The Red Sox lost in the first round of the American League Divisional Series, getting swept at home. Tell me this two years ago, and I'm thinking about it for the rest of week. Tell me now, and I'm thinking about what's for dinner.
Yes, just one year removed from the most spectacular comeback in all of sports, and suddenly it's just a playoff loss. Sure it hurts, but compared to past failures, this is nothing. If 2003 was a kick in the stomach, then 2005 was a slap in the face. Painful, yes, but it doesn't leave you wanting to die, curled up in the fetal position.
But while there's not depression, there is shock - shock that something you followed, worshipped even, for 162 games could be over in just 96 hours. It's like waiting in line for a roller coaster for three hours, then riding it for all of 27 seconds. Afterward you say, "Did I really just waste all that time?"
Of course, I don't feel like I exactly wasted the summer. Being able to say "the World Champion Boston Red Sox" every time I mention my ball club was a blast, especially at home in Ballston Spa, N.Y.
I've never had a better feeling then going to work at my summer job at the village pool, surrounded by both casual and die-hard Yankees fans, and wearing my "2004 American League Champions" shirt, just knowing that finally, FINALLY, I had something on them.
David Ortiz put more smiles on my face this year then a new Brian Regan comedy special. How have they not renamed parts of Boston after this man yet? Instead of the Big Dig, how about the Big Papi?
And above all there was the Red Sox victory parade: buying plane tickets the day before, flying home to Albany, N.Y., at 10 at night, arriving at my aunt and uncle's (a diehard Yankees fan, by the way) in Massachusetts by 1 a.m. with my dad, waking at 6 a.m. to make the train to Boston, and joining millions of other faithful as the men who had brought us so much happiness passed by. It was a funeral for all the demons of the past - one of those moments you'll never forget.
By this year's playoffs, though, things were very different. When the playoffs began last year, it was almost a religious experience. I wore every piece of Red Sox apparel I had. My friend Cheryl, who had no Red Sox stuff, wore my Ortiz shirt starting in game four of the Yankees series, and wore it for the rest of the playoffs, with the Sox going 7-0 when she wore it.
We all became eccentrics like that. In the end, it was two of the most miraculous weeks of my life. (How I didn't fail out that semester is beyond me.)
This year my roommate was in Spain, Cheryl was in California, and I sat alone on my couch watching Edgar Renteria ground out to end the game. Then I ate some cheese puffs.
Once again the Boston Red Sox enter another offseason without a world championship. This time, however, it doesn't seem so bad.
