The sickness known as baseball fandom.

Anyone who fancies themself as a die-hard sports fan regularly has experiences in their everyday life that puts their sporting obsession in sharp and embarrassing perspective. This morning, I had such an experience when my alarm clock went off.

You know that moment, after you've opened your eyes in the morning but aren't yet fully conscious, where the reality of whatever dreams you were having haven't completely left your system? You may wake up to find that you are not, in fact, dating a supermodel or living in a plush mansion.

I had such an experience this morning when I awoke in a cold sweat that the Sox had not yet resigned Lefty Grove for next season.

Although Grove does possess a 3.06 lifetime ERA and has been an All-Star six times, I don't know if my concern of this morning was well placed. Especially considering Grove retired in 1941.


I don't even know what kind of a dream I must have been having that would prominently feature a southpaw that last won a game for the Sox before my grandparents met, but it happened. And to be honest, I was rather pleased with myself that such a relatively obscure figure in Sox history had set up shop in my subconscious.

Fandom is a sickness, and its an even more debilitating sickness for lovers of trivial minutiae and history such as myself. Baseball is especially attractive for those of my ilk, as the numbers of the game lend itself to endless comparisons and manipulations in a way that football, basketball, and hockey statistics never will. And because baseball offers so many opportunities to observe, record, and reference the successes and failures of the past, it is a game that demands you watch as often as possible lest you miss history unfolding in real time.

I am constantly amazed at how readily the die-hards remember the important moments in a team's history. You know the idiom that everyone knows where they were when JFK was shot? Any Red Sox fan worth their salt knows where they were for Aaron Bleepin' Boone's homer, Pedro's bullpen appearance in Cleveland, the Bloody Sock, The Steal, and the Underhand to First.

And those are just playoff moments, when you were expected to be paying attention. Where were you when Varitek fed A-Rod a catcher's mitt sandwich? When Carl Everett headbutted an umpire on Family Day at Fenway? When John Valentin's knee finally blew up? When Matt Clement took a line drive off the forehead? When Trot hit that grand slam in Philadelphia on Labor Day? This year's Mother's Day Miracle? When Nomar took the fastball off the wrist? When The Trade went down? When Pedro struck out 17 in Yankee Stadium, or when he K'ed five of the six batters he faced in the '99 All-Star Game?

And these are just the memories I can clearly see from my adult life, spread over the past ten years. I'm sure Tom in Boston could fill a post with memories from 1967 alone, never mind everything that has happened since. You could remember Mo on the horse, Clemens getting ejected in the second inning and/or striking out 20...either time, Brunansky's sliding catch, Bucky Bleeping Dent, Lonborg on short rest, Teddy Ballgame getting hit on the elbow, Pesky holding the ball, Ruth getting sold, or Bill Dinneen's complete game shutout to close out the 1903 World Series.

Baseball rewards those who pay attention to such minutiae, even if those "outsiders" who don't schedule their lives around late games on the West Coast or afternoon games on the weekends think such study to be frivolous. There are certainly more valuable things for me to spend valuable brainpower on than Depression era starting pitchers.

But I'll bet you could find someone in or around the Hub with a great Lefty Grove story or two to share. And I'd love to listen.