there's always next year

I can't even express how much I hate that sentence.  I remember, with excruciating detail, one night in October 2003.  I was living in my 2-room studio in Waltham, and in my mind I can still see that bedroom.  My desk was over in the corner, and my white dresser that I had owned since I was ten was at the foot of my bed.  The TV sitting on top of it.  I was over to the right of the bed, between it and the window standing, yelling.  I was on the phone with a friend of mine who lived in Buffalo for law school.  The law library had kicked them out before the game was over, it was after midnight by this point, and she needed a play-by-play.  I remember telling her in detail everything that was going on, I was yelling and screaming from the pure joy.  Until.  We all know how it ended.  And I was speechless.  I could barely get out the words to tell her what happened.  I was now crumbled onto the floor under the window of my bedroom making noises that I hoped she could decipher.  I'm not sure I ever told her the exact play - but she heard the tears and pain with which I tried to get it out, and she understood.  Soxtober was over.  And we'd have to man-up and tell ourselves "There's always next year". 

I consider myself lucky that in much the same fashion I remember in excruciating detail that next year, 2004.  I remember October 27th 2004 pretty vividly.  I remember how quiet it got right at that last play.   The chop back to Foulke, the toss to Minky, and then the impossible happened.  It was over.  The next .3 seconds lasted forever, everyone was silent as we processed what just happened.  And then, pure joy!  I had been watching with friends who live very close to fenway and we quickly flooded, with the masses, into Kenmore Square.  I saw the red full moon, I saw the riot squad, I saw the crowds.  I saw the city of Boston breath a collective sigh of relief, since we would never again have to say "There's always next year."  Because, in fact, there was finally this year!

I watched last night,  Soxtober ended early again.  Maybe it's because I live so far away now, I feel like watching the Red Sox somehow connects me to a time that I am very comfortable remembering.  But, I wanted them to win.  Bad.  And as every true Sox fan did, I sat wide-eyed, open-mouthed, clench-fists as that stupid Tampa Bay Ray jumped triumphantly on second base just before being pummeled by the rest of his team.  I watched as V-tek packed up his bag and headed out of the dug out, wondering, will there be a next year?  I watched as Coco and Pedy lingered in the dug out, starring out at the Tampa Bay celebration.  I watched for about 3 minutes after the last out was made, then I headed home, without a word.

This morning, I feel a bit differently.  I don't want to say "There's always next year.", I want to relive some of this one.  It was a long, good season.  Those boys gave us some friggin' great baseball.  And, even injured and tired and behind, they fought like dirtdogs until the end.  And, in the end, there was someone else who came out on top.  Watching them celebrate last night, I was at once both enraged and awestruck.  That team has one of the lowest salaries in the sport, they came straight from the bottom to the top, and they are about to do something for their club, for their town, that has never been done before.  So today, with Soxtober over, I can say - Damn, that's impressive.  I am excited for them, all those jumping fools who beat my team.  And I will watch the World Series.  And I will root for The Rays.  Because, there's still this year.