I
began watching baseball in 1973 and simply followed my lineage in adopting the
Yankees as my team. Flirting with first place that briefly year, three Bobby
Murcer homeruns deposited not far from where I was seated as an 9 year old was
the extend of it, and I didn’t take kindly to the Baltimore Orioles’ Eastern
Division Crown. 1974 officially introduced me to the Yankee-Red Sox, and I was
on the hate train with everyone else. But
down the road, I have never been able to understand the disdain Yankee fans have
for their rival to the north.
No
matter, the Yankees found themselves seven games out to the sox in August, and I
would become accustomed to another tradition – a Red Sox collapse. Switching
Bobby Murcer to right, the Yankees charged back with the steady play of Elliot
Maddox in center and the starting pitching of Doc Medich and Pat Dobson, while
the Sparky Lyle, Dick Tidrow and Tippy Martinez closed the door in the
bullpen.
The
Yankees managed to take a two game lead during September, but ultimately
succumbed to the Orioles again. Even so, I knew where to level my hate, and when
the Red Sox put off the emerging Yankee Dynasty in 1975, it only
festered.
Still,
Bernie Carbo and Carlton Fisk in game six – I took note. This was baseball
history on full display.
I
forgot that soon enough, though. Under an epic photo of Lou Piniella going
shoulder first into Carlton Fisk, the cover of Sports Illustrated read, “The
Speeding Yanks run into the Sputtering Red Sox,” and a new Yankee dynasty was
ignited. I was locked in.
The
Yankees would run away with the division and fall just the same to the Reds in
the World Series. At this point, aware of 1918, the rivalry to me was a dead
heat nonetheless. Another August collapse by the Red Sox in 1977, and the
Yankees would go one up in my historical context. But a 14 game July lead in
1978, drew the Red Sox even – if not ahead - and my hatred reached its
apex.
The
next three months proved to be the most exciting I’ve ever had as a fan and will
never be duplicated. I’m also not ashamed to say that Oct 2, 1978 was the
greatest day of my life, and what a lesson in never giving
up.
This
is where my transformation began, and my bewilderment at Yankee fans who hate
the Red Sox. The day after Craig Nettles squeezed the life out of Yaz’s towering
pop fly, I saw a picture of the Red Sox patron saint in the
paper.
He
was looking up under the black glare below his eyes and trying desperately to
fight back the tears. All I could think was how could any fan of baseball hate
Carl Yastrzemski.
Then
you go down the lineup.
Carlton
Fisk, Dennis Eckersley, Luis Tiant, Fred Lynn, Jim Rice, Dwight Evans. Don
Zimmer. Don F..in Zimmer Yankee fans. They are all baseball history
incarnate.
Then
I rethought the game, and how it mirrored the season. The Red Sox jump out to a
lead, the Yankees storm back, and like the 8 game winning streak the Red Sox put
together to force the playoff, destiny awaited.
Man
on second and third, two out, Gossage on the mound, Yaz at the plate and a
single wins the pennant. Could history ask for anything
more?
How
do you hate? The same goes for the storied park and the fans who have filled it
since 1918 - no matter the heartbreak. At the same time, prior to 2004, when
exactly did the Red Sox break our hearts?
So
this left me a Red Sox fan – provided that the Yankees weren’t in it, and I was
all in when the ball rolled between Buckner’s legs.
1918
now actually burdened me. But not more than the Yankees’ own 18 year drought
from preeminence. 4 World Series wins in 5 years, and I felt good enough to
openly dream of ending lifetimes of misery for the Red
Sox.
Grady
Little’s failure to remove Pedro in game 7 infuriated me, and I felt deeply for
Red Sox fans. So much so that when the Red Sox completed their 4 game sweep the
next year, I jumped in the air with joy.
Now,
no one has to go as far as me, but after three World Series wins since 2004,
Yankee fans actually have a reason to hate the Red Sox. On the other hand, for
everyone before that, I have no idea what you’re
thinking.
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