A Red Sox fan savors the Sox' defeat of the New York Yankees.

Just before the bottom of the ninth inning of Game 4 of the ALCS, I turned down the sound on the TV and turned on the radio to 850 WEEI to listen to Red Sox radio broadcasters Joe Castiglione and Jerry Trupiano call the game.

I cannot stand FOX baseball coverage.  To give you an idea of how much displeasure I derive from hearing Tim McCarver and Joe Buck, I would rather be forced to listen to John Kerry twenty-four hours a day.

I miss the days of the NBC Game of the Week with Joe Garagiola and Tony Kubek.  Eventually, Kubek was replaced by Los Angeles Dodgers broadcasting legend Vin Scully.  Last winter, I was watching Game 5 of the 1984 World Series between the Detroit Tigers and the San Diego Padres.  Just as the Tigers were closing in on clinching the title, Scully actually made a point of saying let’s take a minute, be quiet and listen to the fans.  This would never happen on FOX.

Jon Miller and Joe Morgan do a great job on ESPN.  Sure, Morgan gets cranky but Miller always keeps him in line.

In any event, the Sox tied the game thanks to a single up the middle by Bill Mueller and swift base running by the vastly underrated Dave Roberts.  Of course, David Ortiz came through in the 12th with a dramatic two run home run.

For the final three games, 5 through 7, I walked home from work listening to the game on the radio while keeping score.  I made a point of taking a different path home each night although the Boston Common was my starting point.  I also made a point of stopping off to buy some food before getting home.    

Once I got home, I first turned on the radio and then turned on the TV (with the sound down, of course).

I kept my notebook on the floor with my pen resting on the pad at a slightly slanted angle.

This was my contribution to the Red Sox triumph over the Yankees.

I have no doubt that many New Englanders had other rituals.  One of my bosses told me about a friend who came over to his house wearing a Yankee hat.  The friend forgot the Yankee hat and it has been sitting on a chair ever since.

Of course, the Sox did the rest.

There was the gut wrenching 14 inning marathon in Game 5 that lasted nearly six hours.  My maternal grandfather could never watch games like these because of the tension.  For the first time in my life I fully appreciated what he experienced.  I entertained thoughts of turning off the TV and even the radio.  But I didn’t.  I had to keep score.  Ortiz came through again — this time with a single in the 14th inning.

Then came Curt Schilling’s gutsy performance in Game 6, bloody ankle and all.  At this point, everyone was reminded that no team in baseball had ever come back from a 3-0 deficit to win a series.    But Schilling’s T-shirt said everything that could be said, “Why Not Us?”

Why not indeed?

Of course, the Bronson Arroyo-Alex Rodriguez incident gave New Englanders memories of Bill Buckner.  But the umpires got it right.  A-Rod tried to karate chop Arroyo and he was ruled out.    A-Rod pouted.  So did Derek Jeter — who would have scored had the miscarriage been allowed to happen.

It interested me to see a letter from a fan to John Derbyshire of National Review Online that Derbyshire posted on their website.   The fan wrote:

Watching the Yankees-Red Sox series, I was struck by how trashy the Sox looked compared to their opponents.  The Yankees looked like professionals and role models.  The Red Sox looked like a group of homeless men who had been rounded up and paid with crack rocks to play ball.  Red Sox players who didn’t look like they needed to be dipped in a flea bath were the exception, not the rule.

I am sure this fan would be offended by Dave Roberts sliding into home plate and getting his uniform dirty.  How uncouth.

The Yankees may have looked like professionals but they (especially A-Rod) did not act like it.

Give me an unkempt player who hustles and I’ll give you a champion.

Besides, how can you dislike a team that watched the movie Miracle with Kurt Russell?  This movie was, of course, about how the late Herb Brooks guided the U.S. Olympic hockey team to a gold medal at the 1980 Winter Olympics in Lake Placid, New York.  The idea that these rag tag amateurs could get past the clean cut, professional hockey players from the Soviet Union was as likely as….well, the Red Sox beating the Yankees in the American League Championship Series.

The only thing I liked about the Yankees being in the postseason was hearing Ronan Tynan sing God Bless America during the 7th inning stretch.  Until I moved here, I had never heard the prelude.   It gives the song another meaning and Tynan sings it with urgency, solemnity and beauty.

In the hours approaching Game 7, I told people that if the Yankees beat the Red Sox in a blowout I could live with it.  The Sox would have given a noble effort but just didn’t have enough and got beat.  What I did not want was a Buckner-like situation that would have left yet another cloud hanging over this star-crossed franchise.

Even after Johnny Damon hit his grand slam homerun and even after the Sox led by 7 runs I was nervous.  The Yankees could score a couple of runs for three innings straight and be right back into the game.  It did not help matters that Terry Francona removed Derek Lowe in favor of Pedro Martinez.  Lowe gave up one run on one hit over six innings.  He was in his element.  Pedro promptly gave up two runs and awoke the fans, who began with the “Who’s Your Daddy” chant.  It was not until Ruben Sierra grounded the ball to Pokey Reese for the final out that my anxiety abated.

Given that this may be a once in a lifetime occurrence, I decided to head to Fenway Park to join the reverie with 250,000 of my closest friends.  The crowd became thick as lentil soup by the time I got to the corner of Lansdowne Street and Brookline Avenue.  It must have taken at least half an hour to get to Kenmore Square.

A majority of the people there were of college age and had come in from Boston University, Northeastern, plus some of the smaller colleges like Emerson, Wheelock, Wentworth and the Berklee College of Music.  Not surprisingly there was vandalism.  A traffic light was taken down.  I shouted,  “Leave the tree alone,”  when a young fan started shaking the branches on a tree that had the misfortune of being situated amongst these masses.

As I walked up Commonwealth Avenue towards Copley Square the crowd was considerably thinner.  But that changed as I walked down Boylston Street towards Massachusetts Avenue.  It was an absolute zoo.  Lots of jumping on cars.  Displays of public nudity, mostly flashing.  Somehow I don’t think any of these people kept score of the game.

By the time I got back to my apartment it was nearly 2 a.m.  The honking of car horns did not subside until about 3:30 a.m.  It was a long night.

I would be remiss if I did not say a word about Victoria Snelgrove.  She is the Emerson College student who was killed during the celebration.  She was struck in the eye by “a non-lethal projectile” at the foot of Lansdowne Street.  It is speculated that she was struck by a rubber bullet.  At 12:50 a.m., she was pronounced dead.  Only 21 years of age.

The Boston Police Department has taken full responsibility for what happened and has promised a full investigation.  I did not see any of the fights or overturning of cars that were broadcast on television, yet I cannot help but think that the loss of life could have been prevented.  According to witnesses, no one was instructed to disperse and no one was warned that shots were going to be fired.  I recall being in Times Square as 2003 was being chimed in.  I was walking up 6th Avenue towards 59th Street so I could access Times Square.  Only a few feet away, the NYPD instructed us that they could not accommodate any more people and to turn around and about face.  They said this several times.    We got the message.  No one got hurt.  The closest I got to Times Square was the corner of 5th Avenue and 43rd Street.   

I don’t believe that the Boston PD intended to harm Snelgrove, but that is small consolation to her family.  My heartfelt condolences to her family and friends.      

Meanwhile, Boston Mayor Tom Menino has indicated that he may close neighborhood bars and liquor stores around Fenway.  Of course, this has the effect of hurting businesses in what will be their most profitable time of the year.  It also will not prevent people from drinking in private residences in the neighborhood.    

Besides from erecting barricades and putting a limit on how many people can be on Lansdowne Street, Yawkey Way and Kenmore Square, the Boston Police ought to maintain open lines of communication with the public.   

Sure, I admit that I said to myself,  “Gee, I hope I don’t fall down.”  But this could have happened to anyone.  Take it from someone who was there; despite their young age, a majority of the people were not there to cause trouble.  They at least deserved to be warned of what was to come.

Anyhow enough of that.

People in Boston have become uncharacteristically friendly.  I mean I’ve seen people giving dollar bills to street people.  Heck, I even saw some people sing Bill Withers’ Lean On Me with a homeless man on Boylston Street.    

Still, you can’t take the pessimism out of the New Englander.    Almost to a person, people could not believe that Francona had removed Lowe in favor of Pedro.  That notwithstanding, people are very happy.  This is bigger than winning the World Series.   Winning the Fall Classic would be icing on the cake.

Most folks wanted the Sox to play the Houston Astros.  This, of course, mostly had to do with Roger Clemens.  Could you imagine Clemens pitching against the Red Sox at Fenway in the World Series?  This from someone who supposedly retired at the end of last season.

But alas, the Sox will face the St. Louis Cardinals.  This will be the third time this has happened.  They faced each other in 1946 and 1967.  The Cardinals prevailed both times in 7 games.  Perhaps this will be an opportunity for Johnny Pesky to exorcise some ghosts of his own.  Pesky played shortstop for the ’46 Sox and had his back to the plate and threw the ball a split second too late as Enos Slaughter scored the winning run of the World Series.  In 1967, the Sox came from nowhere to win the American League pennant.  As good as Jim Lonborg was, Bob Gibson was better and Lonborg was no match pitching on two days rest in the deciding 7th game.

The Red Sox and Cardinals actually faced each other in 2003 at Fenway.  I attended one of the games which the Cardinals won 9-7.  The much forgotten Byung-Hyun Kim was the starting pitcher for the Sox.

What I remember most about the game was that I was seated in a section full of Cardinals fans who had flown in from St. Louis sponsored by radio station KMOX, which has been broadcasting Cardinals game on the radio for decades.  Indeed, Cardinals games on KMOX radio were to cities across the United States and Canada what Atlanta Braves game on TBS are today.    

I must say these were the most polite fans I have ever met.  They didn’t get on their players if they struck out.  They chanted encouragement especially to Albert Pujols.  Half of them would chant “PU” and the other half would chant “JOLS.”  How can you dislike fans that wear Cardinals shirts bearing Stan Musial’s name.

My father actually met Stan Musial at the Polo Grounds in the early 1950s.  A Sunday double header between the Cardinals and New York Giants had been rained out.  Bill Stern, a popular New York radio personality, spotted my father and his friends and asked them if they wanted to meet some ballplayers.  Is natural grass better than artificial turf?

Of course, they thought they would be meeting Willie Mays and the Giants.  But instead they met Red Schoendist, Al Simmons, Harry “The Hat” Walker and Musial.  Each of the boys got to ask one of the Cardinals a question.  My father asked Musial about his batting stance.  Musial had the habit of shaking his posterior as he readied to swing at a pitch.

Am I going to any of the games?  I’m not sure if I have a couple of thousand dollars lying around.  Single tickets are going for anywhere between $1,200 and $12,000 on the Internet.  Frankly, it would probably be cheaper for me to fly to St. Louis, stay at a hotel and watch the game there instead of going down the street.

We’ll see.

My Dad told me that he had a premonition that the Yankees would lose.  A voice kept telling him that the 19-8 blowout in Game 3 would be the Yankees' last win.  The feeling, he told me, became stronger in the 9th inning of Game 4.  Perhaps around the time I turned on the radio.