Before the Red Sox Were A Nation

Cras amet qui numquam amavit
Quique amavit cras amet
- John Fowles, The Magus

As all members of Red Sox Nation know, Coco Crisp secured his place in the nation’s history with a deft and determined catch, in deepest center field, to produce the final out in ALCS game 7 and deliver the American League pennant to Boston for 2007.  I watched that play from the lobby lounge of the apartment building near MIT Sloan where I live, temporarily, this fall, in the companionship of several MIT Sloanies. (“Hi everyone!”)  (My family will join me in Boston in December.)  Mr. Crisp had been taken out of the batting lineup for games 6 and 7 and was only playing in that final inning as a defensive replacement, which made his catch an especially satisfying affirmation.  I assumed the cheers of my co-viewers related both to the Red Sox victory and to Mr. Crisp’s redemption, but then learned I had missed the main joy — as they informed me, Coco lives in that building.

My two favorite books are Charles Dickens’ Great Expectations and John Fowles’ The Magus.  I sometimes wish they weren’t, and that I could claim something more erudite (Joyce; Proust) or more au courant, or simply less old-fashioned, or less controversial.  But there you have it.  I read the former when I was 20, and the latter when I was 26; in each case breathlessly pursuing the protagonist to the book’s end.  It wasn’t until a re-reading in my 40’s that I realized they are actually the same book.  Young man in pursuit of…everything, learning by hard experience what is worth pursuing.  But what really makes the books the same is the trick used to humiliate the reader.  At least, humiliate those many readers who succumbed to the same dream of great personal expectations, at all cost.  “Go, Pip, go!”  And Nick, I mean, who could really blame him?  A young man has to make his way in the world after all, and experience is worth having, isn’t it?  When the author lowers the boom, it comes down equally on the protagonist and on the reader who supported him.  So when Dickens writes what we know to be untrue:  “‘Which dear old Pip, old chap,’ said Joe, ‘you and me was ever friends,’” the accusation is aimed not only at Pip, whose narrow self-interest has rejected Joe’s friendship, but at the reader who had been rooting for Pip as if Dickens were Horatio Alger, Jr.

I suggested recently that my kids might want to consider re-reading a particularly thoughtful and enjoyable book someday, and they responded “Why would I want to do that?  I already know the story?”  I didn’t do a very good job suggesting that there may be insights that a more leisurely reading would allow, once we didn’t need to know how it would “all turn out”.  But beyond that I was thinking about how reading lets us see ourselves in a new light.  Re-reading these two books let me see how I had changed — the contrast with my earlier reactions to the text, which were still easy to retrieve.

This 2007 Red Sox playoff seems like a re-reading.  Forty years ago, at age 12, I spent the summer glued to my Magnavox transistor radio as the Impossible Dream unfolded.  The amazing birth of a competent 1967 team after years of ineptness (leaving aside Yastrzemski).  The photo-finish to the season, and improbably the American League pennant.  And then the crucible of the World Series.  Going for the glory.  And the tragedy of game 7.  The dream crushed; how could that happen?  I rooted against the Cardinals for years, just out of spite.

And now, however 2007 turns out (I write this after World Series game 2; the Red Sox up 2-0), it has offered a chance to look again at 1967.  From this point the glory seems as much to have been in the pursuit as in the achievement.  I have thought about an aging ex-Yankee, Elston Howard, playing catcher on aching knees.  I have thought about a young star whose career, and perhaps life, was cut short in a moment’s errant pitch (Conigliaro) and who became an inspiration — and a prompt for greater safety in the game.  And I have considered Jim Lonborg (right).  Gentleman Jim.  The Cy Young award winning pitcher whose win on the last day of the season gave the Sox the pennant.  Who, four days later, beat the heavily favored Cardinals in World Series game 1.  Who beat them again in game 5.    And after all this, going into World Series final game 7, he was asked to carry the Red Sox on his shoulder one last time, and pitch on 2 days rest.  He had to know that despite all he had done in this amazing season, this one game would be what most people remember.  He had to know that history has not been kind to someone trying such a feat on just 2 days rest.  And he did it anyway.  And yes, his arm gave out; and the Red Sox lost 7-2.

I do hope the Red Sox win this year.  But it is a lot more fun, and in a way more rewarding, “reading” this season not as Pip, or Nick.  It’s not so much about the destination as the ride.  And, as a bonus, I finally get to enjoy the 1967 ride.  And I wonder if, in years to come, those in the lobby lounge on Third Street may be more likely to recall Coco Crisp’s last out in the ALCS, than even the World Series.

Postscript
We rent a house in Nantucket for a summer vacation each year, and our favorite pizza place is Sophie T’s.  The pizza is good but that’s not the reason I go there.  On our first visit as we looked at the few Red Sox posters on the wall with the kids, spouse Barb — a Cincinnati Reds fan — said, “I know these guys, but who’s that one?”, and I answered “That’s Jim Lonborg.  We’ll be coming back here.”

Worthy music:

• Curtis Mayfield, “Move On Up” (Check out Curtis and "Move On Up" on YouTube >>)
• Bob Dylan, “My Back Pages” (Check it out on YouTube, with Bob, Tom Petty, Eric Clapton and others at the Bob Dylan 30th Anniversary Concert  >>)