Falling Short

Calendar makers should change the name of the ninth month from "September" to "The Month Than The Boston Red Sox Break Your Heart, You Sucker!"

That giant choking sound you hear in the distance is coming from Fenway Park. It's annual the Red Sox end-of-season slog up Heartbreak Hill. After a hope-kindling series of on-the -road wins in August the team returns triumphantly to Fenway for the final homestand, full of grins and spin. The media loves a winning team. They revive the legend of The Curse of The Bambino; they pour gasoline on the flammable rivalry between New York and Boston. Even the weather forcasters get into the act, telling us the temperature at game time, and whether to bring rain gear to the game. It's a shameless and unforgivable exploitation of the need in some fans to be rooting for a winning team. Worst of all, they offer the false hope that in the end, the Red Sox might win the World Series.

Youngsters and newcomers to New England may be forgiven for their naive hopes that this is finally The Year. But, for those of us who have grown-up and lived in the Boston area all of our lives, this is the way it always ends: Not with a bang, but a whimper.

Maybe these guys just don't like playing in cold weather, and they would rather spend those chilly playoff days in October laying on a sunny beach somewhere where the weather is warm. They are all millionaires, thanks to the poor shmucks who lay-out the hard-earned bucks to pay for an afternoon or an evening at the game with the kids. So they can afford nice accommodations. Maybe that's what they are thinking about when they are at bat with men on base and they hit a high fastball one hop to the shortstop into a guaranteed double play. Or, when they get thrown-out at second base for not hustling up the first base line when they smack one off the wall in left field.

I used to go to church when I was a younger man full of hope and faith. Then, it occurred to me that what happens is what God wants to happen. This epiphany sent me reeling out of the pew and out of the Fenway bleachers forever. Clearly, if God exists, then He loves Yankee fans more than Red Sox fans.

So, you can keep dreaming, hoping or praying - or whatever you die-hard fans do during the inevitable torture of the season finale. Me? I'm thinking about football. Seventeen in a row. Superbowl Champs. A team that cannot lose tomorrow (mainly because they are not playing).