Fenway Faithful gain new convert
By Beth Teitell
Tuesday, October 14, 2003
I've crossed over to Red Sox Nation, and boy does it feel good. And that's not just the hot dogs and peanuts talking.
Last week, as I felt myself making the painful transition from a person who could never quite remember whether we were in the American League or the National League to someone who can discuss the infield fly rule, I begged friends to step in and save me from a lifetime of rooting for a cursed team.
"Who needs the misery?" I thought.
Uh, I do, apparently.
Yes, it hurts to care, but after years of living as an outsider in my own town, I'm now part of the club.
On Sunday, I was worrying about what the rain delay would mean for the pitching rotation, and saying things like, "Pedro should have taken a page out of Roger's book and remained calm. I mean, you don't hit a 72-year-old man with a plate in his head."
And not just because I'd read some tip sheet on "baseball for girls," either.
It's because I'm really involved. "That pitch was high but hardly inside," I said as Manny Ramirez theatrically ducked a Roger Clemens fastball and then started angrily toward the pitcher, holding a bat and cursing.
At least, I think it was me talking.
"I don't know you anymore," one of my friends said when I tried to engage her in a discussion about Pedro Martinez and Don Zimmer. "There's some history there," I said, referring to a July 7 Yankees-Red Sox game when Pedro's inside pitches sent two Yankees players to the hospital for X-rays, angering the Yankees' bench coach.
But what did she want to talk about? The fact that J. Lo and Ben Affleck looked lovey-dovey at the game. I kid you not. "Do you think they'll get married after all?" she asked.
With friends like that, it's no wonder I've had to struggle to become the fan I was meant to be. And she's not the only one who was keeping me down. During the bench-clearing melee on Saturday I heard my phone ring. Naturally I didn't leave the TV to pick it up, but afterward I listened to the message:
It was from one of My People (as my husband calls my friends): "Beth, if you're anywhere near a TV you should turn on the game - the baseball game," she began, obviously assuming that not only wasn't I watching the game, but that I wouldn't even know what kind of game I wasn't watching.
She described the fracas as well as she could, and then gave me some history: "I guess Martino, the pitcher from the Red Sox, threw a pitch that hit the back of a Mets player."
"Yankees," her husband called out.
"Oh, right," she said, sounding kind of bored. Then her tone brightened. "Oh, I decided to get the boots. I think they give me a much more finished look. Call me."
"I'd love to," I thought - we've been best friends since eighth grade - "but what do we have in common anymore?"
Even my own mother is becoming a stranger. After we beat the Yankees in the series opener, I was talking with my parents on the phone and my dad said, "You're on your way to the World Series," and my mother, on the extension, said, "I thought this was the World Series."
We got off the phone, but I was still in the mood to talk baseball, so I called the one friend I do have who's been a fan for years.
I tossed out a few impressive statements, and then sought her approval. "I'm a real fan, don't you think?"
"We'll see," she said. "Let's see if you're reading box scores during spring training, or looking to see if Jet Blue flies anywhere near Fort Myers."
"I will be!" I said, eager to get off the phone and try to figure out what's in Fort Myers.
Editor's note: Fort Myers is where the Red Sox go for spring training.
