Louisa Loomis Haskell, my new baby cousin, was born last Wednesday. And just as her grandfather, my uncle, welcomed me to Red Sox Nation, I'd like to do the same for the newest member of the only fraternity I will ever join. Louisa, welcome to the greatest fan base in the world. But before you put on your first hat and jersey, allow me to offer some advice:
Don't EVER get too excited about a fast start. Remember, it's a 162-game season with a lot of twists and turns between Opening Day and the October Classic. Last year, and in 2002, the Sox started off hot and then failed to make the playoffs. Here's the deal: No team is ever going to win 140 games. So the losses have to come eventually, and it's better to lose in the beginning of the season than in August and September when it counts.
It's okay to be a little obnoxious, especially to Yankee fans. Louisa, I know that your parents will raise you to be the polite daughter whose behavior they can be proud of. But if your dad has any sense, he'll teach you that when you're talking baseball, it's okay to be a little obnoxious. After all, no one expects any less from a Sox fan like yourself. And if a Yankee fan mentions the number "26," it's totally fine to fire back with "2004," "Yankees Suck," or better yet, an obscenity. Trust me, they deserve it.
But even if you're a jerk to Yankees fans, appreciate the rivalry. Luke and Darth Vader, Rocky and Apollo/Mr. T/Drago, Jean Valjean and Inspector Javert. Without nemeses, where would our favorite heroes be? Nowhere. You see, half the fun of loving the Sox is hating the Yankees. Their evil makes our good stand out that much more. Without them, we'd be just another baseball team. To hate the Yankees is to be a Sox fan, but appreciate their existence. Because where would Peter Pan be without Captain Hook?
Don't ever start listening to WEEI. This may be a controversial statement to make, but sports talk radio is perhaps one of the worst ideas anyone ever had. Louisa, if your Dad ever tries to make you listen to the opinions of Frank from Gloucester, tell him you can form your own (way more intelligent) ideas about why the Sox lost two in a row. And trust me: If Gerry Callahan tells you the season is over, just roll your eyes. It's not.
Don't ever fall in love with a player like my friends and I did with Nomar. To be honest, I still miss Nomar Garciaparra's obsessive compulsive toe-tapping and arm band adjusting. My friends and I used to go in my yard and practice throwing like Nomar (a sidearm rocket while falling backwards in the hole between third and short). Then he got traded, and, like every other kid who grew up with an unhealthy obsession with No. 5, I was devastated. Just don't get attached - for your own sake.
Become as superstitious as possible. During the run to the 2004 World Series, I copied whatever Terry Francona did in the dugout. When he paced, I paced. When he sat on the bench and rocked back and forth, I did the same. When Pedro pointed to the sky after an outing, I pointed at the light on my family room ceiling. The point is, THESE THINGS WORK. Somewhere out there, there is a greater being who, if you break your superstitions, will find a way to ensure that the Sox lose. It's the plain truth.
Never be ashamed to brag about 2004. Louisa, I'm sorry you weren't alive to see what could easily be called the highlight of my young life. When the Sox finally won the World Series, everything changed. Yankees fans could no longer chant things like "1918," or "Who's Your Daddy." They could no longer bask in the glory of their 26 World Championships, because in the new millennium, the score line on World Series rings looks like this: Sox: 1, Yanks: 0.
At the same time, remember where you came from. Although in your lifetime, the Sox are simply another ball club, never forget that we were once the most tortured franchise in all of sports. Like the Chosen People, we waited to be returned to the Promised Land. We waited for 86 years, and when we finally won, it was all that it was cracked up to be. But the Curse of the Bambino, Bucky "Bleeping" Dent, Bill Buckner, Enos Slaughter, and Aaron Boone are all priceless moments of Sox lore. To keep our identity, we must always maintain our tortured, underdog perspective.
Louisa, welcome to the Nation. I can't wait to watch a game with you.
Will Herberich is a freshman. He can be reached at William.Herberich@tufts.edu.
