LOVE IT OR LEEVE IT: Passion, Pain in Red Sox Nation

For those born outside the Red Sox Nation, myself included, the hopes and dreams resting on each season appear peculiarly magnified by its residents. I was born and bred an Astros fan and National Leaguer, so the willing subjugation to the excruciating pain of being a Sox fan was a foreign concept when I arrived at Harvard four years ago.

Curious about this phenomenon, I’ve since submitted myself to the perils of Sox watching with the most diehard fans I know. What I’ve discovered is a fan base that knows more about baseball, both current and historical, than any other. This knowledge of past failures enriches their appreciation for present successes and future expectations.

At no other time other than the playoffs is this blend of inevitable heartbreak and Pollyanna attitude more apparent than on Opening Day. Just to get a taste, imagine you’re a fly on the wall last Sunday in a particularly enthusiastic room of Sox fans:

There’s the prerequisite pizza from ’Nochs and a healthy supply of beer, in both the root and alcoholic varieties. The recliner and every spot on the futons are claimed, forcing a few people to employ less-than-comfortable folding chairs. A brief discussion ensues about the use of the “lucky chair,” a white folding chair covered with signatures commemorating a come-from-behind Sox playoff win. Apparently, the chair only works when all of the roommates are present, since the Sox lost the time the chair made an appearance sans one roommate.

Seating arrangements are finalized. Spirits are high. There’s clapping, there’s yelling, there’s high-fiving leading up to the first pitch of the season.

Suddenly, the mood shifts. The video sequence leading into ESPN’s introduction of their announcers is the seventh game of the 2003 ALCS. There’s immediate uproar as the remote control is located and the channel promptly switched before the monstrosity that is Aaron Boone’s home run replays.

The wounds remain fresh for these devotees. The hatred of the Yankees is palpable. One of these fans had proclaimed New York’s opening day loss in Japan as good as Christmas in an email to his friends. After I pointed out that Sox fans exult in next to meaningless Yankee losses while the New Yorkers couldn’t care less about Boston’s, he offered this explanation:

“You’re right, it is a Red Sox fan thing to delight in the Yankees misfortune. It just goes along with my plan, if I’m ever filthy rich, to buy the Yankees as opposed to the Red Sox. I’d have to hide from crazy New Yorkers who’d want to kill me, but I’d run that team into the ground.”

I can imagine the evil grin and maniacal laugh he emitted as he typed his response.

Fast-forward to opening day again, and the analysis of the Sox’s chances begins. Pedro’s meltdown in the second inning somehow recalls last year’s playoffs, spurring yet another discussion about Grady Little’s decision, a topic that didn’t die on Boston sports radio for the entire off-season.

New manager Terry Francona’s expression comes under scrutiny. Backup infielder Mark Bellhorn’s ability to fill in for Trot Nixon did, too.

The inane comments of ESPN’s analysts prompted a channel check of NESN. Upon realizing NESN carried the game, too, the room cheered the start of another season with the Rem-Dog. The Red Sox Nation pledge of allegiance commercial went over well, too.

But as the innings wore on, the actual game inspired fewer and fewer cheers. The Sox eventually lost 7-2 to the Orioles, not quite the start imagined for the 2004 version of The Year. As expected, however, the first comment after the final out fell into the category of “it’s just the first game of a long season.”

And that optimism is what I’ve determined to be the key to it all—the Red Sox Nation keeps the faith, 86 years and counting.

—Staff writer Brenda E. Lee can be reached at belee@fas.harvard.edu. Her column appears on alternate Wednesdays.