Cursed To First - Sox and Pats forever.

Carmina Ohio

My Dad describes the atmosphere in Columbus on Saturday, leading up to what some called the biggest college football game...ever.

The aftermath of Ohio State's victory, from my dad's cell phone.

Sports and emotion go hand in hand, and rivalries bring out emotion like nothing else. We in Boston have Red Sox-Yankees, of course, some folks have Alabama-Auburn, while others enjoy Harvard-Yale. However, in my opinion, for pure emotion, tradition, passion and excitement, the pinnacle of sports emotion is Ohio State vs Michigan in their annual season-ending football battle.

I haven’t been to Ann Arbor for this epic experience, but I have been to Columbus twice. This year was exceptional, as both were undefeated AND ranked #1 and #2 for the national title. This game doesn’t need any extra emotion, but there it was: #1 and #2, and both teams were looking to become National Champion as well.

The experience began for me at Logan airport Friday morning. Coming down the escalator from central parking I saw people dressed in their OSU garb. GO BUCKS was the phrase of the morning—in Boston! At the gate, scarlet and gray clad people were all talking only about the GAME. OSU grad and Celtic great John Havlichek was there with his wife, Beth, waiting with us for the trip back to THE Ohio State University. On the plane I saw a young boy with his dad, who said “This is his first college football game!” Passengers all around agreed this is quite a way to start.

Friday night my other daughter Chrissie and I went to an NHL game, the Columbus Bluejackets vs the Colorado Avalanche. There were more fans in the crowd with their OSU red and gray on than the blue of the `Jackets--wearing blue on this weekend was not the thing to do! After the game, we took a drive around campus to see the RVs and their set-ups for tailgating and watching the game. RVs, scarlet and gray painted school busses, mini-vans and tents were set-up in every space available. What a sight!

One site had a very large 5th wheel with extended roof, recliners, grills and a 50” TV; this set-up made the news the next morning.

“We’re expecting about 200 people tomorrow.”, said the owner. And, of course, “Go Bucks!”

Saturday. GAME DAY. Went to breakfast at the Bob Evan’s next to the hotel, and saw all of the wait staff, cooks, and customers in OSU gear eagerly talking about the game. The game was scheduled for 3:30 pm; we were already walking from my hotel to the stadium at 9:30 am with a crowd of people, past a two-mile line of cars trying to get into already over-crowded parking areas. As we goet closer to campus, the walkway was covered with people shoulder to shoulder.

One event that is always a must for me when I go to games is the OSU band’s “skull session” in St. John’s arena (the old field house—it holds approximately 10,000 people). This event, where the band performs all of the music that will played during pre-game and halftime, starts 2 hours before kickoff each game day; my job is to get into the arena early enough to get good seats to watch, and two hours usually does it.

On this game day, we got to St. John’s around 10:45 am, thinking that we could take in a little bit of College Game Day with Lee [Corso] and Kirk [Hirbstreet] before getting seats. But there was a line at every door winding completely around the building! That’s something we’ve never seen before. After entering the arena, we watched it fill up bottom to top with red, which looked just like a thermometer going up! And it was just that fast; this was a full 2 ½ hours before the performance.

When the band enters the arena, it assembles in one of the corridors in the corner of the floor area, with the drum major in the lead. The crowd stands and cheers in anticipation of the entrance. Then it happens: double-time quick steps and the band is on the floor in a flash. The fans all standing and clapping in time with the drums only add to the intensity.

The next event on the skull session agenda is something that has to be unique to OSU. The football team spends the night at the on-campus hotel, which is across the street from St. John’s. They walk thru the crowd to St. John’s on their way to Ohio Stadium, known as the horseshoe or the ‘Shoe. Lead by Coach Tressel, the full team enters the arena and stands before the band. Each player is dressed in shirt, tie and jacket. One player speaks to the band and crowd, followed by Coach Tressel. This is just a wonderful moment and one that is heartfelt and very well done. After the team leaves the band rehearses the music for the day.

The walk to the ‘Shoe was wall-to-wall fans, some looking for tickets, and others trying to stay together in the crowd. Our seats were on “C” deck. As the name infers, it is UP many stairs just to get to the section, then my ticket took me to Row 38, out of only 41 available.

Surrounded by newfound friends--students, fans that got tickets from students and season ticket holders, all just a few among the 105,708 packed into the ‘Shoe--I watched one of the most exciting sporting events I have seen in a long time.

If you saw it you know what I’m talking about. It was just a track meet, each team just leaving it all on the field, two heavyweights refusing to go down. THE OHIO STATE UNIVERSITY prevailed and now I wait until January 8th for the next and final game of this terrific season. GO BUCKS!

***

We did see it, here in Massachusetts, where it was just another Saturday. My mother and I agreed that we felt alienated and a little frustrated to be so far from the action--getting psyched up for the game feels a little strange when no one else knows what you're talking about. And while I still feel that the Red Sox-Yankees ALCS games I've seen in my brief lifespan are the most intense sporting events I've ever witnessed, from what my mother was telling me via my sister, the state of Ohio absolutely shut down prior to this game. In districts where ballot counts were scheduled, those counts were suspended prior to the "Michigan game" as it is known. High school playoff football games were postponed. A recent high-profile draftee to another small Ohio college, according to a friend of my mother's, showed up at his hometown high school's game on Friday wearing not his new team's colors but the scarlet and grey. At the very least, the intensity absolutely matches Red Sox vs. Yankees--but here, rather than the talk on the radio and TV being all about THE GAME, as it is when it's Sox-Yankees, it was just...ho hum. A very strange feeling.

As for the game, college football is still just not to my taste. It's too high-scoring for me, too prone to back-and-forth like we saw in this game, which ended with a combined 81 points scored. But I had, I think, the key ingredient required for enjoyment of a college contest: a vested interest in one of the teams, knowing my father and sister were there, part of the scarlet-sporting, chanting, singing crowd, the massive voice booming "O!...H!...I!...O!" back and forth around the Shoe.

As my dad said, Jan. 8 will be the championship game...and it could just be Ohio State vs. Michigan, one more time. If that happens, I can only imagine that the entire region of the Midwest between the Great Lakes and Kentucky will be swallowed up by the earth.

The calm before the storm

Ever wonder what it's like for fans of other teams to have everything compared to the Yanks / Sox rivalry? A taste of our own medicine from the NL Central and the perspective of a relatively new Cubs-fan resident of Boston.--B

Beth has offered the keys of her blog to me a couple of times and for various and sundry reasons I haven’t been able to take the ole’ Taurus out for a spin. But with a five game series with the Yankees looming I figured there couldn’t be a better time.

Hi. My name is Brian and I’m a Cubs fan.

Thank you for your applause – lately, that’s not the easiest thing to admit.

I’ve been living in Red Sox nation for the past six months and while, most of the time, I find it difficult to talk sports with New Englanders, I can appreciate their tenacity, knowledge and dedication to their club – even in light of a three game sweep by a team which shall not be named.

But I’m told that Sox fans look forward (instead of backwards to 1908) so I’ll focus on the task at hand: Dismembering the Yankees over a five game set.

I don’t think the Red Sox could have asked the rain and scheduling gods to plan things any better. As I write this, the Sox are one game behind the Empire heading into a three game set with the Tigers before Jeter and his predilection for lemon-fresh scents come to town.

Admittedly, the next week doesn’t give the crimson hose a chance to relax and recharge but that might be exactly what they need. The Tigers are coming of a sweep of the Southsider’s and both teams resolves will be tested down the stretch.

It takes me back to the halcyon days of 2003 when a healthy Kerry Wood and mostly healthy Mark Prior were in the thick of a three way race for the central division crown. Trailing the Astros and Cardinals by a couple of games in the middle of September, the hated Redbirds came to the Ivy Covered Mecca Of All Things Baseball.

The Cubbies had been playing some good ball. Sosa was hitting home runs; Moises Alou seemed to have gotten the 6 Million Dollar Man treatment in the 2002 off-season and hadn’t broken down. Wood was solid; Prior spectacular; Zambranno was on the verge of breaking out. Jim Hendry had recently put on a ski mask, broke into Dave Littlefield’s house and robbed him to the tune of Aramis Ramirez, Kenny Lofton and Randall Simon.

Steve Stone – the best color man in baseball – was still in the booth.

It should also be noted that Matt Clement was having a pedestrian, yet solid season. As I recall he received the fewest run support in the League that year and still managed to win between 12 and 14.

I saw people in Iowa (where I was living at the time) walking around in Cubs jersey’s. You could just feel it in the air.

But the Cardinals were coming to town for a five game set.

What happened over those five glorious days made me believe that the Cubs were going to win the World Series. (Prior’s complete game shutout against the Braves in the NLDS – for which I was in Wrigleyville for-- and Kerry Wood’s home run didn’t hurt that belief either.)

Every day was tense. The Ivy was lush and green. The base paths were pristine. Beer flowed, tobacco was spit. People were passed out under the El tracks after quaffing too many Old Styles. And the Cubs won the first game. And then the second. And then the third.

The fourth game still upsets me. In the bottom of the 8th Moises Alou roped a sure double into the left field corner with two men on and would’ve given the Cubs the victory. But some blind umpire, it was probably Angel Hernandez, called the ball foul even though chalk dust was clearly visible. The Northsiders lost game four but came back to win game five.

I had to wonder if the City of Chicago had dumped LSD into the water supply or if the Cubs had actually taken 4 of 5 from St. Louis and buried them in the N.L. Central race.

(In retrospect, it might have been a little bit of both.)

The Cardinals were never the same after that series. Even though they were only 3 and a half back, they never got it together and may have quit on Tony LaRussa for the rest of that season.

The Cubs went on to out play the Astros and clinch the division against the Pirates on the second to last day of the season in support of a solid effort by Matt Clement.

The Red Sox have that same opportunity in front of them right now. A series win against the Tigers would give them confidence they need heading into a show down with their arch rivals.

Taking 4 of 5 from the Yankees will most likely assure the Red Sox of sole possession of first place in the A.L. East and leave the Yankees battling for a wild card spot which will probably come from a different division.

And while I’m not saying the Yankees would quit down the stretch – I’ll give Torre the credit he is due – a blow like that might be enough to revitalize the Red Sox going into September. If they keep winning and let the grind of the Wild Card race wear down the Yankees, combined with the shot in the arm they’ll get with the return of the Captain, a playoff birth is a safe bet.

Embrace it, Sox fans. Go out to Fenway; frequent the Cask. Be grateful for the opportunity you have. It may be another 100 years before you get the chance to do it again.

We Don't Look Back, We Look Forward

Morning. Red from Surviving Grady here. Clearly indicating some sort of chemical imbalance, Beth has asked me to help fill in during her vacation (or, as the Hollywood types refer to it, "rehab stint"). My job, as explained to me, was to show up Thursday morning and discuss Wednesday's game. So here I am.

But, seriously. Does anyone want to talk about yesterday's game? I mean, that was one of those dead-ass, let's-get-this-thing-over-with-so-we-can-get-back-to-our-own-timezone kinda games. The Sox looked lifeless, sunburnt and hungover. Like they'd rather be buried neck-deep in cheese fries and Hooters waitresses than have anything to do with the Oakland A's (and, in their defense, who wouldn't?). And as the guy who was forced to sit and take in this miserable three-hour performance, I'm left with a couple of questions:

1) Where did the offense go? After scoring 20 runs over the first two games, the Sox hitters were shut down by... Dan Haren? Dan "I haven't won a game in six weeks and even my mother's stopped returning my calls" Haren? Come on, guys, this was supposed to be the slam-dunk. The exclamation point on the west coast trip. Mr. Haren's supposed to make you all look like Reggie Jackson, not a pack of dolts trying to nail Jell-O to a wall. Four hits across nine innings ain't gonna cut it. Hell, with Manny and Ortiz in the line-up, we should be automatically assigned four hits before a pitch is even thrown, that's how sure we should be that these guys are gonna tear up any pitcher that dares get in their way. Instead, I sat and watched Haren set them down, one after another, like carefully placed dominoes. And all I could do was scratch my head.

2) Is Tito on peyote? Understand: I loves me some Tito. But occasionally he makes a move that has me wondering if he's hitting the pipe between innings. In the seventh, it looked as if we might finally break through: A Manny double, a Nixon walk, a Coco single. Then Doug Mirabelli steps to the plate with two men on and two out. And that, right there, is the problem: Mirabelli stepping to the plate. Why was this allowed to happen? There might have been mention of a reason that I just happened to miss; Varitek off fighting crime on the moon, for instance. But the thing is that unless the only other option was Johnny Pesky slapping on the catcher's gear, you don't give Dougie the chance to swing the bat. Because you know what's going to happen. And it did. And any thoughts of a comeback were quickly snuffed.

3) Is it just me, or does the entire Oakland team look like an oversized alt rock band? I could totally buy the starting line-up as a side-stage act at Lollapalooza. Even Ken Macha as the obligatory "aging hipster on keyboards/harpsichord."

4) Is there a bigger tool in the known universe than Jason Giambi? Okay, completely different game, but as I watched JG round the bases last night after belting his game winning home run, I immediately prayed that the ground beneath his feet would suddenly tear open and swallow him up. Or that a couple drunken stadium janitors transporting barrels of toxic waste would "accidentally" run him over. Or that Rodan would pick that precise moment to attack Ameriquest Field.

Ah, well. At least we've got this weekend's "Clemens returns to Boston" announcement to look forward to.

Legacy

Beth, for some unfathomable reason, has buggered off to New Jersey for a few days and has left the keys to C2F in the hands of a bunch of dodgy reprobates guest bloggers. And I ask you: who better to blog on baseball than a British guy living in France?

I've never done any blog-sitting for anyone before, so I have no real frame of reference, but I have to say that the conditions are pretty good. I've done some house-sitting from time to time for friends, and there always seems to be a twelve-page booklet of what to do and when: complicated plant-watering and cat-feeding schedules, long lists of which neighbours you can talk to and which you should *never, ever* under any circumstances engage in conversation, etc. The list from Beth simply said: "guest post." No instructions, no desperate pleas to not drink all the beer in the fridge, no "please don't's." Just a post, in English (damn, that would have been fun - a kind of retro, Expos-style post in French) and on baseball (double damn - you don't know how close you came to getting an in-depth study of the relative merits of baseball and cricket).

So what have I got for you? Curt Schilling, that's what, whose win last night made him the Red Sox' second 13-game winner of the season. I know that Schilling is not beloved of all of the members of Red Sox Nation, but like him or loathe him, ever since he put on the Red Sox uniform, he has done what he said he would do. He helped bring a championship to Boston for the first time in 86 years, and he has anchored a pitching staff which right now is starting look like it could be very good for a very long time.

Schilling' pitching speaks for itself, but what I find fascinating is his mentoring of the younger pitchers on the Red Sox roster. He surely has in mind the famous pep-talk (read: "serious chewing out of ass") he got many moons ago from Roger Clemens, who basically told him that he was wasting the huge talent he had. He subsequently got his act together, and the World Series rings he has are a testament to the power of that particular conversation. Schilling clearly now sees it as his job to be there for the young arms the Red Sox have. You only need to read what he had to say about last night's win:

"It means that [Beckett's] got to keep his mouth shut for another four days," quipped Schilling. "I've made 22 starts and we're 17-5. I'm proud of that. There's nights like tonight, when it's a lot more offense than it is you, but you take them any way you can get them."

to see what kind of relationship is growing there. On the days they're not pitching, Schilling and Beckett are like a pair of Siamese twins on the top step of the dugout, and that kind of relationship can only be good for the ballclub - not just the macho "anything you can do, I can do better" challenge, but the opportunity it affords Schilling to pass on what he has learned over the years.

The relationship Schilling has with the younger pitchers is clearly not limited to Beckett. He had this to say about Manny Delcarmen's effort last night:

"That's huge. It's a one-run game. He made some big pitches in big situations, but I've come to expect that from him."

The key to that quote is the "I" - that speaking in the name of the whole club is exactly the kind of thing that rubs people up the wrong way, but it is also precisely what makes Schilling so valuable. He sees his role as the leader and mentor of the rotation, and the "I" is fully coherent with that. He's saying to anyone who will listen: "These are my guys, and you'd better watch your ass..."

Yesterday' Herald had a piece on Schilling and his projected retirement after the end of next season, in which he said that there will be no discussions about extra years beyond that:

Schilling, however, doesn't need more money or more years. He also doesn't need to reserve the right to change his mind. His mind has long been made up.
After next season, it's time for his family. It's time to be more of a full-time father with the kids.
End of fantasy.
End of discussion.
"No, I won't revisit the decision," Schilling said emphatically when asked about being tempted to extend the contract. "Ending it next year has nothing to do with baseball. It has nothing to do with on the field. It centers around my family, missing the stuff I'm missing. It's wearing on me big-time . . . all (the stuff) I don't get a chance to see it again."

And you know what? That's fine with me. The man has done what he said he would do. And what he is doing right now with this staff is just as valuable as an extra year on the mound. One day in 2009 or 2013 Lester or Papelbon or Manny Delcarmen is going to stand in front of a microphone and thank Curt Schilling for changing his career back in 2006, and we'll all be sat in front of the TV saying, "Man - I always loved that number 38..."