In a message dated 10/6/2004 11:08:51 PM Eastern Standard Time, [log in to unmask] writes:
Kate---I thought you were of a certain enuf age to know in your bones that October is when the Sox break your heart or do you imagine "this is the year"?  Terry
P.S. Where were you when  it went thru Buckner's legs ?
Yeah, I'm a certain enuf age, but there was the building up of it all, i.e, being made by my father when I just a toddler and totally unintersted to watch them blow the 1967 World Series.    That same year, or was it the next year, my Dad also made me watach some space walk by Neil Armstrong.  He made up for that a couple of years later when he insisted despite my Mom's protests that that we be allowed to stay up to watch the last episodes of The Fugitive.  My Dad wasn't an intellectual but he had a true sense of the mythical.  Anyway, before I knew it, I was a true  Red Sox fan.  Surprise Surprise. They broke all of our hearts every year.  The last time the Red Sox Sox won the World Series was the year my Dad was born.  He died a couple of years ago at the age of 83.  He didn't live to see them win it.  So, nearly 2000 miles away in Florida, I carry on the tradition and the mythology. The last few years before I lost my Dad, for birthday and holiday gifts, I would go online to the Red Sox Site and order Red Sox caps, blankets, etc. for him.  As all of you ladies will understand, my older father had all of the ties and shirts he needed and so one day, I was on the Red Sox site and thought of this great idea for gifts for him and he loved it.  After the funeral, when friends came to the house, several of his male friends took me aside and asked me if they could have one of the Red Sox caps to remember him by, as he wore them everywhere.  My father was very active in civic groups in our town.  I had given him three caps.  Unfortunately, he lost one and so there were only two, a wool one and a cotton one.  I gave the wool one to my brother and took the cotton one with me back to Florida.  So, last year after the Red Sox came so close and then blew it yet once again and I woke up the morning after and began to sob on my couch and my husband just looking at me so understandingly, understanding that the emotion wasn't for Pedro or Damon . . . Although the Red Sox are particularly mythical, after watching the movie "Field of Dreams," I realized that baseball in general is mythical.  Some poets have realized that, too.
 
Oh, and where was I when it went through Buckner's legs?  I was a young girl watching it, but my brother assures me that even I could have caught it.
 
Regards,
 
Kate