By Ryan McGowan
A little over a week ago, I was in Ann Arbor, visiting this guy Bill, one of Jennifer’s friends from New Hampshire who is a doctoral student at the University of Michigan. Bill wanted to take us to the Big House to see a Michigan-Iowa game, and since my appreciation of big-time college football had previously been limited to a few NC State games and such Division 1-AA epic wars as Hofstra vs. Northeastern, I was salivating at the chance to experience a real college game, amid 111,000 spectators at a packed-to-the-gills Michigan Stadium.I was prepared for the size of the crowd, the certainty of a traffic jam as tens of thousands of people from all over the Mighty Mitten descend on the stadium, and the incredibly high level of play when compared to your average Holy Cross-Colgate tilt. What I wasn’t prepared for was the level of psychotic fans with whom we got up close and personal in the Big House.
Michigan fans are INSANE.
I am sure it is worse at other football-obsessed areas of the country, especially those with miniscule literacy rates and abnormally high concentrations of men named Rusty. But I was impressed with the overall level of insanity of the Michigan die-hard. For a 3:30 kickoff, we started tailgating at 9:30 AM, and found dozens of other people already hard at work on their first buzz of the day (and probably not their last). Even more impressive was that the prime tailgate spots were on two adjacent golf courses off the street from the stadium. Can you imagine the debauchery if the two prime tailgate spots for BC games were The Country Club and Putterham Meadows? I would pay good money for that, mostly just to see the look on those old wannabe-Augusta National bastards from TCC when my 4Runner peels out in four-wheel-drive all over the 14th green. (Yes I realize that neither course is right across the street from Alumni Stadium, but you’re missing my point.)
Anyway, you haven’t been to a college football tailgate until you’ve watched 35 year old men take a break from a game of flip cup to bring their 3-year-old to stomp around in the fairway bunkers, transformed for one day into a sandbox for CIP’s (Children of Intoxicated Parents). The mania continued when we finally went into the stadium for the game, six hours after tapping the first keg. The Michigan band, one of the best in the country, played “Hail to the Victors” at least 77 times, and each time, roughly 85,000 people thrust their right fist in the air when the “HAIL” chorus comes up. It was crazy. Bill was trying to get me to go along and join this bizarre ritual, but I felt too much like one of David Koresh’s Branch Davidians to fully drink of the Michigan fans’ Kool-Aid. I had a great time at the game, but (un)fortunately I wasn’t ready to be initiated into their bizarre cult.
Mostly because I am already a card-carrying member of a larger, more insane, more desperate, more psychotically outlandish cult: that of the Red Sox Fan during playoff time.
Too many times, Red Sox Fan gets a bad rap from the national media. Thanks to such inspired bits such as Jimmy Fallon’s “NOMAAAAH” skits, the antics of Boston Rob on “Survivor”, the stereotypes laughed at by Damon and Affleck in “Good Will Hunting” but taken as gospel by others, the rest of the country thinks we’re a bunch of ignorant, maladjusted rubes who cry after every Red Sox loss and go to bed every night having nightmares about Buckner and Boone to the point where we can’t have normal lives. Part of this is true; I don’t dream about Boone EVERY night. But still, there is a negative perception about our fans around the country.
With that in mind, I have prepared a few guidelines for the baseball playoffs, which apply to everyone, but especially to people new to Boston, such as pimple-faced college freshmen or first-year BC grad students. Even if you’re not a real Red Sox fan yet (regardless of the number of games you attended for four innings on half-priced bleacher tickets), at least you can understand what it’s all about, in case you’re ever deemed worthy enough to partake in our version of the Waco compound.
(1) DON’T attempt to defend Grady Little for barfing up a lung and leaving Pedro out to die against the Yankees last year. Also, don’t try to blame Pedro for throwing Don Zimmer to the ground. As much of a whiny bitch as Pedro has been this year, if not for his manager, he would be remembered now for finally knocking off New York, not for letting Hideki Matsui and Jorge Posada look like his Daddies out there.
(2) If you go out to a bar to watch a playoff game, DO wear a shirt that lets everyone in the place know what your team allegiance is. If you find yourself in a room with 100 other people all wearing Ramirez, Damon, Ortiz, shirts, and you’re wearing an Izod polo, we will treat you as an outsider and you will be heckled accordingly, even if you’re not a fan of the other team. It’s a variation of the George Bush Doctrine: either you’re with us, or you’re with the Yankees.
(3) If you’re a girl, DO wear a Sox cap, tight Sox t-shirt with rolled-up sleeves, and a ruffled or jean skirt to the bar.
(4) Girls, DON’T ask stupid questions such as, “Is Pedro left-handed or right-handed?” or “I can’t believe they traded Nomar, can you?” If you don’t know a lot about baseball or the team, please just sit there and look pretty. There are enough women who are knowledgeable and passionate about the team that you’ll give all female Sox fans a bad reputation if you’re asking why is it that Wakefield’s pitches seem to go so much slower than the other guys’.
(5) Along the same lines, DON’T be a blatant bandwagon fan. If you haven’t been following the team all year and are just looking for an excuse to go out and be social and join in the playoff insanity, that’s fine. But don’t start talking about how great the Sox’ starters are, or how Manny Ramirez is quirky, or about how Trot Nixon looks like an escapee from MCI-Concord, unless you can instantly rattle off the five retired numbers on the right field roof. If not, don’t bother trying to get into the Sox now. You would have had to be a die-hard fan for your whole life to truly appreciate it.
(6) DON’T try to rationalize that because the Patriots won the Super Bowl last season, the Red Sox are destined to win this year. The Patriots are a different team, in a different sport, playing in a nicer stadium in a different part of the state, with more bad-asses playing and working for them. (It will be pretty cool, though, when that happens.)
(7) Also, as much as I love the Patriots, DON’T try to pretend that they really matter at this time of year. As long as the Sox are in the playoffs, the Patriots are a nice Sunday diversion and a great team to root for, but nothing else. I think Michael Holley’s book Patriot Reign should be required reading for all high school students. But until the Red Sox season is over, this is a baseball town.
(8) Above all else, DON’T be that guy who starts a “Yankees Suck” chant in the bar (especially when we’re not playing the Yankees). Such a person is invariably a BU sophomore from Wisconsin, wearing a yellow Sox hat, trying to be trendy and cool. (If you don’t understand the reference, I am trying to say that he is not in the cult, merely an imposter.) Until we win the World Series and can start chanting “2000” at them, we have to shut out mouths and accept that yes, the Yankees are our daddies.
Playoff predictions…
AMERICAN LEAGUE:
RED SOX-ANGELS: By Wednesday, the Sox and Angels will have already played Game 1 and will be preparing to play Game 2 out in the O.C. That being said, I will look really stupid if I predict a Sox sweep, and on Wednesday morning we are talking about how Vlad Guerrero was Curt Schilling’s daddy in Game 1. Oh well, here is my take: the Sox will sweep Anaheim.
I don’t see any way that Anaheim can beat Boston. Sure, the Angels have the “momentum”, the great set-up men, and the karma from their impressive September stretch run. But the Sox have better starting pitching, at least an equal if not a superior lineup, a better closer, more depth, better defense; in short, everything that allowed us to kick the crap out of the Angels the last time the two teams played. Maybe the Angels steal Game 2 at home, but there’s no way this series goes back to the O.C. for Game 5. Manny Ramirez is Bartolo Colon’s daddy. Prediction: Red Sox, 3 games to none.
YANKEES-TWINS: I think it’s hysterical how last week, WEEI was filled with callers who were scared out of their diapers that the Sox would have to go to Minnesota and play….gasp… (dramatic pause)… the TWINS…. in the METRODOME… for the playoffs. And we’d have to face…yikes… JOHAN SANTANA in the first round. People were calling in with ludicrous ideas such as throwing Bronson Arroyo as a sacrificial lamb in Game 1, conceding the first game and trying to win the next three. Great ideas, guys. As suspect as Terry Francona might be, it’s a good thing that he and not John in Somerville is managing the team.
What people are forgetting that the Twins, as talented as Santana and some of their other young players are, are still the Twins. They have Brad Freaking Radke as their #2 starter. The same Brad Radke who was the center of every trade deadline deal from around 1997-2001 (when the Twins were horrible) but was never traded because no team ended up really wanting him. They spend an entire year beating up on Kansas City, Chicago, Cleveland, etc., and haven’t played a meaningful game in almost a month, and they’re going to go into Yankee Stadium and dethrone the Yanks? Santana wins Game 1, the Yanks sweep the next three, including beating Santana in Game 4 on three days’ rest. The Sox will be well-rested for Schilling vs. Mussina, game 1 in the Bronx. Prediction: Yankees, 3 games to 1.
NATIONAL LEAGUE
ASTROS-BRAVES. This one is a tough one to call. No one expected anything from the Braves this year, who looked down and out in May, but came back to run away with yet another NL East title. On the flip side, the Astros came in with lofty expectations, looked like they were out of the wild card race, and then miraculously overtook the Cubs (how’s that Nomar trade working out for you?) and the Giants. The Braves remind me of a kid who is good enough to make the varsity team but not good enough to play a lot. The Astros fired Jimy Williams, who is still traveling around the country looking for the missing “m” in his name. Flip a coin. Prediction: Astros, 3 games to 2.
CARDINALS-DODGERS. When the season started, did anyone think the freaking Cardinals would have far and away the best record in baseball? And how about the Dodgers trading away half their team at the deadline and still holding on to win the NL West. Unfortunately for the Cardinals, Jeff Suppan isn’t going to be enough to pitch them into the NLCS. Good regular season, guys. Drive home safely. Prediction: Dodgers, 3 games to 1.
ALCS: No commentary necessary for Yanks-Sox, chapters 20-26 of the season. All the drama and tension is there: Pedro’s “daddy” comments, last year’s epic finish, the A-Rod saga (including Varitek whacking him like Kerry “Bush-slapping” W in the first debate), the two great September series, etc. Hey, it’s gotta happen sometime. Prediction: Red Sox, 4 games to 3.
NLCS: How great would it be to have tickets to Game 1 of the World Series at Fenway, Roger Clemens of the Astros taking on Curt Schilling of the Red Sox? And then the Sox proceed to knock Clemens out of the game with a six-run third inning. Unfortunately, I think the Astros’ run comes to a close in Chavez Ravine. Prediction: Dodgers, 4 games to 2.
WORLD SERIES: So many literary types (me included) have speculated that if the Sox ever do win the World Series again, it will have to be after an arduous, Herculean odyssey that would culminate in some miracle in extra innings of a Game 7 that will make up for Bucky Dent, Mike Torrez, Bill Buckner, Aaron Boone, combined. But fortunately life doesn’t work like literature. Real life, as it is, is often anticlimactic; no seventh game here. Schilling wins Game 1, Pedro loses Game 2, and we end up winning in six games when Pedro throws seven innings, gets lifted for Timlin and Embree in the eighth and Foulke in the ninth, and the bullpen closes it out. Prediction: Red Sox, 4 games to 2.
World Series MVP: Johnny Damon. Trust in the Lord thy God. Damon accepts the World Series MVP trophy and then his earthly body is assumed into heaven, as a ray of light shines onto the field at Fenway Park. Somewhere up there, God (a known Red Sox fan) will be smiling.
And then board up your cars around Northeastern and Kenmore Square; the party’s about to start, and God himself is invited. And I thought Michigan fans were crazy.
