Dear Nomar,
Greetings from Massachusetts! I’m sorry it took so long for me to write. You know how crazy things get in October for everyone in Red Sox Nation. Unlike you, we don’t get the month off. There’s nothing really new here, except for the fact that I broke my ankle this past weekend at a cheesy club in Montreal in front of about 40 French Canadians.
Anyway, how’ve you been? I was doing fine until the other night. I don’t know if you were watching, but the Red Sox just lost to the Yankees in Games 1 and 2 of the ALCS. I know what you’re thinking – if you were still with Boston, maybe they could’ve won the games. I don’t blame you. I mean, your stats were spectacular against New York in the ALCS last year (.241 with 1 RBI).
As much as it pains you to hear me say it, the losses weren’t Cabrera’s fault, or Schilling’s. Actually, the person who lost the first game for the Sox wasn’t even on the field that night. That person was in my apartment. That person has never thrown a sweaty jockstrap at a teammate after a game. That person was my friend Jodie.
Now don’t get me wrong, Jodie’s not only a beautiful girl, but she’s also one of my good friends. For these reasons, my roommates and I let her watch the Sox with us whenever she wants. Granted, Jodie makes an innocent comment every once in a while, so when she says things like, “If you buy season tickets, can you go to away games too?” or, “Why does Ortiz’s helmet have a chinstrap?” we just let it slide. Despite her limited knowledge of the game, she gives great advice to the players like, “I think Manny should hit a homerun right now,” or “Johnny Damon should shave.”
But as nice as Jodie is, when it comes to the Red Sox, calling her bad luck would be an understatement. Just look at the statistics: The Yankees scored 10 runs against the Red Sox in Game 1 and she was in the living room for all 10 of them. The Sox, on the other hand, scored 7 runs on the Yanks and she was present for none of them. Yet, the jackass kept coming back into the room, and what’s worse, we let her.
But enough about my friend, the losses don’t even make me nervous, Nomar, and here’s why: because Jodie will no longer be allowed in our house on game days; because Pedro is going to pitch a hell of a series, as his contract, his career, and more importantly his pride will be made or broken by it. And, no matter how well he pitches, he will be chained to the dugout from the eighth inning until the game ends.
Because, I can buy your Red Sox jersey at TJ Maxx for $8. Because I’m dating a Yankees fan, and if that isn’t a reverse jinx, then I don’t know what is. Because zero out of the eight people who designed the “Star Wars” intro before Game 1 have lost their virginity; because as the t-shirt says, “Posada is a little bitch.” Because we no longer have any players who pay more attention to their batting rituals than their teammates.
Because Orlando Cabrera, Dave Roberts, and Doug Mientkiewicz wouldn’t sit on the bench in a pivotal 13-inning game against the Yankees instead of sacing up to help their team.
Because, in case you haven’t noticed Nomar, things haven’t been the same in Boston since you left.
As a matter of fact, things have been much better. The Fenway standing ovations that were once wasted on you alone are now given to every single member of the team, even to scraggly, 170-strike-out Mark Bellhorn, simply because we’re in on a little secret that no one else has the capacity to understand.
The secret is … things are just different this year. For the last half-century, Red Sox fans have been personified as the little boy in “The Polar Express.” As children, we not only hear that bell, but we love that bell, just as we love our team. But with the passing of each year, as pitchers blow games in late innings, as balls trickle helplessly through first basemen’s legs, as disappointments build and unspoken promises are broken, that bell rings just a little bit softer. Eventually, we no longer believe, and eventually, it fails to ring at all.
But not this year: midway through the season, after Varitek kicked A-Rod and you were traded to Chicago, we began to hear something we haven’t heard in a while, and it’s been ringing louder ever since. I can hear it. My roommates can hear it. The players sure as hell hear it, and deep down, there’s a part of us that wishes you were still in Boston to hear it with us.
Wish you were here,
Matt
Matt Brochu is a UMass graduate student.
