[Sports] Three Years Later Victory Tastes Just as Sweet

It is no secret that Red Sox Nation is a passionate fan base. In world championship victory, our passion has turned to sentimentality. After breaking an 86-year-old curse, and achieving victory once again this week, ruminating on the meaning of victory and of being a fan, especially to this team, becomes its own pastime.
I wish I had a moment of inspiration with Sunday's victory (for now, my inspiration has been held captive by other projects), but instead I found a beautiful and touching piece on the meaning of the victory from BIll Simmons on ESPN's Page 2. For this one, I'll let Simmons take the lead. For my part, the following post is something I wrote after the 2004 victory (keep in mind it was less than a week before the 2004 presidential election).
Hope: The Meaning of Victory
The other day I heard someone responding to a statement about athletes thanking God for their achievements by saying, “Why would God go out of his way for your team to win, but do nothing to stop the Holocaust?” Unsure why at first, since I do not consider myself a very religious man, I took issue with this. But then, I thought, what if God cannot prevent us from doing wrong? What if God cannot stop men from performing evil deeds? Man makes the world he lives in, not God. It is within the culture human beings create that the worst evils have been performed, not in the world that God created. In the world that we live, God – the belief in some higher power or some great force beyond ourselves – acts most importantly as a beacon of hope. Hope in whatever world it is we dream of. Hope – that is the prayer that follows us wherever we go so long as we never give in to the terrible things that continue to manifest themselves around us. Perhaps God’s duty is not to restore good to the world, but to keep hope alive, to touch the human soul so that it never gives in. If so, where else would his influence turn but to sports?
The human desire to engage in playful competition may be one of the oldest cultural phenomena: from ancient Greece to the 2004 Boston Red Sox. Games present no malice to a righteous planet. They are a means to enjoying our world and engaging with our fellow human beings, a necessary part to our dream of peace – that is pure, just like our belief in a higher power. Sports – in America baseball – in the purest sense, magnify every emotion that makes us human. In victory, it has us hugging strangers, and, in defeat, we sulk as one in our collective sorrows; it gives us joy and grief, bliss and anger with the fickleness of every pitch thrown. What other spectacle plays so heavily into the disposition of our lives than that of baseball? In America, nothing.
In every game, there is an element that is beyond human control. Whether it is the moisture in the air or the arrangement of the cards, an unknown variable exists in every play. Every good player has their superstitions – some faith in that unknown variable, whether it be God or a little spit in your batting gloves. God cannot stop genocide, or rig elections or prevent terrorists from attacking, but maybe he can create the right gust of wind to send a ball into the foul pole, or manipulate the behavior of particles under the perfect slider, or provide a wet warning track in St. Louis to turn Orlando Cabrera’s Game 3 fly ball into a two run double. And, by doing so, God can touch every one of the millions of people who love the game.
For many of us, the world seems like a scarier place than ever before. Violence and war escalate everyday while greed and self-interest act as virtues to those with power. There may be, for many of us, a sense of hopelessness. But the Boston Red Sox, over the past eleven days, erased that feeling with a record eight consecutive post season wins and the reversal of an 86-year-old old curse. They have restored the hope of defeating Evil Empires and defying terrible odds, all with goofy haircuts, a “cowboy up” attitude and the determination to never give up, even when they were one strike away from elimination.
Like Joe Louis knocking out Max Schmeling in Munich, and like the 1980 U.S. hockey team beating the Russians, maybe God did have an investment in the outcome; maybe he was sending us a sign with a “miracle” victory over the rival Yankees and perhaps the greatest display of team spirit and resilience in the game's history. Then there were those the other signs: trying to eighty-six the 86-year-old curse they came too close to breaking in 1986 (and I hate numerology), and the last out of the series, which came by a ground ball from Edgar Renteria, the Cardinals #3 (the same number as Babe Ruth…okay, that’s kind of cool), and of course I have to mention the current resident of Babe Ruth’s former Boston home, who was struck by a foul ball off the bat of Manny Ramirez (the World Series MVP) earlier this season, giving him a bloody and broken face (okay, that’s really cool).
Yes, it’s been a great year for Boston. And no matter what the outcome on November 2nd, October baseball has hailed in a new era of hope and change that begins from within ourselves, a new time to be human: to play for the game not the record, for the team not yourself, to be a band of “idiots” with an unquenchable desire to win, not dominate, but to play your best when it counts the most.
So, whatever the political state of the world is a year from now, and however miserable we feel because of it, we will turn our hopes once again to the baseball diamond to remind us that our dreams can come true. It’s why Woodrow Wilson and FDR made sure Major League Baseball continued during the violence of two world wars and why I know I’ll be watching next year. Red Sox Nation has finally seen the light of tomorrow and all it took was 86 years of yesterday’s hopes to get them there.
As Tom Hanks, a California native, standing on the green monster during Game 2 said, “I’m an American. There’s nothing wrong with the city of St. Louis. They are a lovely people. They have lovely colors on their baseball uniforms. But come on! I want Billy Buckner to have a good night’s sleep for crying out loud!” Because even Bill Buckner deserves the chance to dream. This was gigantic!










