11/21/24
November 12, 2003
A-Rod, B-Sox, C-ursed
A-Rod. Loved by many. Envied by most. Could he go to Boston? Is there a chance?
The point is moot. Red Sox Fans, you have to find a way to beat The Curse.
...with apologies to jerseygirl...
With November comes trade rumors and the most intriguing one so far would move the MLB's 2003 home run leader and Golden Glove winner to Boston. How? Somewhat unclear. But hope springs eternal in the heart of the Boston faithful. There is anticipation that Saint Rodriguez could finally be the chosen one destined to lead them back into the holy land. This kind of optimism is touching and that's why it breaks my heart (really, it does) to have to be the one to tell you: you're kidding yourselves. With or without Rodriguez, you have no chance.
No Pennant for you. Sorry.
And it's not because of contractual obligation, location, record, coaching staff, personnel, rule changes, crowd attendance, corked bats, solar flares or earthquakes.
It's because the BoSox are cursed.
Now I should tell you, right off the bat, I know NOTHING about baseball. Zero. Probably seen four or five games in my whole life. I don't know a squeeze play from a tight infield and I think balk is something a chicken says. But I do know a little something about sports and I definitely know a cursed team when I see one. And you guys? You're cursed.
The first step to overcoming any problem is admitting you HAVE a problem. It's of the utmost importance that all of Boston can see this thing for what it is: a sign that God hates you. The best thing you can do now is not make it worse than it already is. Don't do anything drastic. Don't get angry. Just accept it. Come to terms with it. Don't attempt to take advantage of a bad situation. Try to have a sense of humor about it.
Calm? Composed? Good. Let's see if we can figure out what's at the root of this thing.
Conventional wisdom has always laid the curse at the feet of George Herman Ruth, Jr. but I've gotta tell you, it looks like a red herring to me. Just too silly. Between the myth of the piano, the apologies of the pertinent descendants and the "cursed contract"; the Babe Theory is just too downright STUPID to be true. The man was lucky and happy to get out of there; he spent the best years of his life elsewhere. You guys are beating a dead goat. Let's rule this one a foul ball and try some of the other suspects on for size, shall we?
There's certainly no lack of crackpot theories, but they all reek of desperation. Serious Desperation. My God, you people even tried to get Springsteen out there to perform an exorcism for you. Don't you know where he's from?
Boston, the real culprit here is the man in the mirror. Forget Babe and Steinbrenner and Zimmer for just a minute. Forget your own scapegoats; your Bill Buckner and your Bucky Dent and your Grady Little. Think about who is perpetuating the curse, where the cries of "Wait 'Till Next Year" come from. You've gotten so wrapped up in your own history that you've stopped being a competitive team. Worst of all, you're writing bad poetry about it.
No wonder God hates you.
The answer is a fresh start. Out with all the old traditions, the old ways of thinking, the old unis. Pick out something fresh and hip. Maybe even something in pinstripes. Try to cut your team some slack. It's only a game, after all. And write better poetry!
There's hope for you, Boston. You can be a winner if you really want to be, but only if you can learn to forgive yourself first. February will be here before you know it. I have faith in you Boston. I know you can kick the curse.
But please.
Hurry.
posted by forksclovetofu to commentary at 11:34 PM - 0 comments