The Sox in the Drawer

It's fitting, the rain we had for days and days upon end. The steady, dreary drips are a perfect match for my mood. I feel lost, empty and just plain strange sitting on the sidelines in the middle of October.

The blow is only slightly eased with reminders of how high a hurdle it was for our Red Sox this year. Trying to win a championship without Pedro and a healthy Schilling is like trying to pick up a coin without your thumb and index finger. Challenging indeed - even with our should-be-MVP Ortiz.

In spite of the pitching problems, the Sox were sitting pretty up until the last week of the season. But when they lost first place to the Yankees and played a meaningless final game, the thrill was all but gone. There would be no dramatic one game play-off to determine the division winner.

Though the Sox and Yankees would share the same record, New York's edge in head-to-head division match-ups assured the Yankees of yet another division title. The Red Sox fell fast and furious, swept clean in the wildcard contest by the other colored Sox. And then something even stranger happened. The Yankees fell. With no team to root passionately for, or against, I have pretty much lost interest in baseball. Like picking through half-eaten chocolates at the bottom of the box, there's nothing left worth bothering about.

So what's a dejected Red Sox fan to do at a time like this? I've tried to deal with the disappointment by going back in time, pulling out memorabilia from that magical season just one year ago. I reveled in the headlines; "Hello, World Series," "On Top of the World," "Finally," and the simple but powerfully effective, "We Won."

I flipped through the pages of "Sports Illustrated" (both regular and commemorative issues), at the cover photo of Damon, Ortiz, Pedro and Schilling holding the flag-filled Championship trophy below the "New Era" headline.

I chuckled at the "Joy of Sox" scrawled across the cover of "Time." I read all about the greatest comeback in baseball history, about the church bells ringing and car horns blowing, about the personal accounts of regular fans who popped corks from dusty champagne bottles and toasted the improbable victory in memory of long-lost fathers and grandfathers.

I smiled as I looked at my favorite congratulatory message, the one with the Red Sox celebrating below a scoreboard that read: "Boston 1; Odds 0."

I drifted one final time back to the moment when Foulke tossed the ball to Doug Mientkiewicz (remember him?), to the men-boys frolicking in ecstasy on the mound. And then I put the newspaper clippings and photographs safely away.

The funny thing is, though I feel let-down, I am not crushed. Though disappointed, I am far from devastated. I suppose when you've had the ultimate sundae, the one with three scoops of ice cream smothered in hot fudge, covered in sprinkles, and topped with whipped cream and a cherry, you can't help but be satisfied.

At least for a while.

So it's time to tuck the championship dream away in the drawer - away, but not too far back. With no curse left to bear, it's easier to let it go. And as every devoted Red Sox fan knows, there's always next year.

(This column was originally published on townonline.com October, 2005)