While it might seem mildly offensive to fans to say this: if nothing else, the 2013 Red Sox have provided great theater. With the team of unlikely heroes—a group of rag-tag gamers who no one thought stood a chance to compete—the Sox have stared down adversity and haven’t flinched. But as Shakespeare, the big ball-swinging Bard showed us, the whole play fails without the fifth-act.
This is not to undermine Victorino’s salami that drove the nails in Detroit’s paupers’ coffins. When I saw Veras’ pitch going yard over The Monster, I squealed like a little girl on a Ferris wheel. With the exception of the 2004 ALCS, I’m hard-pressed to remember a more exciting moment as a Red Sox fan.
But it will all be laid to waste if the Red Sox lose in the World Series to St. Louis.
In baseball—or any sport for that matter—the runner-up is always reduced to a footnote in history, the sad-sack who spends their night hitting on a girl, only to walk her home and be greeted with a handshake from her boyfriend at the front door.
In short, the Red Sox would become that guy, the one who couldn’t seal the deal.
When the pitchers and catchers reported to Fort Myers in February, I never would have fathomed I’d be writing this in October. Like most of the bloated prognosticators, I didn’t give this team an icicle’s chance in a flame of finishing above third place in the AL East. But they’ve made the blow-hard critics, like me, eat our fists.
Now it is time for the Red Sox to finish it.
To drop the World Series to St. Louis, at this point in the season, would be like seeing a supermodel fart on the runway—devastating. While I’m certainly thrilled that the Sox have made it to the World Series; and while I certainly celebrated their pennant with a one-night performance my body will be repaying for a week, this will all be worth jack-[crap] if the Sox don’t finish this thing.
So here’s hoping against all foul winds