Wednesday, October 27, 2004



For one glorious day, there is no politics. The Boston Red Sox have lifted the curse of the great Bambino. For the first time in eighty-six years, the little guys have risen to the top of the heap, the working stiffs have grabbed the glory, the sun has set on the eastern skyline and the world is somehow a better place.

Since the end of the First World War, when Woodrow Wilson was president and Ernest Hemingway wrote A Farewell to Arms, never has there been a more hopeless cause than that of the lowly Red Sox. Never has there been a more poignant display of the unbeatable human spirit than that of the Red Sox fan and their annual fall epitaph, “Wait ‘til next year.”

All hail the Boston Red Sox: A lone Indian and eight cowboys on the field of dreams that never die.

All hail the Red Sox nation. You have given every underdog, every lonesome sailor, every soul who has loved and lost, every forlorn soldier, every unemployed factory worker, every down-on-his-luck gambler, and every down-to-his-last-buck stranger fresh new hope for a better day.

Our sincere condolences to the Saint Louis Cardinals: You played the game honorably and well, but this one belongs to the kids from Fenway.

Here’s to the Babe and all the players who toiled beneath his enormous shadow. Here’s to the end of the curse.

Next year may it be the hapless Cubbies and the year after my beloved Giants.


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