I’ve been meaning to write this post for more than a month, almost two., for it has been that long since I have watched a Boston Red Sox game, or indeed any baseball game at all. This, I knew, was complete abdication of everything I believe about loyalty, courage, faithfulness and gratitude, yet I could not force myself to meet my own standards, and I am ashamed.
For I hate sports fans like that, feckless, fair weather, Sunday soldiers who root loudly for their team when things are good, and who defect to the booers and the doubters when the tides of fortune turn. I have been the most loyal and faithful of Boston baseball fans since my childhood. I watched or listened to every game when the team was annually awful, from 1962-1966, and yet got reserved seats for the final series of the 1967 season a year in advance, because I thought, absurdly, that the team might be in a pennant race. (And I was right!) I endured team collapses and disappointments in many seasons since—all the famous ones, and others that only a dedicated lifelong fan would remember.
What happened to me this year? Continue reading








