Thunder, Lighting, and Red Sox Baseball

Just as the smell of freshly cut grass signals the start of a new season and the foliage marks the end, the trade deadline and the dog days of summer are best punctuated by torrential downpours and lightning illuminating the sky. And even now, nothing takes me back to my childhood more quickly than listening to baseball on the radio during a sweltering August thunderstorm.

A lot of Boston natives loathe these West Coast games and their unnatural 10pm start times, and I dislike many elements of them as well. Especially devestating are those games that fall in the middle of the week and require your full attention - I've never seen a Wednesday work day ruined more completely than by an extra-innings loss in Oakland on Tuesday night. Especially after a hundred games, our weeknights have been set like clockwork - get home from work, change clothes, grab some dinner, and pull up a chair for the seven o'clock game. West Coast trips take both players and fans out of their comfort zones.

But a quiet little corner of my mind has always loved these games, because they bring me back to as far back as I can remember. Tucked into bed, with my pillows lined up to see directly out of my bedroom window and into the illuminated night sky, as Castiglione and Trupiano kept us informed of what our boys were doing over three thousand miles away. I don't think the radio in my bedroom was ever used for anything other than these specific games.

I assumed this exact same position for a Roger Clemens, Pedro Martinez, and Curt Schilling. I listened to the count get worked by Wade Boggs, Bill Mueller, and Kevin Youkilis. Even as I moved to college and then New York, I always kept this tradition - when the thunder clapped, I turned off the television and went to the radio.

So when it started to trickle this evening around eight, I had a feeling what I was in for. Sure, the romance of those suburban nights are gone - instead of an old-fashioned radio I'm streaming the radio feed on mlb.tv, and instead of a clear suburban night I have a fine view of a giant railroad upright while car alarms whine up and down the street - but the principal is the same.

Across the continent, Jon Lester is digging in. And I'm taking a nice long stroll down memory lane with my umbrella and a transistor radio.