These words, which I am commanding you today, shall be on your heart. You shall teach them diligently to your sons and shall talk of them when you sit in your house and when you walk by the way and when you lie down and when you rise up. You shall bind them as a sign on your hand and they shall be as frontals on your forehead. You shall write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates. -Deuteronomy 6:6-9
To be sure everyone's up to speed; let me tell you a secret. People in Red Sox Nation are not big fans of the New York Yankees. And people in Yankee land aren't big fans of the Sox. Armed with that information, you can better understand the center of New England's universe right now:
On commuter trains, everybody's talking Red Sox. In conference rooms before meetings start, Manny and Papi's latest exploits are dissected as intently as the company's budget projections. Grown men and women roar in their cubicles with each Red Sox win, and celebrate with gusto the absence of pinstripes in prime time.
I'm not kidding! You should be here: People who have never darkened the doors of a baseball stadium talk batting averages and pitching stats like All-Stars at an Old-Timers Game. Gentle elderly women turn into purse-wielding fanatics if someone praises A-Rod or Jeter. In every corner of Red Sox nation, the Red Sox latest march through traditional Yankee territory-the postseason championships-dominates the landscape. Oh, to be sure, there are other baseball teams out there. I know that, and you know that, but that's because we've lived in those other places where the smack of the ball against the wood of the bat still rings sweetly in our ears. (Here in the Northeast, that smack you just heard is somebody's briefcase walloping a tourist wearing a Yankees hat on the Freedom Trail.)
In Red Sox Nation, it isn't enough to be fans; they want to make you fans, too.
Day after day, hour by hour, men and women-even those whose whole lives usually begin and end with their careers-set aside their vocational passions to pursue their love for the Sox. They sleep Sox, eat Sox, and wear out the ears of anyone daring to declare themselves unconverted, undecided, or worse, pro-Yankees. Meek and quiet on most days, their voices roar with unity around September and October. Without fear, without restraint, without embarrassment, without even a hint of reluctance, they talk about something very important to them: Red Sox baseball!
There's no timidity here. Red Sox lingo fills the air, permeating the lives and language of the true believers. Zealous and passionate, they are missionaries for the Splendid Splinter, Yastremski, Manny Ramirez and Jason Varitek.
If only we workplace Christians could get as excited about the Gospel!
In
Neither is Jesus.
--Randy Kilgore
KC Royals Fan,
World Series Champions, 1985
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