Harvest moon. Lunar eclipse. Ted Hughes. Psychology. Three games won. Three games won? Yes. Three games won. Bambino’s Curse has it all.
You know, I’m trying to avoid the self-referential, chip on the shoulder, Red Sox fan attitude that so infuriates the rest of the world, the “It’s all about us” attitude, but what fans other than Red Sox fans would find themselves so wedged between this historical Scylla and Charybdis? No team comes back from 0-3 except our team who came back from 0-3, round and round the whirlpool cum cesspool of possible imagined outcomes spins and spins in my mind.
How did this happen?
And what of this moon?
Tonight, for Game 4, I’m meeting up with David and his wife Maria at a Red Sox bar in Hoboken – the same one where I overheard the “smotheration” conversation.
To cynics, all of this means “nothing”. That’s the “it’s just a game” crowd. But those people don’t count. They’re party-poopers, and “it’s just a game” adds NOTHING to the conversation.
I know it’s just a game. I know. I know.
But what a game.