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November 29, 2004
Faithful
It's been a long time since I've stayed up way too late reading...especially when I already know how the book ends.
But there I was at 3:00 this morning, clutching my just-finished copy of Faithful by Stewart O'Nan and Stephen King, reminiscing about the glorious events of October, marvelling at the way these two gents brought it all back to life, wishing pitchers and catchers reported tomorrow.
The book's like a baseball season. The regular season has its highs and lows, and there are some forgettable spots, but just like The Team (henceforth capitalized; whenever you see "The Team" in this space, you can rest assured I'm talking about the 2004 Red Sox), the authors cranked it up a notch when the postseason rolled around.
Stewart O'Nan's account of Game 7 against the Yankees -- wow. I'm going to put it up there as one of the best pieces of sportswriting, if not any writing, I've ever read. Check this:
I'm behind home with Steve as we nail down the last outs. We don't even need our closer. It's 10-3, and no one can hit a seven-run homer. Jeter looks sick. A-Rod and Sheffield have both gone 0-for -- complete and total justice. It's like the Sox have walked through the Stadium driving stakes through every single ghost's, vampire's and Yankee fan's rotten, cobwebby heart. It's quiet and the upper deck is half-empty. The Yankees are cooked, and their fans can't believe it. In the biggest game ever played in this rivalry, the Red Sox have beaten the Yankees at home, by a touchdown, on Mickey Mantle's birthday, At one minute after midnight, the start of a new day, when Sierra grounds weakly to Pokey Reese, and Pokey flips to Doug Mientkiewicz (so simple!), the most expensive baseball team in history is history.
And we're sorry, George, but that's more than half a billion dollars you've spent...for nothing.
Come on now: Who's your Daddy?
Diamondbacks. Angels. Marlins. Red Sox.
It's like Papa Jack says: ain't nuthin' for free. SOMEBODY got-ta pay. And, Yankee fans, the one you just bought has a lifetime guarantee.
At two-thirty in the morning, when the cold November rain that Axl sang about is battering on your window and your apartment's heated to an unworldly temperature...goose bump city.
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