For the past week I’ve been living in baseball hell.
A Boston Red Sox-New York Yankees championship series collideswith midterm week. Where is my Student Government on this?Shouldn’t there be some University bylaw prohibiting testingduring a potential history-making playoff series?
Needless to say my midterm grades read like MarkBellhorn’s at-bats (strikeout, strikeout, line-drive, itcould be. . . out, strikeout, strikeout. . . ).
But there was too much history here to give up baseball forbooks. For example, last season a huge group of my friends and Icrowded into my friend Mark’s apartment to watch game sevenof the ALCS.
You remember the story, the Red Sox go up 5-2 heading into theeighth. My group, all die-hard Yankee-Haters start passing aroundvictory cigars in anticipation.
Then of course it all came crashing down. Pedro Martinezunbelievably comes out to pitch the eighth and promptly gives upthree runs. We go into extra innings.
The game drags into the 11th still tied. We’re so nervouswith anticipation we’re chewing on each other’sfingernails. Tim Wakefield comes out of the bullpen. Finally, sofrustrated he can barely speak, Mark shoves his “victorycigar” into his mouth and sparks up a lighter.
Before the flame even dies down the Yankees’ Aaron Booneclubs the game-winning homer.
And thus the legend of game seven was born.
It’s been one year and we’ve reminded Mark aboutthat cigar approximately 937 times. Since then the Red Sox got CurtSchilling specifically to pitch in the playoffs only lose him justwhen it was about to matter. The second most devastating injuryever, right behind Lance Harbor’s knee in Varsity Blues.
We witnessed the Red Sox botch the Alex Rodriguez trade, and theYankees swoop in and pull the trigger on the $252 million man.
Which goes back to the reason why everyone hates the Yankees.Here’s some figures for you: $114 million, $138 million, $164million and $184 million. That’s the Yankees’ payrollfor the last four years, respectively, which skyrocketed each timethey failed to win the World Series.
I know it’s like Vin Diesel once said, “Itdoesn’t matter if you win by an inch or a mile, winnings,winning.”
But who can root for a team like this? It’s like cheeringfor the rich kids Benny the Jet and Scott Smalls played against inthe Sandlot. (And I strongly suspect that Vin Diesel is a Yankeesfan.)
Maybe I’m just a sucker for lovable losers, but I alwaysroot for the Sox against the Yankees.
Ignoring midterms, I watched every game of the ALCS thisyear.
I watched as Schilling came apart faster than one ofJ-Lo’s marriages in game one. That debacle was followed byJon Lieber dominating the Red Sox hitters in game two, while Yankeefans Billy Crystal and Jack Nicholson applauded.
After ritualistically burning my copies of City Slickers and TheShining on Friday I psyched myself up for game three onSaturday.
In retrospect, I should have realized game three in Boston fellexactly one year after cigar-gate and game seven. Of course theBronx Bombers laid down a 19-8, “I’m taking you to thewoodshed,” beating in front of a stunned Fenway Crowd.
It was all but over. No team in the baseball history had evercome back from a 3-0 deficit.
But these Sox wouldn’t let us off this easily. First theyput me through a twelve-inning marathon on Sunday until David Ortizsmacked a walk-off homer sometime around 1:00 a.m.
Just before I fell asleep I had one thought, “Oh God,it’s going to be last year’s game seven all overagain.”
And for nine innings it was. Pedro was pitching and predictablyblew the lead again once he went over the 100 pitch mark. I couldfeel bile rising in my throat.
The game went into extra innings just like one year ago. TimWakefield came out of the bullpen just like a year ago. I’mgetting dizzy.
But this time the game just dragged on in a stalemate.
The game entered the 14th inning. At this point I’m pacingthe newsroom and throwing things. Then Johnny Damon walks. MannyRamirez walks.
David Ortiz comes up. He’s made just about every big hitfor the Red Sox this postseason, but even he can’t make iteasy on me. Ortiz fouls off roughly twenty pitches in what seemslike two hours. I am going insane.
Ortiz singles! Sox win! One more game!
The Red Sox don’t win games like this. They don’t gointo extra-innings with the Yankees and come out with a victory.Maybe they’re just setting up me up for another colossaldisappointment, but I can’t turn away now.
My game seven demons have been exorcised. The old priest andyoung priest can go home. I’ve got to go light up a big fatvictory cigar.