Jay Resha’s Westword Sports – Funeralus Interruptus

It was all written. Written and prooofreadered. Ready to submit. Seven hundred and forty-seven funereal wonderful words, it was.
 
747 is a nice, strong number that conjures images of massive jetliners crisscrossing the country. Jetliners perhaps chartered by billionaires and occupied by millionaires – you know, the kind of millionaires who became generationally wealthy because they can throw a ball really fast, or hit a ball really far.
 
Baseball, of course, is what I am talking about. And some time back in this space, I mentioned writing a baseball-themed column for you on the next rainy day. The decline of the Red Sox has been on my mind…percolating in my vortex for some time now.
 
For you see, I spent the first three decades of my Red Sox fandom living under the “Curse of the Bambino”. Then, in 2004 – it is still hard to believe – the Sons of Terry Francona broke the Yankees after being down three games to none. They went on to win the World Series, of course, forever ending the Curse.
 
Oh, we had been hopeful when the John Henry/Larry Lucchino/Tom Werner group purchased the team in 2002, promising changes and investment. Some investment had already occurred beforehand with the signings of Pedro Martinez and Manny Ramirez, to name a few; but the new C-suite continued to spend money, on talented players as well as long-overdue upgrades for friendly Fenway Park.
 
The team was primed for success, and just two years after the ownership change, the mountaintop was scaled. A region rejoiced. Suddenly, the Sox were a model franchise, and three more championships followed over the next 14 years. It could have been more (looking squarely at you, 2008!)
 
But during the second half of the mini-dynasty – maybe after the beer-and-chicken collapse of 2011 – something changed. Some of the underpinnings of success seemed to be severed, even while intermittent success continued. Superstars traded and/or allowed to leave when contract extensions could not be reached. I watched the Jon Lester and Mookie Betts sagas play out, remembering the long-ago departures of Wade Boggs and Roger Clemens. A fluke last-place finish under Bobby Valentine turned out to be no fluke. Since beer-and-chicken, there have been four playoff appearances, four middle-of-the-pack years, and six last-place finishes. Six times?! Do the Bad News Bears know about this?!
 
John Henry used to meet with the press all the time. Now we go years without hearing from him. The Fenway Sports Group empire has hockey teams, soccer teams, and money we can’t comprehend. It feels like the Sox are just a cash cow in someone’s portfolio.
 
Thus, the rainy day and the eulogy.
 
But then they won nine in a row before the All-Star game. So I didn’t submit it.
 
Well, the second half starts now. We hereby interrupt this funeral with a critical series against the first-place Tampa Bay Rays.
 
Are the Sox for real? I have no idea. They may repeat last year’s surprise run to the playoffs. They may throw up on their shoes again once they get there. They may shock the world…or they may end up in the cellar. Again.
 
No matter what they do, the damage has been done. Many of us lived and died with this team 20 years ago, shouting “Cowboy Up” and “Reverse the Curse” and celebrating the championships, finally lording it over the Yankees. Then we watched them get cheaper and cheaper. Driving away free agents. Spending all the goodwill they had built up. Hiring incompetent stat nerds who would tell Jim Rice to stop teaching players how to hit.
 
Jim. Freaking. Rice!
 
So, my 747 words may never see the light of day. Even if the Sox tank again, as some of us (me) expect, it’ll get a rewrite for the next time I tee off on the Jersey Street Billionaires’ Club.
 
Bemused by the winning streak, I’ll continue to watch a game or two each week – it’s not appointment TV and I will not pay extra for NESN’s money-grab streaming service or their gold-plated extra-exclusive streaming-within-the-streaming-service to which one must subscribe in order to watch all 162 games. Not happening.
 
Scorned, bitter, yet still a fan, if diminished somewhat. I hope for better days. I remember the glory years.
 
If only the stewards cared about winning as much as I do. Not long ago, they did.
 
Questions, comments, mistakes? Any and all feedback is welcomed, and you can reach me at jayresha@comcast.net any time.