Red Sox Existentialism

"The gods had condemned Sisyphus to ceaselessly rolling a rock to the top of a mountain, whence the stone would fall back on its own weight. They had thought with some reason that there is no more dreadful punishment than futile and hopeless labor."

Thus starts Albert Camus' Myth of Sisyphus, an exquisite essay that might as well be written about the Boston Red Sox and their tragically heroic fans. There exists a simply irresistible connection between Boston's eternal damnation and existentialist thought. In fact, one can easily draw many parallels linking the Myth of Sisyphus to the Red Sox plight. After all, one must admit that there is an inescapable element of absurdity to Boston's heartbreaking defeat to the New York Yankees last Thursday.

Now, it would be easy to write about the initial raw emotions that kicked in when our incredulous eyes observed Aaron Boone's ruinous homerun. Those of us who wanted the Red Sox to win experienced a pitiful mixture of anger, sorrow, helplessness and yes, shame. But it would be a nobler endeavor to write about the sophisticated existentialism of the hard-core fans.

At this point, however, I must present a brief disclaimer. No, I am not a lifelong Red Sox fan nor am I a hard-core baseball connoisseur. You could probably then say that it is not my place to write about America's favorite pastime and under normal circumstances I would agree. But the magnitude of Thursday's loss transcends baseball itself, reaching the realms of philosophy and even poetry, not to mention quantum physics and theology. And even if I am no authority on baseball tactics or rules, my lifelong passion for soccer duly entitles me to attempt to heal the wounds of my fellow sports fans.

Having properly admitted to my lack of credentials as a baseball commentator I can return Thursday's exhaustive agony. I must say that the relentless and passionate support of Boston fans left an indelible mark on many international observers like myself. You would think that after so many years of jinxed seasons Boston fans should know better than to entertain any hopes. Had they not realized that hope could drive a man insane? Yet, even if unconsciously they are getting ready for an imminent catastrophe, Red Sox followers always have a moment of weakness. I guess this reoccurring moment of weakness is an intricate part of that sublimely painful curse.

This time, it came during game seven of the series against the Yankees. Glory seemed tangible, within our reach. Baseball heaven looked, oh, so close! But then the rock of our dreams fell back down the mountain. That is the nature of the curse. It is a cruel joke at a noble fan's expense. As the rock begins to fall, time stops momentarily and a dreadful chill goes down your spine. You are outside yourself, and you are left alone with your thoughts.

It is at this point, however, that the Red Sox fan is truly free. That moment of tragic epiphany, when the conscious realization of the absurdity of the situation sinks in, is in itself a triumph. At least that is what Albert Camus thinks. He tells us that as Sisyphus walks back down the mountain, immersed in his own thoughts, he is "superior to his fate. He is stronger than his rock... the lucidity that was to constitute his torture at the same time crowns his victory." We are now walking down the mountain, immersed in our own thoughts just as Sisyphus was. Eventually, we will pick up the rock and start rolling it back up the hill because that's our destiny. We will get excited again, we will be in the verge of victory, and we shall cry again, unless of course the Red Sox break free from their curse. But the true Red Sox fan will embrace this curse in the same way a truly happy man embraces death. A day means nothing without the night, life has no meaning without death, and the elusive taste of triumph will never be sweet without defeat. Camus concludes The Myth of Sisyphus with some truly inspiring words for those brokenhearted Red Sox fans. Referring to Sisyphus' curse, he says: "the struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy."