The phone rang late last night, someone who knows I don’t go to bed early is calling me to talk about the baseball game I missed, or
I had decided I didn’t want to go back, had no idea that I would quit so completely a few years after 2004 – except for the year of the Marathon bombing, when it was just that Boston won. the World Series.
I didn’t pay attention to baseball when I was a kid. My older brother was for some unfathomable reason a Brooklyn Dodgers fan, right down to his blue jacket; my dad was a Red Sox fan and I never thought they didn’t win the World Series after the playoffs, but beyond that I had no interest in baseball until that I go to high school, waiting for the tables at Narragansett That Impossible Dream in the summer of 1967.
The Red Sox won the wild card slot last night. I’m not going to think about it more than being thankful that I paid attention to it at the turn of the century, that I paid attention to it since I recovered from 1986, enough to know a lot of players in 2004.
And at that point, I left my keyboard and went to get a present from one of my oldest neighbors, from the following winter in 2004, a DVD – I will always have a DVD player – ” Faith Rewarded “. I had just put it in the player and had background noise from the other room as I wrote. Then I would watch a few minutes and kind of listen and go back when it was near the end. Of course, I was trapped. From the end of the 2003 season to the Charles River ducks.
It wasn’t just the tale of this summer, including the usual long summer slump, it was thinking of a cousin who lived in one of those Big Ten states where football reigned supreme, telling me that baseball was not even a sport. I didn’t even blink before I said “no, it’s a religion here” because at the time it was. I wrapped him in Peter Pan and Tinkerbell drinking the poison.
We only had to believe for this to happen. Weird to think of in 2004, I was channeling Peter Pan, asking the children of the world to applaud to show that they believed in fairies to bring Tink back to life, but I tempted fate by sending an email with only the word ” Believe !!”
Some people may not have lived here at the time, may not have carried the burden for decades in
this fourth World Series game in 2004, and might have watched this DVD wondering about the guy who said, as he woke up his sleeping kids for the ninth inning, he had a flash of worry that he could mark them for life with a devastating loss.
It was an incredibly sweet time, when no one under ninety had a fond memory of the Red Sox winning the World Series and suddenly, after eighty-six years, there was a regional collective moment. The DVD reminded me of it being so intergenerational, from longtime fans and longtime retired gamers to kids like those roused from sleep by a horny dad.
Yes, the Red Sox won the wild card slot, or in more local terms, the Yankees lost it. It’s still a long way to the World Series, and if things go well I will have forgotten all about baseball by the time this column goes to print.
It is October, alternately beautiful, sunny and blue and dry, and miserable, gray and damp. I stopped looking at the forecast, after carefully following it the other day and getting caught in a downpour that must have been drizzle.
I looked back over the years past, wondering about the weather, finding a variety of stories about climate change.
Then from the year Autumn was a, still chewing on whatever hard plastic I held in my hand, a cell phone requiring a trip to the Verizon store but reminiscent of Benny’s when we thought he would be there. forever.
The computers at the Verizon store in Wakefield were running slower than my DSL (when Verizon still recognized a difference between DSL and high speed) at home but mission finally accomplished, I went to institutions in Rhode Island, first the CVS where things have been rearranged. I haven’t left since
June and had forgotten. The difficulty in finding the most basic items was annoying – someone else from Block Island said “I don’t have time for this!” – and they didn’t even have the kind of hairbrush I wanted, another fall victim.
And so I ran off to Benny’s, soothing like coffee milk (and really, what all those fancy milk infused drinks that became so popular if not glorified in latte, Rhode Island was just ahead of the curve? on that one).
The simple red names in bold type are familiar, the ubiquitous tire sales signs heartwarming. The aisles stay lined up, with no fancy redesign, certainly meant to create a better experience and in so doing, pass shoppers past things they might not otherwise notice, let alone buy. Vacuum filters are where they’ve always been, and so are cleaning products. A very practical friend once called Benny’s the department store of choice.
Best of all, there was a really helpful salesperson who explained the variety of a product I should get for Block Island where the sun and the sea are in the air even. He could sell me what he had but I really should go to another store for something more appropriate for my situation.
Benny’s seems to be hooking up, despite the fierce competition, perhaps because they don’t mind sending someone out on the road for what they really need. The store is in its ninetieth year, the announcements tell us.
We knew what we had before it was gone.