’t you write about the Red Sox?”
The idea intrigued me. Similar to many New Englanders and other fans
throughout the United States, I feel a strong attachment to the Red Sox
(is it any wonder that the fans are referred to as “Red Sox Nation”?).
As is well known, even among those who are not sports fans, the Red Sox
have just captured their first World Series since 1918 and in the process
they truly had tapped a reservoir of emotions in their fans. Although
they swept a very solid St. Louis Cardinals team in four games, in order
to reach the World Series they first had to play the New York Yankees
for the American League pennant. After losing the first three games to
the Yankees, they staged the greatest comeback in playoff history by winning
the next four games. The infamous “Curse of the Bambino,”
a myth (I should note that some people do not believe it is a myth) stemming
from the sale of Babe Ruth from the Red Sox to the Yankees, was finally
lifted.
Yet, at first I hesitated about writing an article that focused on the
Red Sox. I thought, “My monthly articles are about psychological
themes. Many of my readers may not even be sports or baseball fans.”
It is true that I have written a couple of pieces about youth sports and
last month I wrote about Joe Ehrmann, a former professional football player
and now a minister and high school coach, who instills wonderful life
lessons in his players. But writing about the Red Sox and their World
Series seemed more appropriate for Sports Illustrated than my monthly
website article.
However, the more I thought about my wife’s suggestion, the more
I wanted to write about the Red Sox and the reaction of fans to their
victory. I told myself that this was more than a sports story. It was
a story about connections and relationships, of bonds between parents
and children, of perseverance, hope, and resilience. And then I wondered,
“Are you attempting to cast the Red Sox victory in psychological
terms to justify writing an article about them for your website?”
Another part of me countered, “Well, even so, it’s still an
interesting story.” I should note that my friends who are Yankee
fans have agreed that the Red Sox story of 2004 is newsworthy, although
perhaps depressing to most of them. As this inner dialogue about whether
to write a story about the Red Sox continued, I told myself to sleep on
it and decide tomorrow.
I am writing this article on the morning of October 31 having just finished
reading accounts in The Boston Globe of the Red Sox victory parade
held yesterday that was attended by an estimated three million people.
As I read interviews with the fans and first-hand accounts of the impact
of the World Series win, I reflected on the current Red Sox team and my
and my family’s reactions to their victory. However, I also thought
about another beloved team, the Brooklyn Dodgers, a team that brought
great joy to me almost 50 years ago. I thought about noted historian Doris
Kearns Goodwin’s book about these Dodgers, Wait Till Next Year.
I decided to write the article my wife had suggested.
I realize that baseball or any sport may be seen as “just a game,”
especially when one considers the many significant issues facing us in
today’s world such as terrorism, war, poverty, racism, and the economy.
However, in considering my personal experiences and in reading interviews
in The Boston Globe, I believe that one can find an important place
for “just a game,” a place that adds meaning to our lives.
I grew up in Brooklyn, New York in the 1950s. During my childhood there
were three professional baseball teams in New York City, the Dodgers,
the Giants, and the Yankees. The Dodgers had never won a World Series.
Dodger fans experienced the same frustrations that Red Sox fans have felt.
There was the loss of a playoff series to the Giants in 1951 to determine
the National League champions and then losses in the World Series to the
Yankees in 1952 and 1953. Similar to Red Sox fans, Dodger fans always
uttered the refrain, “Wait until next year.” In 1955, the
Dodgers won the National League pennant and once again faced the Yankees
in the World Series. The Yankees won the first two games in Yankee Stadium.
Not surprisingly, the borough of Brooklyn appeared to have a black cloud
hovering over it. Would Dodger fans once again say, “Wait till next
year”?
Not in 1955. The Dodgers won the next three games at their home park,
Ebbets Field, lost the sixth game at Yankee Stadium, and won a memorable
seventh game at Yankee Stadium, 2-0, behind the superb pitching of Johnny
Podres. It would be their only World Series victory while in Brooklyn;
they moved to Los Angeles after the 1957 season. As the final out of the
1955 World Series was recorded, my brother and I shouted with joy. I vividly
remember the smile on my mother’s face. She knew little about baseball,
but appreciated the significance of what had just transpired. I recall
the smile on my father’s face when he came home from work. And I
will never forget the sound of honking car horns until the wee hours of
the morning. It was one of the happiest memories of my childhood. It brought
people close together if only for a short time.
In 1997, I read Doris Kearns Goodwin’s book about her childhood
growing up in New York and the close bond she shared with her father in
their love for the Dodgers. I was very moved by what she wrote. It re-awakened
memories of my youth. Similar to myself, Goodwin moved to the Boston area
to attend graduate school and became a devoted Red Sox fan. I re-read
parts of her book this morning and was reminded of why her words had such
meaning for me and why I thought of her book following the Red Sox World
Series victory.
Goodwin wrote at the conclusion of her book, “Sometimes sitting
in the park (Fenway Park) with my boys, I imagine myself back at Ebbets
Field, a young girl once more in the presence of my father, watching the
players of my youth on the grassy fields below—Jackie Robinson,
Duke Snider, Roy Campanella, Gil Hodges. There is magic in these moments,
for when I open my eyes and see my sons in the place where my father once
sat, I feel an invisible bond among our three generations, an anchor of
loyalty and love linking my sons to their grandfather whose face they
have never seen but whose person they have come to know through this most
timeless of sports.”
Obviously, there are numerous ways for people to connect with each other.
Many of my website articles as well as the books I have co-authored with
my colleague Dr. Sam Goldstein emphasize the theme of connectedness. Most
of our connections are not based on allegiance to a sports team. However,
given what has transpired between the Red Sox and their fans the past
few weeks, I especially thought about Goodwin’s comments in light
of our connections with others.
I watched the first game of the World Series at my son Rich’s
home in Maine where my wife and I were visiting for the weekend. The addition
of two granddaughters in the past couple of years has prompted frequent
trips to Maine to see Rich, his wife Cybele, and my adorable granddaughters
(I am a biased grandfather), Maya and Sophia. As the Red Sox recorded
the final out in the first game, Rich came over to me, and with a broad
smile on his face and a sense of relief that both of us experienced in
this 11-9 victory, he spontaneously gave me a high five. As he did, I
thought back to the first Red Sox game to which I had taken him, in 1973
when he was five years old. It was against the Yankees. I still remember
his expression of awe as we came up the ramp and he saw the field.
I watched the final game of the World Series from a hotel room on Long
Island in New York. Actually, I missed the first four innings since I
was giving a talk (who knew that when I scheduled the talk a year ago,
the Red Sox would be playing the final game of the World Series). Earlier
in the day my wife and I had spoken and she said to call her after the
game. My younger son Doug left a voicemail message to call him. I turned
on the television in the hotel room and was delighted to see the Red Sox
leading 3-0. I called Doug and said things looked good. I also thought
about an e-mail Doug had sent me a few days earlier. He and his wife Suzanne
have an adorable (I already mentioned I am a biased grandfather) six-month-old
son, Teddy. Doug e-mailed to say that Teddy has already waited six months
for a World Series victory and it was about time it happened.
As relief pitcher Keith Foulke snared a ground ball and flipped it to
first baseman Doug Mientkiewicz for the final out, I shouted, “They
did it, they really did it!” Tears of joy rolled down my face. Why
tears? Isn’t it just a game? Afterwards I recognized that the tears
were rooted in memories of my parents, my childhood, my neighborhood,
my wife, my sons. They were rooted in the years of frustration that had
finally ended for the Red Sox. I immediately called my wife. What excitement,
what joy! Yesterday Doug sent us a photo of himself and Teddy looking
intently in front of them. The note on the e-mail read, “Real parenting.
As you can see, I’m teaching Teddy important life lessons. . . like
how to watch Red Sox World Series highlights.” It was humorous but
an indication of another link between generations.
And then there were the many personal, poignant accounts noted in The
Boston Globe. A man placed a copy of the Globe on his father’s
grave to let him know the team had finally captured the World Series.
There was the physician who took his family regularly to a diner in Fitchburg,
Massachusetts. The diner was owned by Yankee fans who teased him about
the inability of the Red Sox to win a World Series. On his deathbed in
1979, the physician told his son, “The one thing I wish had happened
was that the Red Sox had won the World Series. If they ever win that World
Series, I want you to go out and buy the most expensive bottle of champagne
you can find and go back to the diner and put that bottle on the counter
and say, ‘This is from the Doc!’” The son followed his
father’s wishes the day after the Red Sox won the World Series.
The diner was already closed when he arrived so he left the $100 bottle
of champagne he purchased with an explanatory note at the door. The new
owner of the diner said he would deliver it to the men who formerly owned
the diner.
Leigh Montville, a well-known sportswriter and lifelong Red Sox fan,
described his reactions to the Red Sox victory in the following way: “I
suppose I’m not much different from anyone else around here. I thought
about departed friends and long-ago moments. I heard from people I hadn’t
heard from in years. I told my wife I loved her. I told my kids I loved
them. I drank a little champagne. I flew through the air. I talked to
my dog in French and he talked back. I smiled a lot. I say so far so good.”
Just a game? Who knows. All I know is that with all of the problems
we face, a group of baseball players, coming together as a team, brought
a sense of joy and excitement to people in New England (and Red Sox Nation
everywhere). Their performances transcended the playing field. Their exploits
will become lifelong, indelible memories for countless parents, grandparents,
children, and friends. I hope in whatever form it takes, we all have occasion
to experience the hope, fun, and exhilaration that New Englanders have
experienced the past few weeks.
I guess my wife knew that I just had to write about this experience.
As Leigh Montville said, “So far so good.”
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