I Can't Believe

I can't believe that the Yankees swept the Red Sox. It isn't easy to lose five straight games. It's as if the house of cards came tumbling down and all is in disarray. How did this happen?

I can't believe that reaching the post season is almost doomed. Did Red Sox Nation, players and fans alike, fear success? Perhaps dreaming about the big one for eighty-one years lent a stability, an adhesive to New England fans. Maybe winning gave us nothing to hope for—a second win could never match the euphoria of the first win in eighty-one years.

Perhaps the loss to the Yankees, the humiliating defeat, the disintegration of the team before our eyes is a wake-up call, a clarion cry to arms. Ah! Arms. We needed arms in the bullpen. Our bullpen limped, sputtered, pleaded—"Not another hit, not another run." I cajoled the television, crossed my fingers, offered advice, but all to no avail.

I can't believe I care so much. Is it regional pride? No. After all I was born fifteen blocks away from Yankee Stadium, but my father was a Dodger fan and I grew up loving the Dodgers. I still retain some of my New York accent. Why not change allegiance. I earned my stripes living in a three room apartment, sharing a bedroom with my grandmother, my parents on a pullout couch in the living room. New York graffiti, subways, the 42nd Street library, uptown, downtown runs through my veins.

I can't believe I am thinking this way. The five game sweep may be a wake-up call, a summon to arms.