“If I die before Bahstun wins da world series, im gon’ have some choice words fah Saint Peter,” says my dear friend, S_______ , while staring at the TV.
“What cha gon’ say man?” I ask. While we both watch the sportscasters review of the upcoming 2003 American League Championship Series between the Boston Red Sox and the Yankees for the American League Pennant—again.
“I’m gon’ tell em, hey—I’m not passin’ trough yah pearly gates, ‘till I help da Sox beat da Yanks—and win da World Series—and ya can go tell God I said so.” he says, without laughing. He shakes his head from side to side, with disgust as the sports announcer picks the Yanks over the Sox—again.
“So, ya gon’ turn down Heaven….. and be like—an Angel in the outfield, bruh?”
“Fuggin A, man,” “Nah, nah, man— I wouldn’t turn down heaven, ya g_ _ _ _ _m New Yorker—just delay it, to help ‘em win it all.”
He stands up and begins impersonating the acts of a angelic ballplayer hitting, pitching, and catching balls, while saying:
“I’d fly around da infield—da outfield—helpin’ ‘em catch balls, puttin’ da bat in the right spot, pitchin’ in da right zone—anything to beat da Yanks, and get m’Sox into the Series for da title.” He takes a gulp of Pepsi—looks my way and lets out a long belches towards my face, as I wave my hand trying to block the aftermath—with no success.
“Ahight, bruh—but—choo—you—ain’t—goin’—no—where—no—time—soon—so—cut—it—out—‘K?” I turn away from the tv, and look at him. “Anyway, this may be the year you beat us.” I burst out in a fake loud laugh.
“Phew, Bahstun,…..dey jus’ break my fuggin hahrt against your dam Yanks, man.”
“Hey, they ain’t my Yanks—I’m a Met fan who roots for the Yanks, don’t get it twisted.”
Silence fills the room. Boston and New York fans are THE rivalry in all sports—bar none. It doesn’t matter the sport—that Met fan, is probably a Knick fan—that Celtic fan is probably a Red Sox fan. And let’s not even go into the world of Hockey—bloodshed between the two fan based cities. But here, in this room—two men are best of friends, even if they both despise the other’s team.
I turn off the tube, and walk him to the door. We give each the bro hug, as he gets into his car.
“I love ya like family, but I hate…absolutely hate da Yanks, bro.”
“Hey, I love ya too—even more than I love Bill Buckner, bruh.”
He drives off in his car, with his right hand up in the air, giving me the middle finger salute, under the Arizona sunset.
After the New York Yankees beat the Boston Red Sox, in another unlikely manner—again in the 2003 American League Championship, I didn’t call him to rub it in, because I knew he was hurting. To this day—I think he respected that.
As life happens, we play phone tag with one another, with him talking mostly about being excited about getting married to M_____ next year. But as 2003 turned into 2004, the old adage that says, “Man makes plans—and God Laughs,” becomes a reality for me. Then and even now, I don’t understand God’s sense of humor.
The faint knock came to my door, and I was surprised to see M_____ without S__________.
“K_______,” she says. “S______.” S______ passed away last night. He came home late last night, and fell asleep without taking his insulin shot—and never woke up.” I see tracks of tears on her face, and smudged mascara outlying her eyes, her voice is rocky, as she begins to talk about our loss.
“Oh no,” I reply. “ah’m so sorry, I dunno what ta say. Do you need anything?” I whisper in her ear, holding her close, while our cacophonic weeps synchronize.
“Nah, ah’m okay, fam’ly iz flyin’ in from Bahstun to help wit’ everything.” “I’ll call ya.” She turns and walks away. And call me she would, during that historical month in baseball when legends are born.
It was October, and once again the Yankees and Red Sox were in the series for the pennant. Well, my dear Midnight Readers, let me just let Wikipedia, explain what happened in that mythical, magical, mysterious month:
“The
Boston Red Sox2004 season was the 103rd
Major League Baseball season for the
Boston Red Sox franchise. Managed under
Terry Francona, the team finished with a 98–64 record (three games behind the
New York Yankees in the
American League East Division). The Red Sox played in
Fenway Park to a local attendance of 2,837,294 fans. They clinched the AL
wild card to assure a berth in the 2004 post-season. They swept the
Anaheim Angels in the first round to enter the
ALCS against the Yankees for the second straight year. As Boston entered the fourth game of the ALCS, they had fallen three games behind the Yankees, including a Game Three loss by the score of 19-8.Trailing 4-3 in the 9th inning of Game 4, they embarked upon an unprecedented (in
Major League Baseball) comeback from a three-game deficit to defeat the New York Yankees in the series. After the ALCS, the Red Sox swept the
Cardinals to win their first World Series since
1918 (86 years).
[1]”
Now what the above narrative doesn’t explain is how they lost—the way the Red Sox were able to score against the Yankees ace reliever, or how they made fantastic catches and timely hits—apparently out of nowhere. In a word—it was meta-mystical. Then they went on to sweep, dominate, eviscerate the St. Louis Cards—well—again—an almost impossible task against that St. Louis franchise. All I could think about while watching both series was it had to be Shamus in the outfield. But, follow me, dear reader for the final aspect of this paranormal tale, this hallows eve.
Shortly, after they Red Sox won the World Series, M_____ calls and invites me over for dinner. I think she is going to hand it to me, about her team finally beating the Yanks and of course the series sweep of the Cardinals. I walk into the abode, where my dear friend once lived, that now only has photos of he and M____ adorn the walls.
“Congratulations, on shocking the Yanks, but especially for winning da World Series, M_______.”
“Thank-ya, thank-ya.” She replys. “It’s so good for da City, man.
We catch up on things. She talks about the funeral, and wanting to relocate back to Boston. I talk about going to college while in my forties, while raising two teenage boys on my own. Then we sit down to eat.
“M____,” S____ once told me that if he died before—.” “She cuts me off in midsentence.
“—Before the Sox beat da Yanks and win da world series, he waz gon’ walk away from St. Peter, and help ‘em win it all?” She says.
“So, he did tell you!” I say, talking through a mouthful of spaghetti and meat balls.
“Yeah—.“ She replies while finishing chewing her food before speaking again. “More times than enough.” She says. Looking at a photograph of him and her mounted on the living room coffee table, next to a flaming white candle, that begins to flicker.
“K_______, he was out there—I know it.” “I mean—for da Sox to come back from 0-3, to beat da damn Yanks. Then to sweep the Cards…Whoooo, oooooo, man—Ya know? She says, with her eyes bulging towards her glasses, and her head shaking in disbelief of what her team did.
“He told me over and over and over again, the same promise about helpin’ da Sox beat’ da damn Yankess, and win’ da World Series, if he waz to pass on early.” She says. “God, I hated when he talked like dat.” She says. “But, well, what the f_ _ k, maybe he knew—ya know what I mean, K___?” She says, taking a sip of soda. “Maybe he knew….” She then looks again at the photo of them on the coffee table next to the white candle. She smiles.
“Yup, maybe he did.” I say. I then watch the candle wick-of-flame flick and dance more rapidly in the apartment, despite no apparent breeze in the room.
“I mean—I..I..I talk to him all da time. So he’s happy now that they won, and that he was let in the pearly gates” She says. “You think I’m crazy, huh?” She says, looking at me over her glasses. She stops eating. She puts her fork down. Interlocks both fingers from her hands into one fist, and leans her chin on her interlocked hands to await my response.
“Whut, me—thinkin’ your crazy— Pheww,” you forget, “I’m a Pisces, with a moon in Scorpio—I’m all about the mystical,” I say, as I take a peek at the dancing wick of the candle move with greater animation.
We laugh, and continue eating and talking about if anyone would ever believe, that it was our S_____ who helped the Sox shock the Yankees and go on to win the World Series in 2004.
