The last time Red Sox fans celebrated a World Series triumph at Fenway Park was something like 95 years ago. I don’t want to say anything else because there’s still a game to be played and maybe two.
But what I will say is that the best job I ever had began the same year the greatest baseball celebration erupted my life. It was 1982. I was a newspaper delivery boy with a yellow saddle bag, two feet, a walkman radio and an expanding universe.
I was tuned to 620 WTMJ Milwaukee Brewers radio or 670 WMAQ Chicago White Sox. I learned about right fielder Harold Baines. He was born in St. Michael’s, Maryland. I looked up Maryland in the World Book Encyclopedia and saw pictures of the Amish.
Each World Book had a letter for a title. I could start with B and read about balsamic vinegar and end up on T and Fort Ticonderoga and that’s exactly what I did. It was a primitive search engine and it was good. I was convinced more was happening in the world than me.
But the thing that really blew the beer stein lid off my head was the nighttime scoreboard during baseball radio broadcasts. The sound of announcers saying “Detroit 7-Boston 4 and Seattle 5- Toronto 1” was a strange exotic sound of cities in different time zones. I could sort of see outer space.
Then there were bull fights in southern Spain, route 666 into Navajo country, Candlestick Park, the Brooklyn Bridge, Quebec French fur trader routes and then in a blink of an eye, all that expansion contracted and I was right back where I started, celebrating the Milwaukee Brewers.
Even if chance, god or a functional life support system allows me a couple of contemplations when my number is called, I doubt the bed will feel like a magic carpet heading elsewhere. I doubt I’ll whisper anything clever or profound.
I’ll most likely be moaning in pain or if the medicine works, I’ll be thinking about whatever I happen to be thinking about that day and hopefully it will be Ben Oglivie’s sliding catch in Baltimore or Brewer fans rushing onto the County Stadium field after clinching the 1982 American League Championship.
Yeh, I hope I’m thinking what a great ride it’s been and not caring at all if this is the last chapter with no afterword.
But why am I thinking about death? Probably because the World Series could end tonight and I hope Red Sox fans get to celebrate at Fenway Park. I hear that one night of dancing shakes body rhythms all winter and then some.