OCTOBER 2004: ONE MAN’S RED SOX STORY

- by one man Chet Fagin

They say the story of the 2004 Red Sox began at ALCS Game 7 the year before. It did for me - I was there. Me, my partner in crime Oren, his girlfriend, and his sister, ventured inside that Bronx Death Star, alone amidst 55,000 enemy storm troopers. I remember Trot Nixon's upper deck shot to take an early 2-0 lead and the 4^th inning when the Sox made it 4-0 and I said, “I want it to be 6-0!” Torre came out to remove Clemens and as Roger walked off the mound for what very well could have been the final time, Oren snapped a picture and exclaimed with glee, "I'm so glad I got that!"

In the 7th, I went to stand in a long line for the bathroom as an angry voice headed in my direction booming, "Just show me one Sox fan, one fucking Sox fan, I'm gonna kick his ass right now!" On second thought, I don’t have to pee that badly.

The 8th. I was surprised to see Pedro come back out but figured Grady was using the Wakefield rule: send him out until someone gets on base. Nick Johnson pops out to 1st. 1 out, 5 to go. Jeter. Fuckin' Jeter doubles. OK good, take Pedro out. Nothing. Bernie singles in Jeter. It's 5-3. Oh thank god, here comes Grady. I observe their conference through my trusty binoculars while keeping an eye out for Timlin. Grady turns and starts heading back to the dugout and… wait, what’s Pedro still doing on the mound!?! Uh-oh. My heart sank right then and there… and I thought, “What a great opportunity to use the bathroom!” Upstairs was more deserted than an Expos game in April. I stood a lone soul at the urinal listening to the crowd roar through the concrete walls. I exited into the hallway to find only one other person in sight: Oren.

"I can't watch." was all he could say.

Security corralled us back towards our seats while my eyes glanced away from the horror that I knew to be unraveling before me. Suddenly, the crowd erupts in delirium. I look up to the scoreboard: 5-5.

Let me say this: I've never believed in the Curse. I think it's the stupidest, most oversaturated media tool on the planet and I’m so sick and tired of its mere mention. But for one moment - just one - I felt its presence.

The Sox got out of the 8th of course but no matter. By then, we all knew they'd lose. I put on my sweatshirt, packed up my binoculars and camera, and waited. When the ball left Boone's bat, I already had one foot in the aisle. The next thing I knew, we were booking at light speed down the ramps, around and around, flying faster than I'd ever run before. I didn't even know why - it wasn't until weeks later that Oren explained, "We were running because I physically could not take being there at that moment." Outside the stadium, cars honked, fans jumped wildly for joy and screamed beyond their control - but I was trying to shut my senses off from the scene. It was like a nightmare I couldn't wake up from.

Like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, I stuffed my Sox cap into my pocket and hopped on the subway alone, letting the shock and disbelief grab hold of me. When I reached home, I found my beautiful wife, Julia, sitting on the couch, her arms outstretched. I sat down beside her, allowed her touch to envelope me, and the tears released right on cue. There’s only one time in my entire life I’ve cried harder than I did at that moment – and it was when my brother died.

The media loves to replay this tale, showing the Boone HR more often than Costner going “back… and to the left, back… and to the left.” But it's not the Boone HR that bothers me... it's watching the 8th.

Now I've heard stories about '46 and '78 and even lived through the '86 World Series as a boy, but I felt like for the first time in my life, I knew what it meant to be a Red Sox fan.

By the time 2004 rolled around, I knew it was now or never. I had said at the beginning of ‘02 that we have 3 years to make a run for it. After ‘04, Pedro, Nomar, Varitek, and Lowe would be gone and our window would close. But it wasn't just the last chance for them. It was the last chance for me. Julia and I had decided to relocate to California before the year was out. So after this season, I'd be forever removed from the atmosphere of East Coast Baseball and the Greatest Rivalry in All of Sports.

For the 2nd straight year, I subscribed to MLB.TV to follow games on my computer but I cherished the nights my Sox would end up on TV. I sat through games whenever I could but for some reason, I'd always miss the big ones. July 1st was the night of our company party. I was in a bar surrounded by my co-workers: 14 Yankee fans and me. At the time, the Sox were the paragon of mediocrity while the Yankees were looking like... well... the Yankees. Even though the game was on at the bar and the Sox had just come back to tie it at 3-3, I didn't want to watch. I was having too good of a time at the party to ruin things. When Cairo led off the 12th with a triple, I'd had enough. I bolted out into the New York night in a depressed drunken stupor. It wasn't until the next day I found out how they lost.

After years of enduring Sox games at Yankee Stadium, I decided this year I’d see the Yankees at Fenway. We had a family reunion in New England scheduled the same weekend as the July series so I got tickets for the Friday and Sunday games. I went Friday night with my cousin Brett. We watched Schilling pitch, Kevin Millar hit 3 HR's, and our Sox lost in a nail-biter, 8-7. I went with my dad on Sunday. Lowe pitched a great game, and the Sox won 9-6, the same score they won by on the other occasion I took my dad to a game: 2003 ALCS Game 6. But Saturday was all about the family reunion and spending quality time with cousins I hadn't seen in over 10 years. I didn't even think about the game all day. It wasn't until I got home and popped online:

BRAWL BETWEEN VARITEK & A-ROD.

SOX COME BACK FROM 9-4 DEFICIT, WIN WITH MUELLER WALK OFF HR AGAINST RIVERA IN 9TH.

TURNING POINT FOR ENTIRE SOX SEASON.

Hey, thanks, guys. Thanks for nothin’. Cousin Brett had left me a voicemail: “Why couldn’t we have gone to that game!?!”

Meanwhile, Julia was out in LA getting settled and was anxious for me to make the move. I had been hoping to hold off until after the World Series but the closer we got, the more it looked like I'd have to jump in September. Friday, September 17^th, Julia arrived and we spent the day organizing and packing. Once she tattled off to bed, I stayed up to watch the 1st game of the final regular season series at Yankee Stadium. Down 2-1 in the 9th, the Sox rallied against Rivera (again) and won 3-2! It would be the last game I'd ever watch in my NY apartment.

Following a long, exhausting weekend moving out, we awoke at 5am on Monday morning to say a final Goodbye to our first apartment together and my last home in New York. I dropped Jules off at the airport and began my great cross country roadtrip. But first, I was heading north and east. Oren had won two tickets to sit atop Fenway's Green Monster. He wanted me to come with him and it was only too fitting to spend my last night on the East Coast in such glorious fashion.

Unfortunately, the Sox didn't perform as gloriously as we'd hoped, getting romped by those pesky Baltimore Orioles. After B.J Surhoff’s grand slam off Wakefield, we focused mainly on the beautiful night, snapping some great photographs, and sharing a couple post-game farewell drinks with some close friends before hitting the road.
Driving through Maryland, I was able to catch the Orioles/Sox game on AM radio and scouted for the game. At my brother’s in Charlotte, NC, he was gracious enough to suffer through 12 innings with me, culminating when Orlando Cabrera, the Man with the Million Handshakes, hit a walk-off HR that landed in the Monster seats... EXACTLY where Oren and I had sat just two days ago. Why couldn’t we have gone to that game!?! In a motel room in Nashville, I couldn’t believe finding the Sox/Yanks game on TV in the middle of NASCAR country. And in St. Louis, I spent the weekend with a friend whose roommate, Bill, was a diehard sports fan. He loves the Cardinals, the Rams, and the Blues - and like everyone else outside of New York, he fucking hates the Yankees. We caught the last rivalry game of the season, which the Sox easily won to capture the season series. When I said Goodbye, I assured him, "I'll be back next month."

"Next month? Why?"

"Cards/Red Sox World Series, man!" I believed it then. At least I wanted to.

From there, I was on my own. With the Yankees series over and our wild card berth all but official, I happily settled into vacation mode. I wouldn't know the game results until glancing at USA Today in the gas station the next morning. All I was rooting for now was that they'd surpass last year’s win total of 95. They ended up with 98 wins, the 2nd most since winning 104 in 1946.

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