Boston Red - Repeated
A fine read on an amazingly fine team out of the pages of Slate:
There is a wonderfully odd moment during Bill Forsyth’s marvelous 1983 film Local Hero in which two elderly gents, sockless drunk at a town céilidh, discuss the proposition made by an American oil company to buy their town for lunatic money that would make them all wealthy. One of them ruefully suggests that the prospect has not made him feel any different.
“You’ll have to buck up, then,” his friend replies. “You’re going to have to face the prospect that … you’re stinkin’ rich.”
Back in 2004, when winning the World Series was neither this easy nor this commonplace, one of the popular fictions in Boston was that the act of doing so would turn out to be so unpleasant and anticlimactic that, deprived of their ability to marinate in their own misery, the great majority of Red Sox fans would find the whole business distasteful and long for the days when karma played first base on busted ankles and slow rollers got past it and rolled into history. I am not kidding about this. Sad people without lives pondered quite seriously the notion of whether or not they would miss the 86 years they spent as the pre-eminent drama queens of American sport. My reply was always that we should let the team win one and then see how we all feel. Now that the Triple A-plus Colorado Rockies and all their personal lords and saviors have been dismissed, I have to admit that it feels awfully good to be stinkin’ rich.
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