The last time I felt this way was Friday, October 17, 2003. Aaron Boone had just launched a home run into the left field seats at Yankee Stadium; thus sending the Yankees, and not the Red Sox, to the World Series. As Boone jubiliantly jogged around the bases, I sat perfectly still in horror. I couldn’t move. It was almost as if I was watching someone rip my heart straight of my body. It was simply terrifying. Once I finally summoned enough energy, I turned off the TV. I didn’t have enough energy to move any further at that point, so I just stared at the blank screen for about 10 minutes or so. My mind was blank. My body was numb. Then without thinking, I stood up, walked out my front door, and went for a walk through the parking lot of my apartment complex–in shorts, a t-shirt, and no shoes. The pain and terror was almost too much to handle. I didn’t think a sporting event could ever break me like that again.
I was wrong.
As many of you know by this point, I’m a Twitter junkie. For the past couple of weeks, I’ve practically live tweeted my life and nearly every game to the point where people actually noticed when I wasn’t there. (It’s a little scary, but in a good way.) After Dan Johnson hit his miraculous and improbable home run to tie the game with two strikes and two outs in the bottom of the ninth, I made a decision. I don’t want to say I’d lost hope (because I hadn’t), but the thought of interacting with anyone when the “inevitable” happened was too much for me to handle. The fatalistic memories and experiences of my pre-2004 life as a Red Sox fan had come back to haunt me. If Red Sox were going to complete their collapse, I had to do it alone. If they were victorious, I was going to celebrate by myself. It was that simple. So I shut down my computer and put away my phone for the night. I just couldn’t do it anymore.
The events that occurred on Wednesday night were far too cruel for me to comprehend or explain. They go far beyond anything I could tell you. And to be honest, I don’t even have the energy to complain, get angry, or cry at this point. I just feel numb. All I keep thinking is that Dan effing Johnson and Robert effing Andino were the ones that snatched the Wild Card out of the hands of the Red Sox, and handed it to the Rays. While I recognize it’s not entirely their fault, I still don’t understand how this can be possible. It feels like some twisted sports nightmare. How can two players so mediocre be so adept at crushing the dreams of the Red Sox and their fans? It defies everything I know to be logically and rationally true. It just goes to show that no matter how hard you try, you can’t predict baseball.
To torture myself, I’ve been watching the replays on almost an endless loop. Even though I know it won’t happen, some small part of me holds out hope that this time, the replay will be different. Yeah, it sounds stupid, but at this point I have nothing else. Our season is over. I won’t go as far as saying this hurts as much as 1986 or 2003, but it’s close. There’s a different feel to this ending than ones in years past. While it certainly feels like the end of an era, I’m not really sure what it all means. I don’t know what shape it will take, or who will get left behind. I only know that things will never be the same.
Over the past year (and September especially), I’ve devoted my life to the Red Sox. I watched or followed every game; cheered them on every step of the way; remained positive when nearly everyone else had given up; called out every irrational sportswriter that vomited garbage onto the sports page; and did my best to calm the nerves of a nation on the verge of widespread panic. Do I feel cheated? Absolutely not. Even though the Red Sox were part of a two-pronged historic collapse, this was one of the most exciting (and brutal) month’s of baseball I’ve ever experienced. It was intense, heartbreaking, and thrilling all at once. Even though I’m incredibly sad right now, it’s hard for me to be angry. I wouldn’t have traded the last month for anything…well, except for a different outcome. This is what baseball is all about. It’s beautiful, cruel, and unpredictable. Hopefully next time this happens, we’ll be the ones participating in an on-field celebration. I can’t and won’t give up hope.
Since I was offline when it all went down last night, I decided to record my reaction to the ending of the games. Here’s my reaction:
Ok, that wasn’t really me. That was Kevin from the League. Still, it was pretty damn close. Hope that made you laugh just a little.
In closing, I want to send out a few shout outs. Special thanks to Evan, Charlie, Troy, Darryl, Tim, Paul, Scott, Justine, and Alex for being such amazing co-conspirators this season. I’ve enjoyed every minute of it. To Jody, Pat, Matt, Lee, NotCoachTito, and every other regular Fire Brand reader, thanks for reading every day and providing us with regular support! To the guys and girls of IIATMS and The Ray Area, thanks for doing all of those game chats with us. I can’t wait to do more next year. Oh, and by the way, we’re gunning for you! Lastly, a special thank you to David Schoenfield, Christina Kahrl, and the rest of the Sweet Spot crew for reading and responding to my countless emails; sharing our articles with your readers; and letting us contribute to your site. It really means a lot.
Alright folks, it’s time to close out this season, and officially kick off the offseason. Just like the last six months, we’ll be here every day providing analysis and breaking news updates. We hope to see you around!