Word: sox
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...found myself chanting "Jose, Jose," I realized that it is the uniform, not the player inside, to which I have a loyalty. After all, Jose Canseco was the embodiment of Satan when he crushed the Sox in the playoffs in 1988 and 1990. This explains how my grandmother, a diehard fan who listened to almost every Red Sox game in the Morgan Magic season, couldn't tell the difference between Wade Boggs and Roger Clemens...
...while greedy players and foolish owners may have stopped working for a while, the Red Sox just took an extended off-season. And I am not a Jose Canseco fan or a Roger Clemens fan; I am a Red Sox fan. So when my brother called me up Wednesday morning out of the blue, saying he had just bought Opening Day tickets, I cut my classes and went to see the Red Sox...
...working their magic on my soul, the Sox were back Wednesday in full glory. Sitting in intimate Fenway Park, I felt connected with the father who took his two sons out of school to see the game, with the army vet waiting in line for pizza, even with the drunk guy three rows behind me who heckled opposing pitcher Scott Erickson ("They got you shaking in your boots, Scowtie!"). We all cheered in unison...
...most importantly, on Opening Day I once again felt foolish hope: Aaron Sele carried a no-hitter into the fifth, and my heart fluttered as I longed for all goose eggs for nine innings. In good Red Sox form, Sele blew it, but that just means I have something to hope for next time. I hope that the Red Sox win it all this year, for I know that will bring the Messiah...
Opening Day is the time when the real world melts in favor of the mythic. And I, for one, am going to go to as many Red Sox games...