Sunday, September 25, 2005

God Help Me, I Love "Tessie"

There, I've said it. It's out. I know it's fashionable on the local airwaves to bash it, call it stupid, sappy, whatever.
But my heart beats a little faster and I smile a litttle wider when I hear it.
I loved it last year, listening to it after every win, and I love it this year.
Maybe it's because I'm a college student, and of the target age group for fight songs. And Harvard doesn't really have any good ones. (Except Tom Lehrer's "Fight Fiercely Harvard", and that doesn't count.)
Because that's what it is. A fight song. It's a unifying battle cry. And the perfect final chorus for this town and this team and this Nation:

"Don't blame us if we ever doubt ya
You know we couldn't live without ya
Red Sox you are the only
Only only......"

And it's true. I'll hit the walls, I'll jump around, scream, threaten shame and violence to the Red Sox' maternal ancestors. But they won't let me go. And I won't really let go, no matter how much I say I will. They are my only.

They make it even harder to leave when they play like they've played the last two games against the Orioles. Granted the pitching has not been spectacular. But it has been SOLID. Which is what counts. And the offense will leave its small villages of men on base. But they have come through in the clutch. Prime example?

Edgar Renteria. Though he's frustrated me no end, the guy won me over way back in June with that series against the Yankees. He may have mental stuff. He may be playing hurt. But last night, bases loaded, 1 out, he came through. Someone I was watching with said "Eh, it was a bloop broken bat single...."
I will quote to him, and to all of you, the great Wee Willie Keeler:
"Hit 'em where they aint."
And that's what Edgar did. And it won us the game, so I'm cool with that.

They grinded it out. They fought and they kicked and they scratched and they won these last two games. And they finally looked, for the the first time in a week, like the team I fell for.

It's 8 games left. Yankees 90-64. Red Sox 90-64. Everyone check for where your towel is, and hang on to your butts.