So how do I feel?
For one thing, shocked. I went to bed early last night anticipating a very long day today (going to the Fenway Fiction reading in Kenmore Square right after work). I went to bed with the score 4-2 Boston, and Wakefield doing well.
I woke up this morning, and all was despair.
So how do I feel?
On the surface, at least, deeply frustrated. For once, couldn't we just have it easy? Couldn't we just win the division, and head into the postseason, come what may?
Deeply, deeply frustrated. We got to Kazmir last night--the kid was all but panting on the mound, looking around as if the answer was written somewhere. These are the Tampa Bay Devil Rays. If we lose a series to them, do we deserve October?
Incredibly frustrated. I try hard not to think about Manny's pop-out with the bases loaded early in the game. Thinking about it is like pressing on a bruise.
But on another hand I feel a strange kind of resignation.
The best I can explain it, is, have you ever had a friend who was in a situation or doing something you felt awful about--something you didn't approve of, or objected to, or thought was awful for them--but all you could do was stand by and watch? All you could do was say, "I'm here if you need me, give me a call, let's talk about it," knowing they probably wouldn't reach out?
It's not that you give up on your friend, or don't believe in them. You still, in your heart of hearts, believe they'll want to do the right thing, and will cheer them on every step of the way. But you know that if they don't, you've made your decision already to support them regardless of their actions. That they're your friend, someone you care so deeply about, someone you want the best for.
That's how I feel--a sort of sad resignation. On the one hand, the sky has not fallen yet. A half game out of the division is a hell of a lot better than we were doing at this time last year. A game out of the Wild Card, too, is still not insurmountable. The chips still have to fall. And on the other, even in the absolute worst case scenario, I am with them, I'm behind them, I'll still belong to them. If I have to, I will go down with the ship.
I will say this, however: I am more than prepared to give up on many of my fellow Red Sox fans if I hear a single boo in the upcoming home games to finish out the season. I don't care if they lose every game by ten runs. Booing is absolutely unacceptable, even if the frustration is understandable. I don't care if you rant and rave and hate them in your hearts. But do it quietly--don't you dare forsake them in their own house.
Or do what I do. At the worst of times, try to think about what you're supposed to learn from all this. I'm not saying I have the answer--but I feel like it's out there somewhere. That's what keeps me watching. Sometimes, it's all I have, and sometimes, it's even enough.