They killed my father and they're coming after me.  That's the thing.  I was indoctrinated into The Nation at a young age.  My dad was never hard-core, but it was always there.  I was born in Texas, but my dad and stepmom are Bostonians, and I lived up there a good portion of my life.  As a result, I've become a hard-core Sox/Bruins/Celtics fan, with a little of the Pats thrown in, although I can never abandon my Cowboys.  When your mother loves a sports team, like my mom did the Cowboys, you never let that go.

So anyway, another year of playing second city to New York has come.  Playoffs start on Tuesday.  I thought I would try to explain what it is to be one of the "Dyed in the wool" Sox fans.

We're weird.  We're very intense.  We take it very seriously.  We think of ourselves as put-upon, even as martyrs at times.  We think we're better fans than any others:  more knowledgeable, more passionate.  We differentiate ourselves from the Cubbies in that we feel that the Cubs are born losers, loveable if you will, whereas we always seem to come to the edge of greatness only to fall off into the pit of despair.  Every world series we have been in since 1918 has gone to a game seven.  Every one has had a great moment (Fisk waves it fair) and corresponding disasters (Pesky holds it too long, Buckner whiffs on the grounder).  Highs and lows.  I think Sox fans age two years for every playoff season.

I'm not a superstitious man by nature, except when it comes to the Sox.  I have a hard time going to see a game at Fenway because every game I've seen at Fenway, the Sox have lost.

I seriously believe that if I go to my doorway, and have a cigarette at the right moment, I can change the game.  It works.  A lot.  I call it a rally smoke.

I make my roommate come home in the late innings and watch, because when he has this season, they have come from behind to win.  I won't let him move from his chosen spot.  He's afraid to go to the bathroom when the game is on.

If I do something like take off a sock, or sit a certain way, or hold a certain item, and the game starts to change in my favor, I continue doing that thing until it "stops working".  Yes, possibly crazy.  But I'm afraid to find out what happens if I don't do it.  It's like advertising in a way.  Lots of companies advertise.  They may not know what kind of revenue they generate from the ads or how effective they are, but they know that if they spend x on ads, they get y in sales.  Rather than try to figure it out, they continue to spend x, even if in reality x/2 might still yield y in revenue...they're afraid to change something that works, even if it's anecdotal.

I know the names of umpires.  I know their strikezones.  I have an umpire shitlist (Tschida and McLelland being the top two).  I was complaining about McLelland the other day and my Braves fan friend says "only a Sox fan knows the names of the umps that he thinks are out to get him".

On the Yankees rivalry...we know it's not a rivalry, being as one-sided as it is.  Deep down somewhere, we know that Yankee fans see us as entertainment and not much more.  We know we care about it way more than they do...and that pisses us off and fuels the fire even more.  One would think that we would like nothing more than to have the Yankees lose to Minnesota in the first round so we don't have to go through them in the playoffs...but for me at least, I almost don't want to get to the big show unless it comes at the expense of the Bronx Bombers.  It feels like maybe the curse isn't really broken unless we go through NYC to get to the championship...especially being a wild card team.  Maybe if we had won the division that sentiment would be different, but as it is, we're like little brother trying desperately to impress our older sibling.  Stupid but true.

So, Tuesday it begins again.  I remember last year I felt like I bet the Sox all the way to the world series.  When they were on the wild card bubble, I tried to bet my friend that they wouldn't  make the playoffs.  Reverse bet psychology.  He wouldn't take the bet.  You see, he understands the sports superstition, and he knew what I was trying to do, and said it wouldn't work if he took the bet.  So I bet someone else who didn't know, and it worked.  Then, down 2 games to none in the ALDS, I bet against them making it to the ALCS.  Again, it worked.  Then, I bet against them making it to the world series.  It almost worked.  But in the 7th, when we were still up, a friend called me and said "hey, I know you're watching the game, but I just wanted to congratulate you, you must be really excited."  I tried to hang up, but the damage had been done.  Pedro came out to pitch in the 8th, and the rest goes down into the annals of The Curse.  I didn't talk to this guy for months, and when I finally did, all he said was "Oh man, I'm so sorry" for you see, he knew he had jinxed it for me.  But until that point, I was on the edge of my seat for every game, and it was the most exciting October in recent memory.  I love Boston Red Sox playoff baseball.  It's time to cowboy up once again, come to the edge of nirvana, and then probably again fall off into the depths of hell...but there's always next year.

Play Ball!