Why The Red Sox Can Never Win a World Series
October 8, 2004
by Michael Walls

Well, it’s finally that time of year again. My favorite time of year, as well as my most hated time of year. That time when, here in New England, the weather gets brisk, the leaves start to fall, the sun goes down before I get home from work, and baseball playoffs dominate my every waking moment.

Baseball in New England during October is debilitating. Every day for three weeks, there are 2 to 3 baseball games on TV every day. And each and every one of them has the possibilities of being the most amazing game ever played. My biggest fear is to read about or watch the morning highlights on SportsCenter or (God forbid) get to work and hear “Did you see that game last night? It was the most amazing game I’ve ever seen!”

But it’s not humanly possible to watch all of this baseball. At least not for me. I’ve got a job. I’ve got a family. I’ve got leaves to rake and air conditioners to remove from my windows. And I’ve got to sleep.

I hate this time of year.

And since my conversion from Yankee fan to Red Sox fan last year, it becomes even worse for me. (A brief explanation about my American League alliances issues: I’m originally from New Hampshire and grew up a Red Sox fan. But 10 years in the New York area made me a Yankee fan sometime during the ’96 season. My recent return to the neutral New England territory known as Connecticut has caused my Red Sox empathy to surface.)

It seems like just yesterday we were all crying about the Cubs and Red Sox meltdowns in the Championship series. Fellow 2 Walls writer, ex-New Englander and Red Sox fan Stephan Finch and I spent many coast-to-coast phone call evenings last October watching the Red Sox battle their way to Game 7 of the ALCS. Finch and I were on the phone together as Aaron Boone blasted his home run off Tim Wakefield in the 11th inning of game 7.

And now here we are – 12 months later. The phone calls have already started. As of this writing, the Red Sox are plowing their way through the Angels in the ALDS and Finch and I were on the phone talking about the possibilities of another Yankees/Red Sox ALCS.

I spent a good portion of the next day pondering the possibilities of a Red Sox American League Pennant – followed by a World Championship. Wouldn’t that be amazing?

No. Actually – it would be awful.

It came to me in the middle of the Atlanta/Houston game this evening. As I watched these two National League teams battle it out, I started wondering which team I’d rather see the Red Sox face. That’s when I realized that it didn’t matter, because the Red Sox would crush either team. Both Atlanta and Houston have far inferior talent then Boston. Same for Los Angeles. The only true National League threat would be St. Louis. But even then, I believe Boston has the better pitching and thus the better chance to win.

Boston is offensively stronger, physically healthier, and psychologically more ready to win a World Series then they ever have.

And that’s when I realized what Yankee fans have been screaming about all of these years.

What would happen to baseball if the Red Sox win the World Series?

It certainly isn’t fair – but having a team like the Boston Red Sox is intrinsically crucial to the essence and lore of baseball. For the Red Sox, the eternal struggle for the ultimate achievement and prize in baseball isn’t just a yearly competition – it’s a way of life – a defining characteristic. Not just for the Red Sox, but for all of baseball.

Baseball players and baseball fans alike, whether they live or play in the desert of Arizona, the sand and surf of California, or the frozen wastelands of Canada – look upon the history of the Boston Red Sox with awe. Names like Ted Williams, Johnny Pesky, Carl Yastrzemski, Carlton Fisk, Jim Rice, Dewey Evans, Fred Lynn, Roger Clemens, and of course Bill Buckner, are all associated with some of the most dramatic and memorable moments in baseball. Mostly memorable for coming so close to winning it all, but not.

And that’s what makes them so memorable. Not winning.

The Yankees have their history and their memories too – mostly winning memories. And the stark contrast between the two histories, the bitter rivalry, the curse of the bambino – all make it what it is – a never ending struggle, a never ending war, a battle between a winning history and a losing history. It’s not really a battle between good and evil – it’s just a battle between a baseball tradition and what should never happen – a Red Sox Championship.

I’m sorry. It pains me to write it. I will still root for the Red Sox. But deep down, I don’t believe it can ever happen. I don’t believe the baseball Gods would ever let it happen.

When I was a kid, I use to watch Sesame Street. I use to love Snuffleupagus, the big orange, furry elephant-like creature. Back then, Snuffleupagus was only seen by Big Bird. No one else on Sesame Street ever saw Snuffleupagus. And every time Big Bird tried to show Snuffleupagus to others, Snuffleupagus would disappear. No one believed Big Bird. It was the most frustrating thing in the world for a 5-year old kid. Rumors of children having nervous breakdowns because Snuffleupagus always disappeared before the adults on the show could see him. Finally, Sesame Street broke down under the pressure and let Snuffleupagus go public.

Today Snuffleupagus roams Sesame Street, publicly, unquestioned, without the pressures of seclusion. But it’s not the same. Snuffleupagus no longer generates the interest and attention that he did thirty years ago as a myth of Big Bird. I try to explain to my 4-year son about the history of Snuffleupagus, about how he used to never be seen by others, but he doesn’t get it, or doesn’t see the novelty of the suspense it generated. The lore of Snuffleupagus will not get passed down, and it will eventually be forgotten altogether.

If the Red Sox win a World Series what will we root for? Sure, you can continue to root for the team – but it won’t be the same. It won’t have the intensity, the urgency, the passion that it does right now. And eventually, the history, the amazing unbelievable history, of the Boston Red Sox would be watered-down to a point of mediocrity where it would never feel the same. My son would never get to feel the excitement of the Red Sox/Yankees rivalry like we do today.

It’s like Wild E. Coyote and the Road Runner. What would happen if the Coyote ever caught the Road Runner? It would end. No more Coyote. No more Road Runner. No more chase.

What will happen if the Red Sox catch the Yankees and go on to win the World Series? It will end. No more Red Sox. No more Yankees. No more chase.

(Michael Walls is a volunteer staff writer for 2 Walls Webzine and is looking for 2 tickets to Game 7.)