Maybe it's a little premature to wax schmoopy, mournful and nostalgic for the Glory Days of Boston Sports. But the FH and I sat down with my new copy of Three Games to Glory III (thank you, Borders 40% off weekend!), and watched the first 3/4 of the division game against the Colts...and...and...
I think I'd avoided buying it earlier because I knew Tedy would be all over it, and frankly, I didn't want to see Tedy, because seeing Tedy, back when I thought he was gone forever, would have made me need a stiff drink or six.
Now I'm avoiding my Faith Rewarded DVD for a similar reason: I don't want to see Theo right now, don't want to hear about Theo, don't want to think about Theo. By extension, I don't want to see, hear about, or talk about the Red Sox, either, and all I feel when I do hear about them of late is a kind of dull rage, especially since what I hear about them are stupid, frivolous rumors about maybe Theo is coming back, and I'm sorry, maybe I've been burned one too many times this winter, but all I really think when I hear that is that Larry shot his PR load a little too early with the Theo fiasco, and he's trying to figure out what he can do to hold our attention through the off-season now that we're all thoroughly disgusted--I know! Start a rumor he's coming back! That'll keep 'em buying the Globe!
And I'm sorry, but the only reaction I can muster to that is a big ol' Fuck You.
I love the Red Sox. I love them dearly and fiercely, which is why, right now, I hate Larry Lucchino's guts. I hate his guts and John Henry's guts and Manny Ramirez's guts and Johnny Damon's guts. I root for the laundry, and right now, the way I see it, hardly anyone wearing it is worthy of it. I love the Red Sox, but I hate what's happening to them.
No refuge in the Patriots right now, either. Hell of a time they picked to devolve from a winning machine into a Roulette wheel. Round and round she goes, where she stops week to week--victory or defeat, a bit of the old glory or humiliation--nobody knows. Injuries, personnel changes, etc., I know the whole story. Doesn't make me feel much better, though, when trying to drown my Red Sox angst in the Patriots, as per the last few years' tradition, and coming up dry.
I keep trying to tell myself it's not over, it's not the end of the world, that there still is a Red Sox team, and they still have good players, and no one can ever take away 2004; that the Patriots are still above .500, and hey, they can't win the Super Bowl every year. But I can't help feeling like the moment has passed, that whatever magic was with us for the last three or four years may never visit us again.
And yes, I know. Entitlement, other fans have it worse, you're just a typical miserable Boston fan--you know what? Shut the fuck up. This isn't about you.
We had something, these last few years. Something ineffable and sweet and captivating. The whole region was swept up in something. All of a sudden it was like a supernova--blinding brilliance; your hometown abuzz with the same talk on everyone's lips. What would otherwise have been mediocre working days suddenly becoming unofficial holidays--come on people, now, smile on your brother, everybody get together and mob Kenmore Square.
Now, though the situation is not dire, things are fizzling. One by one, the fires seem to be dying; the blinding lights seem to be winking out. It seems to be coming time to admit that things are returning to a cold kind of normalcy, and after the warm fuzzies of the last few years, the drop in temperature takes some getting used to.
I'm sure I'll become used to it--even happy with it. But right here, standing on the cusp between "Remember when...?" and "What next?", I'd be stupid if I didn't admit there's a lump in my throat.