I had a dream the other night. A vision, if you will.
I found myself alone in a pristine white clubhouse, baseball equipment peacefully resting in every corner and crisp white home uniforms hung in every locker.
As my eyes adjusted to the scene, the door at the far end of the room swung open and the room was filled with light. A tall man in a baseball uniform with a bat over his left shoulder stood with his back to me, a squared "9" radiating in red on his back.
He turned and saw me. My jaw dropped as I stared in stunned silence at the legend. He crossed the room and looked me up and down with a disdainful air. He turned and spit; his saliva was absorbed instantly into the clean floor and left nary a mark. With a carefully calculated and disdainful tone, he began to speak to me.
"It came to pass, when Red Sox fans began to multiply across the country from coast to coast, that these people saw the Sox were good; and they took the team as their own to form Red Sox Nation.
"And we, the storied past of the franchise, saw that the inconstancy of the fan was great in the Nation, and that the bandwagon runneth over with pink hats. And it repented the legends of the franchise that we had made Red Sox Nation, and it grieved us at our hearts.
"And we legends said, 'We will destroy the Nation whom we have created from the face of the earth; both die-hard, and pink-hat, and the aged, and the young; for it repenteth us that we have made them."
He paused as his features momentarily softened.
"But you found grace in the eyes of the legends."
My mouth ran dry and I was lost for words; fortunately, his face hardened quickly and he continued at a more rapid pace.
"We have looked upon the fanbase, and, behold, it is corrupt; for all fans care more about 'Sox Appeal' and the President of Red Sox Nation than the play upon the field. And we say unto you, the end of all pink-hats is come before us; for the Nation is filled with bandwagoners; and behold, I, even I, do bring a flood of misery and bad luck to the team, to destroy all happiness and joy from the Nation, and every trace of pleasure will be taken from the Red Sox fans."
"What do you mean?" I finally interrupted. "Bad luck? Destroyed happiness? I don't understand...are you telling me you're going to make the Red Sox lose?"
He nodded sadly. "Not only will they lose, but they will lose in devestating fashion. Crippling losses, like those which have dotted this franchise for the better part of a century, will obliterate all hopes of a championship. New heartbreak will be piled upon the old."
"But why?" I begged, searching for a reprieve. "Why must we suffer this losing? Didn't we pay our dues during the final eight decades of the last century?"
The hardened figure's head drooped low as he resignedly nodded his head. "Yes, this franchise has already paid a debt," he began. "The account had been cleared. But that suffering and devestation served a much more important purpose - the Red Sox fan came to be known as the smartest and most impassioned fan in the country, solely because the abundance of losing served to deter any casual fans from supporting the Olde Towne Team. A sort of natural selection of true baseball fans, if you will.
"Unfortunately, that natural selection has been overrun in the past three years. We knew the team would become popular, but we never expected so many people would adopt this team just to be trendy. This is why the 2003 team had to lose - the 'Cowboy Up' gang was just too popular, and if they took home a World Championship, the Sox would be trapped in the mainstream for years and years to come."
My stomach dropped as I understood what was happening. "So you're telling me the Sox will lose this year simply to drive away bandwagon fans?"
"Not just this year, unfortunately," he replied. "The losing will continue, each more devestating than the last, until only true Red Sox fans remain."
"But that could take years!" I blurted.
"Yes, it could. And it will."
"And there is no other way?"
"None."
"Well if you're telling me for a fact that this team won't win for years to come, then why should I stick with them?"
At this, a smile finally cracked his face.
"For the same reason as all those Red Sox fans of the twentieth century - because it is your destiny."
"But be strong, and you will be rewarded," he said as he made his way back to the door. "A day will come where the Red Sox are no longer trendy. When the passionate baseball fans of yesteryear will replace the Johnny-come-latelies in the stands of that lyric little bandbox in Kenmore Square. When marketing will be unnecessary, and the game itself will be the one and only necessary selling point."
He stepped into the light and the door began to close behind him.
"But what about this year?" I shouted after him. "Can they pull it off?"
He poked his head back out just long enough to meet my desperate eyes. That smile once again crept across his face, as if he knew a joke that he wasn't willing to share. After a moment, he pulled his head out of my view and closed the door behind him.
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