Years from now when I am gray and wise, my grandchildren will be sitting by my side watching the Red Sox, and they will ask, “Nana, where were you when Manny Ramirez hit his first walk-off home run?”
I will respond with either one of these two responses, the first one is, “I was in Fenway Park sweetie, greatest moment of my life, well besides marrying your grandfather of course”(which in this daydream also happens at Fenway).
Or I will tell the truth. I was on a train from Grand Central, surrounded by their great aunt and uncle. I left the pub at the top of the ninth inning. I was trying to be polite to cousins I hadn’t seen in a year, and ended up making a terrible mistake.
I got to see the conclusion of the attack of the flies’ game. But not the walk off. Fricken Yankee fans. One told me last night, “it’s all over for us, we can’t come back now,” as he sulked back down in his seat on realizing I was a Sox fan.
I told him they could still come back. I mean look at the Sox, we’ve done the come back kid thing before, and so can the Yankees. I know it seems absurd, me saying these things about the enemy, but I guess that little immature fan in me wants to see us beat the Yankees with our own hand.
“But we have no heart,” he replied. “The Red Sox have heart. The Yankees just have money. It’s all over,” he swigged his drink and I looked at his eyes to see a look I often have. A look of complete defeat.
I wished him luck and returned to my table of Yankee fans. The table of cousins who are supposed to love me dearly. The cousins who excitedly awaited my arrival back to the U.S.A.
Or, as I look at it now, the table of heartless cousins who prevented me from having a great story to tell my future grandchildren, about Manny’s incredibly wicked awesome first walk off homer.
So now I sit, looking slightly defeated myself. Watching the replay of the homer over and over again on my computer, wearing my Yankees Go Home t-shirt.
Comments