This summer, when they saw the Red Sox once again underachieving, with a sub-par and occasionally comical defense, a lack of timely hitting, and a woefully mismanaged bullpen , some Red Sox fans turned to prayer.
"Please, Lord, we don't deserve this humiliation. This is a good team, why can't they play better?"
And, lo, Nomar was traded, the defense was shored up, and the manager stopped thinking so hard. The team went on a tear through the West Division, putting every rival for the Wild Card in the shade, and they ended the season strong as oxen. The first round of the playoffs saw continued smiting - but then the Yankees, always the Yankees.
The Red Sox stumbled and went down to the Yankees three games to none. And nearly all of Red Sox Nation, religious and atheist alike, fell on their knees and beseeched the Lord in whatever fashion seemed most appropriate.
"Oh God (oh god oh god oh god), please, please, PLEASE don't let it end this way! Let our boys win one - just one."
And the Red Sox did.
The prayers increased in intensity and fervency. And the Red Sox won again. And then, in a game so improbable, with a pitching performance out of the mists of legend, the Red Sox won a third game to even the series. Red Sox Nation was stunned, euphoric, and panicked. Prayer seemed to work. And so the prayers were redoubled and even more desperate.
"Don't toy with us, God. Don't bring us this far only to punish us. Haven't we suffered enough?"
It was now that another thought became conscious, welling up in the minds of the faithful. Was it the voice of God, working slow and subtly? Was it the hard New England fatalism, bred from the Puritan stock and nurtured, well-watered, for the past century by the Red Sox? Was it karma, the creaking, swinging scales balancing at last? The whispers started when the Red Sox won the second from the Yankees, but with the series tied and the Red Sox on the verge of a miracle they were becoming too loud to ignore:
The Red Sox or John Kerry: choose.
And the Nation howled in anguish, each in their own soul, each in silent terror or denial, fury or bargaining. The prayers hurled into the aether reflected all of these emotions and more.
"Not this choice, oh Lord. Not this one!"
We are not wholly rational creatures, but neither are we wholly attuned to the uncompromising voice of God. Red Sox Nation's spark of skepticism has always been fanned to flame in October, but this year after three brilliant and sleepless nights the Nation transferred its doubt away from the Red Sox - and onto that soft and nagging pressure. No, the Nation said in its collective soul, there is no choice, that voice is not God's, but only the long New England winter.
And the Red Sox won and all of the Nation felt the ecstasy of faith rewarded and belief confirmed, they fell down and spoke in tongues but comprehended one another, they walked on air as well as water, they were drunk without wine (and with it too, of course). The Red Sox were going to the World Series - and they had defeated the Yankees to do it! Oh, it was pleasure to be alive in those days! The hosannahs of praise rose up the heaven.
"Thank you, Lord! Thank you, God! Your mercy is beyond all understanding! But, God, there is just one more thing . . . "
And the thought welled up again: the Red Sox or John Kerry? And this time many in the Nation listened calmly and chose: John Kerry. They then turned back to celebrating the victory over the Yankees ever louder.
And somewhere in the icy vastness between the stars, God whispered, "Too late."
. . .
Yes. It is about Red Sox fans. It's always about us.
Posted by Martial