A different kind of recap… I’m still not fully recovered

NOTE FROM CYN:  Along with many others I know, Tru was at Fenway for Game 5.  He sent me this yesterday, and my slow butt just got around to posting it.  I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

Like so many others this morning, I’m exhausted.

There is a sense of redemption that the Red Sox gave all of us last night. But the truth of last night’s game forced me into a direction that I did not want to go. I kept thinking and wrote the Beazer (Note from Cyn:  I be Beazer!) that these guys are so much better than what we’d been seeing the last three games.

The feeling was severe disappointment. I had already begun rationalizing our certain exit from the ALCS. I texted these thoughts to Cyn, as the lead was now 5 – 0, and the Sox bats looking every bit dead as the previous two game. I was disheartened, feeling that the timing of the slump was simply awful. I had to check myself, because while it’s clearly true the Sox have been bad in the ALCS, it must also be said that the Rays are a very good team. It is the fragile see-saw of acknowledging the better team, while trying hard not to make excuses for yours. I was guilty of feeling the Sox were toast, and the thought of the Rays celebrating on our field left me empty, and frankly somewhat upset. I had to stay, and was not leaving, no matter how bad things looked.

Earlier this week, I conjectured that as a fan base, we were getting spoiled by the efforts of the Sox management and their choices. No question the park is worlds removed from the days of the “Trust.” And the players that were farm raised, growing up right in front of us was also quite a novelty. Thrown in with key veterans, the Sox were giving us a taste of the good life. Of course, 2004 is and remains the sweetest season I can recall. And 2007 was fully satisfying, as we took all the banners and brought them home.

At the outset of this season, I believed the Sox were poised to not just compete for post season play, but had a serious shot to repeat. But, I also thought we would have to square off against Detroit on the way to the land of milk and honey. Well, I was wrong about Detroit, and also never thought the upstart Rays would last; they too turned my expert opinion into liner for hamster cages; so much for being on my game.

“Ouch! That sealed the deal.”

(Text message to me from Lakewood Ranch, Florida on October 16, at 10:44 PM)

Papelbon had just allowed two runs to score, after Manny Delcarmen put them there on back to back walks.

Some people were slowly filtering out of Fenway, seemingly dejected, and conceding. But the bulk of the crowd remained, and for that, the idea was simple; at least score a run or two. At the very least, don’t let these guys humiliate and shut us out.

If you love baseball, and follow the game, you’re reading around the world how the Red Sox found another magic trick, rabbit out the hat way to win, and thus finding themselves in Tampa for a game six. They did it again. They were not eliminated in front of the home crowd, and live to play another day. There was no celebration of players on our natural turf, while sporting Mohawk hair cuts.

“These fucking guys are killing me.”

(Text message from me to the Beazer on October 16, at 11:49 PM)

There are adages and sayings, such as the one, “with age comes wisdom.” I’m quite confident that my age after the game, and on the way home was more to the tune of a sixteen year old who just got his drivers license, scored the winning touchdown against the cross town rivals and a date with the best looking girl in the whole school. Excited is a gross understatement and I supposed I was a danger on the back roads of New Hampshire.

Talking to Cyn most of the way, I knew I was crazed, and rambling incoherently (Note from Cyn:  Tru wasn’t incoherent at all, he was just terribly giddy!), and she was laughing and repeating over and over how unbelievable the whole thing was. We recounted the whole sense of foreboding to the point that I expected Shaughnessy to lead off his column with a serious shot at Curt Schilling, who for all of eight million dollars bounced the ceremonial pitch a full foot in front of the plate, thus signaling and sealing the complete demise of the team’s fortunes for that night. It would have been that, and much more.

But glued to televisions, or their seats at the park, the fans of this team were there to the last, witnessing yet another moment of Sox lore that has come to define us more these days; that even in the darkest moments, with seemingly no chance, we still believe. I didn’t want to concede, even though I was lining up my congratulations, and good wishes for the other guys. Deep down, that sixteen year old kid kept me afloat, telling me to hang in, and not pack it in. My inner child bested age and wisdom. There are days I like being a kid, and last night was just one of them.

Sports writers have accused the Red Sox and their fans of becoming what they hated about the Yankees and their fans. Through a large payroll and some sense of entitlement, the Red Sox and their arrogant fan base expect and now demand championships. I take exception to that, and this is because the Sox are doing what I’ve wished for, for decades; draft better and build through the farm and for goodness sakes, keep the future stars. And that’s what the Yankees of the 90’s were, long before the bloat of payroll and trying to buy all of the superstar players to get the championships. I’m of the opinion that the Sox management has grasped that notion and as we’ve seen, payroll has been reduced, while level of play has risen.

So here I am, sitting in my office, having done nothing but talk to business colleagues and friends about Red Sox baseball.

Screw it! Today is my own private holiday. The Red Sox said it was okay.

I’m going to lunch.

EDIT FROM TRU: Oh yeah, I forgot.  I thought Kotsay was a key contributor in the game; my player of the game.  His timely hits helped the Sox to the win.  But I need to reassess that.  Crisp had a twelve pitch at bat to drive in the tying run.  So much damage done from the 7th inning on, that no one sat for the remainder of the game.  So if I had a player of the game, it cannot go to just one guy.  Cyn has already pointed that out.  So I’m changing my mind.  The player of the game is everyone last one of them, and every last one of us.