Fairy freaking tale.
Holy freaking, um, you know.
Anyway, I would like to accept personal responsibility for the Red Sox victory, and it's all because of my self-consciousness.
Let me explain. I wore a pair of brown socks on Sunday when they won Game 4 in ridiculous fashion, where heart flutters could have easily resulted in unexpected need for a defibrillator. The next day, Monday, I had a meeting at work with a bunch of people. In my Sock drawer I had many pairs of black Socks, calf-high, knee-high and little ankle black Socks.
But this one time, during a similar meeting, I had gotten teased mercilessly for wearing black Socks with white shoes. Now, if you refer to
this article or
this article you will read that I have no fashion sense and I was not cognizant of any black Sock/white shoe fashion faux paux.
This self-conscious memory hit me as I panned back and forth from my black Sock-laden drawer back to these brown Socks (worn) on the floor and back again.
"Whatever," I thought. "I'd rather wear dirty Socks than risk fashion chastisement."
So, I wore the brown Socks again. Not clean. Not carrying a fresh linen smell, I'm sure.
But the Sox won in 14 innings.
And I got to thinking. Hmmmmmm. Maybe their 2 straight wins were not because of their talent and attitude and perseverence and courage and strength and blah blah blah, but it was entirely due to the sage-like foresight that I displayed by wearing my smelly brown Socks.
So the next day? Game 6? Brown socks were worn. And Red Sox victory occurred, once again.
Wednesday, the Game 7 day, Sock wardrobe wasn't even a consideration. I didn't give a FUCK, as they say. I required a Red Sox victory, smelly feet be damned.
And Game 7? Smelly brown Socks came through again! I couldn't believe it. I wasn't kissing my girlfriend (who was giving me sidelong questioning glances that seemed to ask, "Why am I with this madman?") I was kissing the Socks! Then dry heaving. And then kissing the Socks again.
Who would have thought that a self-conscious Sock issue could have catapulted the Sox to victory!! Not me. And certainly not them, I'm sure.
Please don't even ask me to describe the six-pack theory, either.
Here are some comments as the Socks, er, Sox go to their first World Series since I was nine years old:
1. I hate the Yankees. But I fear that they still have this quote: "Well, it's about
time you beat us." I even heard some Yankees fans cohorts of mine saying that before the series even began, almost as a defense mechanism in case they lost. This one hurts, NY fans, it hurts a lot. At least have the courage to admit it, as I did last year and in 1999, when tears may have or may have not dropped from my eye, depending on your views of manliness.
2. We still have to win the World Series. As I said, this was fairy-freaking-tale, but it's not over. If they don't win the Series, they still have 1918. The four straight wins, including the last two at the "house that Ruth built with shoddy cement and idiot fans", would become a pleasant memory if they lost the Series. But, if they win, then it would become immortal.
And I need immortal.
Seriously, could this have happened any other way? Fresh off a sweep of Anaheim, the Sox are cruising. But, Curt Schilling is hurt and gets smoked in Game 1. Pedro pitches well but we can't hit in Game 2. Arroyo gets bitch-slapped in Game 3.
I almost wanted them to lose Game 4. It's always easier to lose a game/series by getting blown out than by losing in "oh-so-close" fashion where your hopes are dashed only at the last minute. I didn't want that hope again. I'm ashamed to admit that I was a little bummed they won Game 4, figuring that each day they prevailed would just increase the severity of the emotional collapse when they finally lost.
Sheesh, was I pessimistic or what?
3. I can't wait for "The Life Aquatic" to come out. Wes Anderson, along with Charlie Kaufman, is the future of filmmaking.
4. Just a p.s. I watched the last four Red Sox games on
this Onkyo system which takes the crowd noise and puts it towards the rear channel speakers and keeps the inane commentary by Al Leiter coming from the front channels. Beautiful.
5. Perhaps it wasn't the Socks, it was the system purchase. Just as a failsafe, I'll continue to wear the Socks AND listen to the system. (Should I wash the Socks? Were they
just Yankees killers?)
That way, the Sox can't lose. They can't lose. They
can't lose. This is the way that it should be. Down and out to the hated Yankees. No hope, but then a little, and then a little more, and then belief, and then victory.
6. Could this be the year? Why ... not ... them? And why not me?
GO SOCKS!!!
