“The Curse” is over.
There was an argument circulating when the Boston Red Sox defeated the New York Yankees in especially dramatic fashion (winning four in a row after losing the first three) in the American League Championship Series that “The Curse of the Bambino” had ended. After all, the Yankees had been the chief tormentors of the Sox since acquiring George Herman “Babe” Ruth (AKA the Bambino) from Beantown for $100,000 in 1920. And the Sox had finally beat them.
Now that the Sox have swept the St. Louis Cardinals and closed out their first World Series win since 1918, we know that “The Curse” would not have been exorcised if the Sox did not complete their miracle and win the whole thing.
I’m a lifelong Sox fan. I’m barely rational right now. I’ve been rooting for this team since I learned how to turn on the TV.
We fans immediately fear the worst when things start to go bad for Boston. When the Red Sox fell behind the Yankees in the League Championship Series, I was done. Ask any one of my friends and they’ll tell you, “Owen was out of it. He thought the Series was over. Idiot.”
And they are right. I am an idiot. I’ve spent countless hours living and dying with each pitch of games that I have no effect on. I wore the same shirt for five games in a row because my team was winning while I wore it. By game four of the World Series, I realized that this team is so good I need not guide them with my superstitious tendencies. This team is better than any “Curse.”
Ah, “The Curse.” How happy I am that it is now just a memory, something that will be mentioned in the same sentence as the Red Sox only when one is speaking of ancient history. Never for an instant have I believed in such silliness. Why do teams not win baseball games, or football or hockey or soccer games for that matter? Failure to perform at the highest level. In games that decide championships, the team that deserves it will win.
Finally, the Red Sox deserved it. No balls rolling through the legs of a 40-year-old first baseman in a decisive game when said first baseman should be on the bench (1986). No shortstops holding the ball with their back to home plate while the winning run scores (1946). No pop-ups drifting over a wall 39 feet tall but only 310 feet deep for Sox-killing home runs (1978).
Bill Buckner, Johnny Pesky, even Bucky Dent, all are forgiven. After all these years, the Red Sox faithful have finally been rewarded.
This brings up an interesting question: what do Red Sox fans do now? For so long, the identity of the Sox was that of “lovable losers.” Not like the loser Cubs, who have an equally avid fan base but are just plain terrible most of the time. Nor like the loser Expos, a team with few fans and even fewer historical achievements.
No, the Red Sox were a team that lived on the border of the Promised Land, teasing its fazns year after year into thinking they might actually surpass the Guardians of the Ring (the Yankees) and make the leap from contenders to champions.
This year, they finally did it. So we are lovable losers no longer. Our identity is not lost, it is changed. If the Red Sox can do it, so can I.
I had nothing to do with the outcome of the 2004 season. I know this. But throughout, I acted as though I did, cracking sunflower seeds nervously, swinging the bat with David Ortiz when there were runners on base, not moving from certain positions on the couch when the team had been successful in that pose. I did what I could. So in a way, though it was they who won it, I won as well.
And if you don’t know what that feels like, you’ve never been a fan.