When I woke up this morning I was in a letdown mood. The adrenaline rush of the season had peaked with the on-field celebration and I was emotionally exhausted.
Many months ago [Feb.] I made the case for how the Sox could win the AL East. I also forecast a 7-game WS with the Sox and Cardinals; I said the Cards would win it in 7; I am glad I was wrong on that last one.
Yes, I am a registered citizen of Red Sox Nation, and I am old enough to have attended Game 7 of the 1967 “Impossible Dream” Sox-Cards WS; a $5 bribe got us into Fenway and under the stands and into a dark void with pile of sand; we trudged toward a distant light; we entered the Cardinal bullpen; we sat down; the players were amused by our craziness and daring; they waited out the inning and then, gave us a two-hand boost into the stands.
At times I have rooted for different uniforms, the New York Giants, the Mets, the Red Sox, the Giants, the A’s, and, this season I was hoping the Pirates would make it to the WS. But, regardless of the team or the year, I have always been a lover of the game.
So, last night I was joyful: the Red Sox had done it; today I woke up in the Other Season, the one between the last out of the World Series and the first day for Pitchers and Catchers. At nearly 70, more games are behind me than ahead, but I accept what Dylan Thomas wrote about life and death:
"“And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allowsIn all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songsBefore the children green and goldenFollow him out of grace…”"
And, I join Ernie Banks in saying: “Let’s play TWO!”