As we all know, the Boston Red Sox are the 2013 World Series champions. What some have failed to realize here in Texas was how significant it was for Boston and the people back home, and myself.
As I've stated previously, I knew in my heart moving here that something would happen back home that made me yearn to be there to hold my family and friends. Either really good, or really bad. My first week from home, the bombings happened. It made me cry in my hotel room, watching my bold and brazen city in peril. We've always had a historic reputation in Massachusetts, for being a little more honest than others. Films like "Good Will Hunting, The Departed, The Town, and Gone Baby Gone give this country an impression that isn't totally untrue. But we relish it, being proud of the working-class and hard labor roots of the city.
To see my city in pain eats at me to this day. All you can do in tragedy is look for a hero. And our hero was in fact, sports. Countless times down here and in my travels I've heard people say how we are spoiled back home with our sports. They get angry when we win, and laugh when we lose. People I work with have uttered the same sentiments, believing we don't know a good season unless it's a championship one. Whether this be true, at times of tragedy, folks find comfort in the things that they always have: And for many, that is sport.
When 9/11 happened, the country rooted for the Yankees because New York deserved some hope. This summer, when our Bruins were in the Stanley Cup, Boston Sports Nation far and wide looked to the series the same. We lost, unfortunately. But we lost to a classy and talented team that went as far to take out an ad in the Boston newspapers to thank the people for sportsmanship, class, and to say they were praying for quick healing.
Healing came in the form of a baseball team that many pundits didn't give a chance to. They didn't have the power hitting of the Tigers, the pitching of the Tigers or the Cardinals. But what our city has always been known for; grit, tenacity, digging in deep when the times are tough, the values we have been known for before and after a tragedy, they were personified by a baseball team. When the bombings happened, David Ortiz famously said in a moment of prayer: "THIS IS OUR FUCKING CITY!" on live TV. Nobody faulted him for his language. We needed hope, and the call for hope came from our beloved baseball team.
In times of tragedy, as previously stated, we look for comfort in the littlest things. It soothes the soul, and helps rebuild. Nothing in the world can ultimately take away the pain of knowing your home was hit in such a fashion. But the country as a whole stood by as we were in pain, and in my first few weeks in Texas, the overwhelming show of love and support made me feel somewhat better. I got hugs from people I never met and still do not know, I had beers bought for me by strangers, and I was always told: "If there is anything I can do.."
What had to be done was what was done: My Red Sox took the high responsibility of healing a nation and put it on their backs. They wore it like a badge of honor. Little by little, the city I know and so passionately fucking love, grew more united. For all the craziness Boston has always been known for, this one was special because we actually needed it.
In 2004, I sat up late with Pop and rubbed my eyes in disbelief as Keith Foulke ended a game that snapped an 86 year championship drought. In 2007, I watched with a friend as I battled a bout of depression I never thought would end. On Wednesday, I jumped from the bar as I watched with new friends and celebrated a victory deserved by so many.
I'dbe lying if I said I haven't had tears roll down in this victory. Of all the people who asked me "Did you watch the World Series?" here, they ask not to see if I knew they won (because they know I know), but how I felt about it. Folks here are not exactly passionate about baseball, but they know a Bostonian far from home who was in pain and sorrow after leaving a week before tragedy. They were happy to hear how it resonated with me, how I cried a tad, and how my city is now just starting to get on.
We've talked about how Boston is a resilient town countless times. It always has, and it always will be. When they were hunting those dudes, America sat at their TV sets waiting. Even the hardest liberals in the world might have felt joy knowing one of them was picked off and the other taken into custody. My sweet and beautiful friend Elaina sent me a photo saying: "Boston is literally the only town that if you hurt them, they will shut everything down until they fucking find you."
It's true. We are a tenacious and proud bunch. But our faith in humanity was never lost. We built ourselves up with the love and support of others, and now, a World Series.
These bearded and grizzly dudes were gross to look at. Some people here mentioned Buchholz looked like a meth addict. Whether this the case, undeniably did these gritty fellas do something spectacular. Right now, there is a parade going on in Boston as we speak. This is the first parade/large gathering in the streets of Boston since the bombings. If ever there is a proverbial middle-finger to terror, it's when a great and proud city comes out in the millions to celebrate RIGHT WHERE TRAGEDY HAPPENED.
If I can take this moment now to reduce my writing a tad to a little more Massachusetts: "Tsaranaev brothers, you fucking caused a lot of pain. But don't you dare think you broke our town. We grew stronger and prouder. We're better people and we were rewarded for our pain through your cowardly acts. Rot in hell knowing you never got us to break, you motherfuckers. I hope Tamerlan is getting plowed by Lucifer himself on the daily with no lube. I hope Dhozkhar knows them boys in federal prison will eat his scrawny frame in one chomp. You never broke us, you made us better. Go fuck yourselves and marvel at that in only 6 months; you saw your work neutralized."
God bless. And thank you all for the support
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