WOO HOO BoSox!!!

In 1986, my college roommate Jill and I dressed as New York Mets for Halloween and we made sure we saw Scouter out that night. He is a life-long Boston Red Sox fan. He was not particularly pleased to see us that night, especially when we recounted the legendary first base error that blew a key game for the Sox. (Scouter and I weren't dating at the time and this was typical of Jill and me... yet for some reason, he still asked me out a few months later. At least he knew what he was getting into...)

Scouter's Dad hails from West Virginia but has always been a Boston Red Sox fan. When Taz was born, "Pap" spent many hours whispering the lore of the Sox in his ears including details of all Boston legends and the Curse of the Bambino. Scouter, too, has heard those whispers his entire life.

In 2001, when Taz was a tiny baby and Rainbow was on the way, I gave Scouter two tickets to a late season Boston game including airfare and hotel for his birthday. His reaction was a potent mix of glee and horror. He looked at Taz, who had just started walking; he looked at my huge stomach, incubating an 8 months in the making Rainbow; and he questioned the sanity of me traveling. I laughed at him and told him I had no intention of going - he could take whomever he wanted. That's when the real joy surfaced. He couldn't wait to call his Dad. They went to the game, took a stadium tour, and hit the same local pub every night. It was a great trip.

Still, the shadow of 86 years since the last World Series victory lingered over these long-time Red Sox fans. The magnificent 2004 season finally broke the curse. There was great joy in Mudville. And in Boston. And in Richmond and Fairfax.

Taz was four then. Now, at seven, he plays baseball himself. He loves the game, and he has a good fundamental understanding of it. His favorite thing, besides playing, is watching Boston. He's cheered for them all season and can easily rattle off the starting lineup and a wealth of information about his favorite players.

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We let him stay awake to watch some post-season play and inevitably, his first question every morning was the score of the game. Then he wanted to know all the details. Who played well? Did Big Poppy get a homer? How'd the pitcher do?

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This morning, I woke him but I left game news to Daddy. I heard a shout of joy, followed by his "Mom, Mom! Boston won!" followed by innumerable questions about the game.

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I've long since converted from the Mets to Boston. After all, who could possibly resist that cute fan base?!?