At the risk of alienating every single reader I have that isn't a fanatical Red Sox fan (do I have any of those left?), I need to take a minute to bask in the glory of this past weekend.
I couldn't have written it better myself. With their backs to the wall, the Sox fought back like none other, outscoring the Indians 30-5 in the final three games of the ALCS.
And here's the beauty of it. On a team full of controversial big names - baseball's newest "Evil Empire" if you will - the "busts" of 2007 silenced all critics when it mattered most. The theme of the 2007 ALCS was redemption.
Redemption came for J.D. Drew in Game 6. Drew signed a five-year, $70 million contract a year ago, arrived in Boston, and proceeded to slug a career-low 11 home runs while struggling to stay healthy. Then Saturday night, after a season of fan frustration and media scrutiny, all was forgiven with one first-inning grand slam.
Redemption came for Daisuke Matsuzaka a night later. The 103 Million Dollar Man went 2-4 in his last nine starts of the regular season, posted a 7.62 ERA in September, and was chased out of his first two postseason starts in the fifth inning. Fortunately, all it took was one Game 7 win to wipe his conscience clean.
And now, the World Series begins tonight.
Last but not least, it's time for redemption - for me.
I should explain. Last year, I wrote my first column about the circumstances of my birth. Long story short, I was born in the wee hours of the morning of Oct. 28, 1986, just hours after the Mets defeated the Red Sox in the 1986 World Series. For 18 years, I led a cursed childhood.
Then came 2004, and everything changed. I turned 18, I became a man (or something like that), and the Red Sox won their first title in 86 years. But for some reason, I still feel as though there's something missing.
Here's the problem. My childhood doesn't officially end for another four days. I am still, in one sense of the word, a "minor." Sunday is the big day - in more ways than one.
As such, I have one humble request to make of my beloved Red Sox. Please, for the sake of a poor little 20-year-old kid who still has nightmares of a hobbling first baseman and "a little roller up along first," sweep this series. I'm begging you.
To fully excise the demons of 1986, I need this. I need this World Series to end in a Game 4 victory on Oct. 28, perfectly book-ending my childhood on the day I turn 21. In other words, I want the first legal drink of my life to be victory champagne.
Is that selfish of me? Yes. Of course. But I'm okay with it because the Red Sox owe me. I was forced to live a childhood of misery, sulking over year after year of second-place finishes, first-round exits and Grady Little-induced disasters. I deserve two championships, goshdarnit. To quote a really annoying pop song from the 60s, it's my party and I'll cry if I want to.
So on Sunday night, when I'm drinking myself to death in celebration, I can fondly look back on 2007 as The Year of Redemption.
I'm just like Daisuke - we've both had our ups and downs, but come this weekend, if all goes according to plan, all will be forgotten.
Now, if only someone would pay $51.1 million just to talk to me...
Evans Clinchy is a junior majoring in English. He can be reached at evans.clinchy@tufts.edu
