Within a half an hour of the Red Sox season ending with a resounding thud against the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim of the United States of the World, an old, familiar feeling came creeping back, that emptiness you feel when you are passionate about a team, and in the end, your deepest hopes came up short as they always do majority of the time. The pain recently hasn’t been as sharp as it was before 2004, two World Series titles will do that to a fanbase that never expected to see a title in their lifetime. But along the course of a long season, you forget, blissfully, of what the ending of the previous year had brought. But then, ever so cruelly, you get reminded, seemingly on an annual basis.
This year though, I’m not bitter. Disappointed, maybe, but my pain as a Red Sox fan isn’t what it used to be when all October brought was a nice little reminder of how God hated the Red Sox. This year concluded just about everything I wanted to see as a fan the Sox. I’ve seen my World Series wins, I can die happily now, but this year I got to actually go to Fenway.
Not only did I get to soak in the rich, cultural experience that is Boston, but I got to have my first Red Sox home game be a win that Josh Beckett pitched against the Yankees. I saw an obviously aging Mike Lowell slam a game-clinching home run over the Monster, I saw Jason Varitek in all of his offensive glory hit a grand slam, I got to drink beer and scream at Johnny Damon simultaneously, and it was as beautiful as I thought revenge could be. Continue reading Eat My Sports: Ouch
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