Sucker Punch

Maudlin? Melodramatic? Yes, I will be all of those.

That moment, when Curt Schilling walked out of the bullpen...I got goosebumps, up and down my arms. The love that was there, the pure adulation, the hero's welcome...I get chills.

There was a sense, with the Sox on the ropes in their bout with the terrible Yankees, of pleading. A welcome, but also a prayer-oh please Curt save us

He's done it before. The bitch of it is, after Game 6 last season, I could not allow myself even the smallest of doubts as he strode toward the mound, ready to make everything better. It would happen.

I felt that stinging rush of belief again, that questioning yes I had forgotten from last year's postseason. A sense of rising up to meet...something. Something greater, something meant, something spectacular.

I had already vowed to recall the sight of Curt Schilling emerging after a 69-game absence to the Fenway grass, for only the seond or third time since his heroism in last year's World Series, for the rest of my life. There was something so profound there.

Now, I will, but not for the reason I had intended. And that, more than anything to do with winning or losing or the fact that A-Wad hit the homer, is why I feel robbed.

You can feel that old cruelty, looking back on this Red Sox moment. Before last year, we might have protected ourselves with an armor of cynicism, might have braced for the worst before it happened. But last year, after the impossible became possible, we let our guard down.

Last night, it feels like we were punished for it. We were, in fact, made complete fools, and I could feel the gloating already beginning from New York, that fan base and phenomenon rising up, vampiric, feeding on our humiliation again. We were clotheslined. Can you blame anyone for laughing?

Has it been a cruel joke? Was last year's win just to refresh our belief, so it can be denied for another eight decades?

That's how dark my thoughts got watching  Schilling's blank face as that bank-shot homer richocheted in the bleachers.

How are we to proceed?

Comments

[Iain]

And, of course, we couldn't get beaten by Bernie Williams or Melky Cabrera - it had to be f***in' Sheffield and A-Rod, didn't it?

[Sammy]

ah Beth,
You should've let it spew when it was fresh. Would've been a great read. I await your thoughts. I will say this...while I disagreed with Damon's comments, I was troubled by the lack of zip on Curt's pitches. Would've preferred getting beaten on 95mph fastballs. Who's pitching for the Yankees tonight, Rick Rhoden? Ed Whitson?

[beth]

there ya go, sammy. hope it's bitter enough for ya.

[Boston Fan in Michigan]

Iain, in a way, I'm glad it was The Jewel. I mean, I hate the dude, for all the rational and irrational reasons, but you can't deny that he's an incredible player, and at least Schilling got touched up by someone who... well, I can't say there's no shame in it, but it's understandable.

If it had been Melky Cabrera... how ignominious.