The Boston Red Sox are going to beat the New York Yankees for the American League pennant in two weeks. You can write it down, or take it to the bank, whichever clich?© you prefer.
I have lived in this city my whole life. From my bedroom window I can hear the public address system at Fenway. Last season, I even spent three cold, filthy nights sleeping on the sidewalk to attend playoff games. There was a mood in the air not felt since 1986. It was supposed to be the year. It wasn't.
Let's take a moment to make something absolutely clear: no actual Red Sox fan believes in "The Curse." Were the Red Sox cursed to have Grady Little as a manager last season? Yes. Did Babe Ruth have anything to do with it? No. Was it unfortunate that Bucky Dent, a scrawny shortstop with no power, beat us in the 1978 playoff game? Yes.
Was it unfortunate that first Calvin Schiraldi then Bob Stanley couldn't hold a two run lead in the bottom of the 10th inning against the Mets in '86, and that Bill Buckner was termed the eternal goat? Yes. But cursed? Most definitely not.
The Buffalo Bills lost four Super Bowls in a row. The Cincinnati Bengals have never won a Super Bowl. Neither have the Minnesota Vikings, Detroit Lions or the Cleveland Browns. The Chicago White Sox haven't won a World Series since 1917. The Arizona Cardinals have won exactly one playoff game since 1947, when they were still in St. Louis. None of these teams are reported cursed.
As many Bostonians have lamented for years, the "Curse of the Bambino" is a myth begun and perpetuated by money-hungry journalists like Dan Shaughnessy. Simply put, we have been unlucky. Very unlucky. Like getting up from a casino table and whining about your "cold cards" as unlucky - really, really unlucky. But not cursed.
In my long-suffering term as a Red Sox fan, I have never once proclaimed one year to be "the year." During last year's campaign, I doubted that a team without a No. 2 starter could win it all. Let us not forget that the 2003 Red Sox relied upon a rotation of tiring Pedro Martinez, Tim Wakefield, Derek Lowe and Old Man John Burkett. This year is different.
Last season was the first "Rocky" movie. Think about it. From start to finish, a masterpiece. Even though our record wasn't amazing for most of the season, it just felt different, if that makes sense. Since their 1999 playoff defeat by the hated Yankees, the Red Sox had been relegated to the role of money collector for a South Philly loan shark. Treading water for three seasons, the Sox, like a young Rocky Balboa, just couldn't put it all together.
Then came our salvation in the form of Theo Epstein playing the role of crusty manager Mickey. The Yankees played Apollo Creed perfectly: a cocky, unlikable champion begging to be dethroned. Though we weren't quite the unknown million-to-one challenger like Rocky, the results of our bout were the same. A bloody contest of haymakers and uppercuts, ending with a dubious decision (the judges awarding Creed the fight vs. Grady leaving Pedro in) that left us unsatisfied.
Then came the sequel. "Rocky II" begins with a prolonged recap of the fight, followed by a long recovery period in the hospital. Promising his wife Adrian to never fight again, Rocky goes out and buys a brand new Firebird (Schilling), then spends the next hour and a half moping around, cleaning out the gym and venting his frustration on a heavy bag in his basement. The Red Sox mirrored Rocky's frustration exactly. At the All-Star break, the Sox's record stood at an unimpressive 48-38.
Forced into a rematch with Apollo (the Red Sox once again battling the Yankees for the division), Rocky can't bring himself to seriously train without Adrian's support (no good analogy here). A frustrated Mickey speaks for a resigned Red Sox nation when he finally stammers, "But, now, wait a minute, if you wanna blow this thing, if you wanna blow it then damn it I'm gonna blow it with ya." And then comes the turnaround.
Adrian slips into a coma after giving birth, and Rocky stops shaving and takes up residence by her hospital bed. After days of prayer, anguish and Mickey's speech, Adrian wakes up, and we watch the two of them celebrate the birth of their son. Eventually, Adrian asks Rocky to lean close, and this exchange follows:
Adrian: There's one thing I want you to do for me.
Rocky: What's that?
Adrian: Come here ... Win. Win!
Mickey: Well what are we waitin fer!?!
Chills. Rocky and Mickey sprint out of the room. Bells start ringing, music starts playing. Varitek shoves his mitt into Alex Rodriguez's startled face, lifting him off his feet. Bill Mueller sprints around the bases after blasting a home run into the Sox bullpen to beat Mariano Rivera.
Rocky's training montage, ending with joyous celebrating on the steps of the Philly Art Museum, perfectly reflects the Red Sox tear since that season changing July 24th victory: the Sox' record since that fight stands at a ridiculous 46-20. 46-20!
We patched up our weaknesses. We replaced our worst pitcher last year (Burkett) with Curt Schilling. We dumped a declining and defensively inept Nomar Garciaparra for Doug Mientkiewicz and Orlando Cabrera, two defensive dirt dogs hell-bent on winning. You can almost hear Apollo's trainer warning the Yankees: "He's all wrong for us, baby. I saw you beat that man like I never saw no man get beat before, and the man kept coming after you. Now we don't need no man like that in our lives."
But the Yankees, like Apollo Creed, have charged ahead. (I understand the analogy is a little weak) The Sox were supposed to beat them last year, and but for the grace of Grady, would have. Since then, we have improved, and the Yankees have lost Andy Pettitte and Roger Clemens.
Have no doubts, the Red Sox will breeze through this divisional round match-up with Anaheim in four games. Our starting pitching is better, our lineup is better, our defense is better and our bullpen is good enough.
The league has been waiting for a rematch, and next week they will get it. As in "Rocky II", this time the result will be different. This time they'll win.
