Kim and I went to the Orioles – Red Sox game last night. We were invited by our friends who are moving to Arizona in a few weeks. It was a great opportunity to spend some time with them before they leave. Who knew it would turn into the greatest live sporting event I’ve ever experienced?
In case you haven’t been paying attention, last night was the final day of baseball's regular season. The Red Sox had managed to blow a 9-game lead in the wild card race over the last 4 weeks and came into last night’s game tied with Tampa Bay. In order to avoid the biggest collapse in regular season history, the Red Sox needed one of two things to happen:
Þ A Red Sox win combined with a Tampa Bay loss to the Yankees would put the Red Sox in the playoffs.
Þ A Red Sox loss combined with a Tampa Bay loss would mean that the two teams would play a one-game “play-in” to determine who got the final playoff spot.
There was one thing that the Red Sox had to avoid. A Red Sox loss combined with a Tampa Bay win would eliminate the Red Sox from the playoffs.
I’m not a big baseball fan. The season is too long and the games are too slow. But, I did grow up a Yankees fan. There’s something special that comes with being a Yankees fan, even a moderate fan like me. That something special is an intense dislike of Red Sox fans. Dealing with their “woe is me” mantra during the years of the Curse of the Bambino was bad. I thought that if they finally won a World Series, they’d mellow. I was wrong. Winning two World Series titles since 2004 made Red Sox Nation arrogant, loud, and just downright annoying. So, I went into last night’s game with just one wish – final elimination of the Red Sox from playoff contention.
For the longest time last night, it did not look like my wish would be granted. The Red Sox took a one-run lead early. Meanwhile, the Yankees had jumped out to an early 7-0 lead on Tampa Bay. As the night wore on and those scores held up, the 10,000 or so Red Sox fans who had taken over Camden Yards became increasingly frenzied. “Papi, Papi,” they chanted when David Ortiz came to bat. “Let’s go Red Sox,” they yelled whenever the Red Sox mounted a scoring threat. “MVP, MVP,” they cheered for Jacoby Ellsbury whenever he reached base. I’m not an Orioles fan but I was embarrassed for the home team, playing the final game of the regular season in a stadium that was nearly one-half empty with the majority of those in attendance loudly cheering on the opposition.
In the middle of the 7th inning, with the Red Sox still leading 3-2, a thunderstorm struck and halted play for over an hour. After the rain delay, it seemed like the entire lower deck had been completely overrun by Red Sox fans. As the Orioles went away empty in the bottom of the seventh inning and then again in the bottom of the eighth inning, the cheers of Red Sox Nation grew louder and my frustration grew stronger. The only positive thing happening was Tampa Bay's comeback in their game. I kept my eyes glued to the scoreboard in right field as it showed the Tampa Bay score: 7-2, 7-3, then 7-6! "Please God," I thought. "If the Red Sox are going to win tonight, you’ve got to let Tampa Bay at least complete their comeback." Sure enough, they tied it up with two outs in the bottom of the 9th inning and the game went to extra innings.
It was now the bottom of the 9th inning at Camden Yards. The Red Sox still led 3-2. The cute little boy in the Red Sox jersey who was sitting behind us keeping score was beside himself with anticipation of the impending Red Sox victory. I was starting to hate him. The nice older couple in front of us were out of their seats, jumping up and down with delight as the first two Orioles batters struck out. I hated them, too.
But, then it started to happen. No-name #1 came to the plate and belted a double to right field. Suddenly, a guy in an Orioles jersey was parading around the stadium right in front of us holding a handmade sign that read “Choke: The Official Soft Drink of the Boston Red Sox.” It was beautiful.
The little boy behind us and the older couple ahead of us were quieting down, as was the rest of the visiting Red Sox Nation. Then, No-name #2 smacked another double and suddenly the game was tied. I was turning into the world's biggest Orioles fan, jumping up and down, high-fiving my friend, shouting in celebration while Kim looked at me like I was crazy. This was awesome! I wasn’t the only one having a good time. A well-dressed older man seated to our right started chanting “Choke! Choke! Choke!” A few well-meaning Orioles fans quickly joined him. The Red Sox fans had gone completely quiet.
It was time for another conversation with God. “Please, we already sat through a rain delay. You’ve let the Orioles tie the game. Would it really be too much trouble to have them actually win it right here and right now?” That God guy is the man! He answered my prayer immediately, with no-name #3 sending a sinking liner to left field, just out of reach of the left fielder. As no-name #2 rounded third, headed home, and slid in safely ahead of the throw, I was no longer shouting – I was screaming. Just a few short hours before, I hadn’t even known the depth of my hatred for the Red Sox. Now I understood it. It was deep. It was real. It felt good.
All around me, Red Sox fans were in a state of shock. One minute, they were on the verge of the playoffs. Now, they were stunned, desperately hoping that their hated rivals, the Yankees, could find a way to beat Tampa Bay. The good people who manage Camden Yards sensed the importance of the moment. Before the Orioles had even stopped celebrating on the field, the giant video screen in center field started showing live coverage of the Tampa Bay game. We walked down from our seats to the walkway above the lower level of seating. As we waded through a crowd of other fans leaving their seats, it happened. On the giant screen, Tampa Bay's Evan Longoria hit a screaming line drive that barely cleared the left field fence. Tampa Bay had done it. The Red Sox were officially eliminated.
I've heard about the rug being pulled out from under you. Until last night, I'd never seen it actually happen. The Red Sox fans who remained in the stadium didn't look angry. Instead, they were pale, shaken, and completely silent. I tried to feel bad for them but I just couldn't. I was too happy.
