NEW YORK, N.Y. -- History is bigger than you, it's bigger than me and it's certainly bigger than the Boston Red Sox. Though I shy away from professing faith in any tangible curse on the grounds that last Thursday's loss was avoidable, I will say it is uncanny how the Sox could choke away a seemingly sure win in such dramatic and heartbreaking fashion.
As a result of the time and energy that I devoted to the Red Sox during the season -- intensely following a grueling 162-game schedule and dissecting the team's every game and transaction -- I thought it was fortunate and somewhat fitting that I should have the chance to watch Games 6 and 7 from Yankee Stadium. I was there to see my Sox through to the end. It was to be a life-changing experience: For better or worse.
My brother and I were brave souls, donning Red Sox apparel and openly cheering for Boston, albeit cautiously at times. The barrage of verbal abuse and the battery of peanuts thrown at my back by Yankee fans were insignificant, however, to the misery inflicted by my own Red Sox and especially by manager Grady Little.
While I admit the Yankees played well and were relentless, I do not think one can properly say that they won this series -- the Red Sox lost it. I firmly believe Boston outplayed the Yankees.
The drama and letdown started with Game 6, a game the Sox never should have won. With John Burkett starting and Grady using Bronson Arroyo and Todd Jones (who hadn't pitched since the regular season) as his first two relievers, it was an improbable victory, inspiring new hope in the Red Sox, especially with the knowledge that Pedro Martinez would be starting Game 7.
In Game 7 the Sox took an early 4-0 lead and still led 4-2 when David Ortiz stepped to the plate in the top of the eighth. David Wells came out of the bullpen and Ortiz sent his first pitch into the right field bleachers. And everything was quiet in the Stadium.
There is a mystique and aura about Yankee Stadium. Yankee fans are notorious for their aggressive cheering. Unlike scared Sox fans, who merely applaud the results of plays, Yankee fans anticipate the action and their volume helps catalyze events on the field. But at that moment, it was dead silent. And I started to believe.
The response was prompt, though, as the world disintegrated before me in the bottom half of that very inning. Pedro had thrown 100+ pitches and got into trouble. He worked several Yankees to two strike counts but had no ability to put them away. His tank was empty. But Grady left him to die on the mound. It is absolutely inexcusable. The Yankees teed off on his weary pitches and soon the game was tied.
It was inevitable that the Sox would lose at that point, and Aaron Boone's struggles for New York made him the perfect candidate to finish off the Sox. With his extra-inning game-winning home run, Boone joined the upper echelon of Yankee-dom, led by the likes of Ricky Ledee, Jim Leyritz, Shane Spencer and teammates Luis Sojo and Enrique Wilson -- unlikely Yankees who burst open big games.
Last year on the day following the Red Sox's mathematical elimination from the playoffs, I wrote a sarcastic, tongue-in-cheek season recap for the Olde Towne team, using ridiculous anecdotes from the season to explain why 2002 had been the year of the Sox. The plan for this fall was to write a similar Red Sox eulogy using the new crop of only-could-have-happened-to-Boston stories.
But this year it hurts way too much. The worst part of last week's Game 7 was not that I was there in the House That Ruth Built for the eruption of the Yankee faithful as Boone's home run shattered Boston's dream run.
The worst part was not the end of the 85th consecutive season of Red Sox futility.
The worst part wasn't even Grady Little's bungling of the pitching staff (again).
The worst part was not realizing that this wasn't the year. The worst part was realizing that this was the year, and the Sox still couldn't win it. Too many players had career years, and I can't imagine they'll be able to replicate the same magical run next year.
Days later, I still feel as if I've been kicked in the stomach. I don't care two licks about this World Series. A Marlins victory might take some of the sting off Boston's loss and might make me look smart for predicting a Florida championship even if I made that pick for all the wrong reasons.
I worry for the legions of aging Red Sox fans everywhere who may have just lost their best shot at winning it all in their lifetime. And I worry that I too might join their number.
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