After enduring 86 years of the Curse of the Bambino, the Red Sox are champs.
By JOHN ROMANO
Published October 28, 2004
ST. LOUIS - The celebration began near the mound, as these things often do. It was the way it spread that made it more remarkable than most.
It stretched beyond the ballpark and around the country. It reached New England in an instant, and traveled across a century. It touched mothers and fathers who felt compelled to embrace their children, and perhaps remember their parents who passed before they could experience it too.
It found its way to Boise, Idaho, where a former first baseman who let a ball roll between his legs 18 years ago will finally get some peace.
It found its way to Swampscott, Mass., where there is an 85-year-old former shortstop accused of hesitating with a ball in his hand for one second in 1946 who has seen that single moment live on in every hour since.
It found its way into lore, where a curse that has supposedly resided for 86 years and countless disappointments, has forever been lifted.
Boston has finally won the World Series, and suffering will never look the same.
Tom DiGregorio of Revere, Mass., stood near his box seat on the first base line and watched the celebration unfold. Beside him was his father, Vincent, and his son Tom. Three generations of Sox fans, all witnesses for the first time.
Tom Sr. stood quietly, a smile working up its courage at the corners of his mouth, tears settling in his eyes.
"I cried in '86 too," he said. "I'm 43, and I've been waiting for this moment my entire life.
"It's just tradition in Boston. So many people, so many years. A lot of people have passed waiting for this to happen. When we got the chance to come, I couldn't pass it up. I went to Fenway with my father, and I started taking my son before he was old enough to walk."
For Red Sox fans, the moment was literally a lifetime in the making. And, if you doubt that, there are cemeteries in New England filled with those unable to wait long enough for the day to arrive.
"She was a woman of great faith," a priest was once heard to say at a funeral. "She believed she'd see a Red Sox championship in her lifetime."
Boston last won a World Series in 1918, about 15 months before Red Sox owner Harry Frazee sold a young star named Babe Ruth to the Yankees.
The deal changed the course of history, and the disposition of Boston fans for every subsequent October. The Yankees, who had never before won a World Series, would win 26 times after that trade. The Red Sox had not won again.
Not until Wednesday night. Not until a team made in the image of Ruth - strong, boisterous, unkempt and immune to rules - swept the Cardinals in one of the most dominant performances in World Series history. The Red Sox led at the end of 35 of the 36 innings played.
"They're winners," manager Terry Francona said when asked to describe his team. "We didn't give the Cardinals a chance to come back."
Thus, the Curse of the Bambino is retired. No longer will Boston hear fans of New York chant 1918 in derision. And Ruth's apparition has quietly faded into the cool of a Midwestern night.
Believe in the curse or not, there was always something haunted about this franchise. Something too sad to dismiss as coincidence.
The Red Sox have a rich history of powerful hitters and contending teams. Their ballpark is historic and their fans are zealous.
Yet the team is known for heartbreak more than any other in major sports. They do not hold the record for the longest interval without a championship, but none can match Boston for the history of torment.
The Sox have lost gut-wrenching games. They've lost improbable games. They lost because Bill Buckner let the ball go between his legs in '86, and because Johnny Pesky held onto a relay throw too long in '46. They lost a playoff in '78 because Bucky Dent suddenly became a power hitter and another in '48 because Joe McCarthy made the absurd decision to pitch journeyman Denny Galehouse.
Before Wednesday night, they had been within a victory of winning the World Series six times. And all six times they had lost.
"There'll be a lot of difficult moments we can look back on now without frowning," said general manager Theo Epstein, a lifelong Bosox fan.
There has always been an admirable quality to a Red Sox fan. Sad and desperate, but admirable nonetheless. It's as if their first love repeatedly breaks their heart, and yet they come back hopeful time and again.
The faith in this team is like an heirloom, passed down from generation to generation. It may be the best gift, and the worst, a parent can offer a child. Marty Nolan, one-time editor of editorials for the Boston Globe, once explained Red Sox passion this way for friend and historian David Halberstam:
"They killed my father, and now they're coming after me."
That's all over now. The Red Sox came through.
They appeared spastic in the field, looked scraggly in the mirror, and seemed absolutely heaven-sent everywhere else.
On Oct. 17, the Red Sox were three outs from being swept by the Yankees in the playoffs. In the next 11 days, they won eight consecutive games. They pulled off the greatest comeback in the game's history against New York, and then in the World Series destroyed the team with 2004's best record.
They did it for the husband who turns his wife's urn toward the television so she can watch the Red Sox play. They did it for the man who takes his son to a grave site and explains how the child's great grandfather taught Pop to believe in better days. They did it for Ted Williams, Bobby Doerr, Carl Yastrzemski, Dwight Evans and every other Red Sox player who came up short.
"There's a lot of people dancing in the streets of New England, and for that I'm thrilled," Francona said. "I can't wait to get back there and join them."
Several thousand Red Sox fans remained crowded behind the team's dugout on the third base side as Wednesday night gave way to Thursday morning.
"I know the people in New England were praying," reliever Mike Timlin said. "They've waited a long time for this, and they never gave up hope."
Fans cheered as players returned from the clubhouse and celebrated on the field, each player carrying the World Series trophy around as if it were the Holy Grail. And just to prove they won't let success go to their heads, fans broke into the favored chant from their days under the spell of the Bambino Curse.
"Yankees S---"
This was a day for celebration. And, yes, for redemption.
