Exile from Red Sox Nation

by Randy Garbin

Regular readers know that I spent most of my life living in Massachusetts, a status that also confers citizenship in Red Sox Nation. Moving to Pennsylvania did not initially change that status since Red Sox fans seem . I followed the team with (mostly) great interest and then with enormous joy as they finally won the World Series. Like most Sox fans, I then found myself feeling rather odd about my affinity for the team. Sox fans had for so long stoically accepted this team's perennial loser status, that it ingrained itself into the very nature of our sporting identity. You simply could not become a Sox fan without accepting the prospect of a lifetime of suffering. You could bring charges of child abuse against parents who introduced their children to Fenway Park. "Wait 'til next year," hardly made for a rousing battle cry, and after too many years of waiting, I stopped saying it. Wait for what? More heartbreak?

Indeed, when the Sox actually made it into the playoffs last year, I just rolled my eyes. "Not again," I thought. I just couldn't watch, could I? I still vividly remember the Bob Stanley wild pitch in the '86 Series (the real reason the Sox tanked in game six); the Bucky Dent bloop homer in 1978; and the ecstasy and agony of of the '75 series. I frankly grew weary of this whole Red Sox vs. Yankee "rivalry," but not as weary as I've become of seeing the Yankees effectively treat the rest of the league as their de facto farm system. Seeing these two teams battle it out -- yet again -- in another round of playoffs was a spectacle I really didn't think I could stomach. I quietly hoped the Sox would quickly get it over with and lose so that we Sox fans could finally stick a fork in this season. No, I can't say I was the most optimistic of fans, but I still wear the scars from past wishful thinking.

But then they actually won, and won big. Not in my wildest dreams would I have predicted the Sox would actually win the series in four games. No, I fully expected them to drag it out a full seven games, and if they did actually win, would have to do it with an excruciating fifteen-inning seventh game.

As I pondered the formerly imponderable, how I actually lived to see them win, and whether or not the Sox could actually become a Yankees-like dynasty, I took notice of my new hometown team, the Philadelphia Phillies. In my family, the idea of following a National League team bordered on heresy, but watching the Sox play the Phils in interleague play two years ago gave me the opportunity to see first-hand why the designated hitter was such a bad idea. During a game that lasted thirteen innings, I not only watched Pedro Martinez in the batters box, but I saw how the lack of the DH changed the whole dynamics of the game -- especially when it went into extra innings.

So, this year I started reading the sports section and getting better acquainted with this new crew. Attaining their last title in 1980, the Phillies hadn't endured a title draught as lengthy as the Red Sox, but aside from that, they had a history nearly as depressing as my Red Sox. Phillies fans had suffered with similar severity as Boston fans over the run of their existence. In the past few years, the team has found itself mired in mediocrity, but they did have a new stadium and some real prospects. On top of all that, from my walkable community, I could easily take the train to the stadium on game days.

Then came last weekend and the two teams' first area match-up since the last time I saw them play. Thanks to a well-placed friend, I managed to get my hands on a pair of tickets for myself and my wife to this sold out match. As game day approached, friends and family began to ask, "Who will you root for?" Good question. Having now watched or listened to most of the Phillies games since opening day, these guys had actually earned a place in my heart. Coming off a triumphant homestand in early June, the team started to look like serious contenders to perhaps, maybe, possibly clinch the division.

But they were playing the Boston Red Sox, a team, that except for seven years after the Bucky Dent incident when my disgust got the better of me, I followed with intense interest and enthusiasm. As a young Little Leaguer, I remember closely studying Carl Yastremski's batting stance and talking about it with my teammates. I wore my first uniform with particular pride because it displayed number "9," the same as Ted Williams. To me, the sound of Joe Castiglione's play by play had come to define the summer season. I always considered myself an ardent fan of the Sox and a staunch hater of the Yankees, and regarded Fenway Park as the most sacred patch of land on the planet. The very idea of ever rooting against the Sox was anathema to me.

And yet, a part of me recognized that the Sox, once the walking, batting, pitching embodiment of the underdog, were no longer so. They were the Goliath, and worse, they were invading Goliaths. I hated to admit it, but I found myself hoping the Phillies would win.

And I hoped in vain. In fact, the Phillies got pounded. They played a Red Sox team I barely recognized: Dominant, in control, powerful, and relaxed. The Phillies went on to lifelessly lose the whole series. I couldn't believe my reaction, but I was crushed. Worse, in the park and on the subway ride home, I saw many happy Sox fans acting in a very strange fashion. They were loud, boisterous, and gloating. Dare I say it? They acted like Yankees fans.

The Red Sox fan loses his or her humility at great risk. Granted, it does seem that the organization finally has management that truly wants to win and will do whatever necessary to get there -- and do it without leveling Fenway Park. But nothing is permanent. From their inception in 1904 to 1919, the team enjoyed a similar dominance of the league that all went away with a rather inglorious trade. Who's to say that these new owners won't similarly cash it in? And last I checked, the Yankees are still a part of the league.

Having lived to see my team win the title, a part of me wants to move on. Now that I have indeed done so in a geographic sense, perhaps it's also time to adjust my baseball allegiances as well. The Red Sox's new superstar status has made the greatest park in baseball unavailable to all but the wealthy or the well-connected, while I can still easily get good game day tickets at The Bank. I don't particularly care for the new Phillies manager, but I enjoy watching Jimmy Rollins turn a double play or Bobby Abreu crush one into the upper deck or Chase Utley slap a critical hit with men on base.

And best of all, I think my little girl is going to enjoy all this as well. The two things on television that seem to interest her the most are "The Simpsons" and baseball. If all works out, expect to find the two of us sharing an ice cream at The Bank next year when I bring her to the first of what I hope will be many, many games.

What do you think? Send us your opinions to roadsideonline.com or post them on our Forum.