I'm sure there are questions about a Red Sox fan living in Texas... Let me assure you, I am no bandwagon, fair weather, member of the pink hat brigade. My situation is a very sad one. Let me explain.
My dad is a die hard yankees fan. He lived his whole life in Morristown, New Jersey before attending college in Boston (Bentley College), where he met my mom who lived her whole life in Hanover, MA. I was the first of 9 grandchildren to my grandfather (who lived his whole life without ever living outside of Massachusetts), who would be damned before any grandchild of his had anything to do with the yankees. For this reason, I will always consider him the greatest man who ever lived.
My dad didn't do too well during my birth. As a matter a fact, he fainted (typical yankees fan, but all joking aside I do love my Dad, he's the only one I have) towards the end of things. When things were finally settled down a bit, my grandfather was the first to see me. Luckily he had his red sox hat handy, and he took a polaroid of that hat as close to me as the nurses would allow, and set off to find my dad. You snooze you lose, as the saying goes.
I've been to Fenway more times than I could ever count, and since leaving Connecticut (where we lived while in New England), I have yet to miss one single Sox game when they are down playing the poor rangers (who have no fan base. Baseball is nothing to anyone in Texas, it's sad really).
My first Red Sox memory isn't a very detailed (or a very good) one. It happened when I was just 3 years old. We were staying with my grandparents for a visit, and my grandfather woke me up from my sleep because the Red Sox were about to win the World Series. Unfortunately, things didn't quite work out, and while I can't honestly say I remember watching the game (I was 3 after all), I do remember taking a VERY long walk down Winter Street in Hanover, MA as my Grandfather tried to get me back to sleep and sort out what he would do with himself.
When I was little my favorite player was Mike Greenwell, because his name reminded me of the Green Monster, and stuff like that matters when you don't know any better. It could have been worse, I could have chosen roger clemens.
My Grandfather died without ever seeing the Sox win it. He was Korean War disabled veteran and is buried in Cape Cod National Cemetary. My Aunt lives in Sandwich and went down to decorate his grave and his wife's grave with Red Sox stuff the day after they won it all in 2004. She said it was difficult to get to his grave because everyone else had the same idea, and people just cried together. She said it was one of the most emotional experiences she's ever had.
My reaction was tears of sadness. I'd love to say they were tears of joy that it finally happened, but I was sad I couldn't celebrate it with my Grandfather more than anything else. I was also sad because I think a large piece of me had decided I was going to die without seeing them win it as well, and for some strange reason, the realization that wasn't going to happen got to me. Strange... And there was guilt involved too. What made me so special that I got to witness it? But the life of a true Red Sox fan is one of suffering, so why should winning be any different?
Truth be told, I am not a big message board kind of guy. I am going to try this thing out, and see if I can't contribute anything to this community. Sorry this post got so long, but how can you describe what it is to be a BoSox fan without getting long? haha.
Take care!
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Originally Posted by W.B. Mason
