22 October 2004 >>
As a Yankees fan, few things provide greater satisfaction than beating the Boston Red Sox in the playoffs. There is simply no greater rivalry in sports, period. And when the Yanks won the first three games against the Red Sox, another trip to the World Series seemed inevitable. Never in the history of baseball had a team bounced back from a 3-0 deficit in the playoffs. The Red Sox making a comeback like that—especially against the Yankees—is precisely the sort of thing that the Curse of the Bambino is meant to prevent.
The last time the Boston Red Sox won the World Series was 1918. Back then, the Yankees hadn’t even won one. The Red Sox were the Yankees of that era... until, that is, they traded Babe Ruth—the Bambino—to New York. This set up the fabled Curse, and during the 86 years since the last Red Sox championship, the Yankees have won 26.
If you know any Red Sox fans, you probably recognize that their whole identity stems from the continual pain and misfortune of their chosen team. It’s what binds them together. It’s the source of their pride as a beaten-down people who never give up hope. Bad luck has plagued them on the brink of victory so many times that it seems cliche to recount them: Bucky Dent’s home run in 1978; Bill Buckner’s biffed ball in 1986; Aaron Boone’s game-ending home run last year.
All these incidents prove The Curse: the Boston Red Sox are not meant to win the World Series.
But this year, maybe The Curse is dead. All the momentum is with the Red Sox. Anything less than a World Series victory—after such a stunning comeback—would be a great disappointment. But what if the Sox win? What if the constant denial of their ultimate victory—the very thing that gives those fans their exalted status as a persecuted minority—suddenly wasn’t there? What if, five years from now, the Red Sox were just another team that recently won a World Series, like the Florida Marlins or the Arizona Diamondbacks?
There would be nothing that makes the Sox special anymore. Might as well tear down Fenway Park, move to the ‘burbs and play in some modern megadome stadium with astroturf.
The Curse may still play itself out. Historically, the Gods of Baseball seem intent on slapping down the Red Sox only after their hopes have been raised to the highest possible level. But if there’s any year that the Sox will win the World Series, this is it. And if they do, Boston fans will have earned their party. But when they wake up, and the hangovers loosen their grip, will Red Sox fans rub their eyes and realize the mystique that’s defined them for nearly a century is gone? Will victory eventually leave them feeling emptier than defeat?
Maybe they finally did reverse the curse. Then again, shattering the identity of Red Sox fans everywhere might be a curse of its own.