Pennant pessimism

The day after the Boston Red Sox won the American League Championship, I walked into work expecting to see my coworkers in whistling, cheerful moods. They had anxiously watched their team come back from a three-game deficit to win the American League over their nemeses, the New York Yankees. What wasn’t there to celebrate? I was surprised to see all the die-hard fans with serious faces, quietly talking amongst themselves as if someone had recently passed away. I asked one of the senior analysts, perhaps the most avid Sox fan among them, the reason for the somber mood.

He shook his head and said, “Did you see all those people celebrating in the street last night?” I had, they showed it on the news and had pictures of it online. “Well,” he said, “those aren’t the real Red Sox fans. The real fans are even more nervous than ever.” I didn’t get it. This man was a true Sox fan. Being a Red Sox fan was the primary defining element of his personality. Before being a husband, lawyer, or Jewish, he was a Red Sox fan. And yet he sat there at the boardroom table before one of our meetings looking like he just lost everything the stock market. He, like thousands of other Boston fans, are more sure than ever that their team will choke. And he is convinced that as long as he doesn’t get his hopes up and as long as he expects them to lose, there might still be a chance of them winning.

Red Sox fans must be the most superstitious, fatalistic, and contradictory bunch of sports fanatics in the world. My colleague explained to me that Boston had done well thus far because he had been able to go to his favorite sports bar and watch the whole game uninterrupted. Every time he had been interrupted or unable to watch the game at that specific sports bar, they had choked. He woefully explained to me (in all seriousness) how the last time Boston went to the World Series he had been watching the game at a friend’s house instead of his sports bar. But the real reason, he said, why they lost the game was because in the 9^th inning with the Sox ahead his friend went into the kitchen and popped the champagne early. My colleague screamed, “No, you can’t do that! You can’t celebrate early! They’ll lose!” Sure enough, within a few minutes they choked and lost the game. (My colleague had to flee the house because his friend got so angry he was throwing objects and swearing a blue streak.)

So the collective anxiousness of Red Sox fans around the country cranked up another notch as Boston won the first game of the World Series last night. They shake their heads and speculate how it could all go down the tubes, while they wear their lucky socks or go to their lucky sports bars and plan their schedules around the games. I’m routing for the Sox too, actually. But I’m not a true fan, so I can celebrate and enjoy the games. I only care because a) they beat the Yankees, and the Yanks deserved to be whupped sometime, and b) my grandpa would be happy if they won. He watched the Sox games for decades without seeing them take the pennant, and I’m not sure if he’ll get a chance to see another season at this point. When there is a game on, I know he’s wheeled his chair down to the TV to watch it. He’s probably asleep half the time, but he’s watching the game. He doesn’t follow much these days, but he follows the Red Sox when they play. I know it’d make him happy if they won.

Geez, I hope I’m not being to optimistic. They could still choke. Maybe I’ll go down to the sports bar on Pennsylvania Ave. and watch the game. This one’s important. This one’s for Grandpa.