The Boston Red Sox: Defenders of the 2004 World Championship!! "Whoever plunges into his experiences with the momentum of hope, will remember so that he cannot forget." - Soren Kierkegaard.

Wednesday, October 13, 2004

As my husband and I laid in bed last night watching our newly aquired re-release edition DVD of "Scarface," our conversation inevitably turned to baseball. "If we lose tomorrow, it's over," he said. "Yup," I agreed. But tomorrow was distant, unreal...and besides, Pedro would be taking the mound. I kept this memory close to my heart as I fell asleep: Pedro walking to the mound for the first time at Yankee Stadium this year amid a hail of boos and jeers, with a wicked, secretly gleeful grin on his face; Pedro proceeding to shut the Yankees out and lead the Sox to a 2-0 victory and a Bronx sweep; Pedro walking down off the mound and pointing to the sky before he disappeared into the clubhouse.

Now tomorrow is here, and tomorrow is gone. Pedro pitched his goddamn heart out tonight, and the fucking offense couldn't muster more than one fucking run to help him out. Worst case scenario: I just witnessed the last start by Pedro Martínez in a Red Sox uniform. It wasn't pretty. It seemed almost an act of sheer willpower rather than physical effort. But he got the job done, working five innings of one-run ball until he gave up a two-run homer in the sixth to John Olerud. Mike was getting something to eat in the kitchen and popped his head back around the corner. "It's over," I said. I couldn't believe he could still feel like eating in such a moment, when my stomach felt like it was dancing somewhere around my ankles like an epileptic Pomeranian.

New memories: someone helping Pedro put the left sleeve of his jacket on. Ortiz's glare at Mariano Rivera after striking out in the ninth inning. A flash of Orlando Cabrera slumped in the dugout, his eyes black and glazed, his gaze unseeing. He wore an expression I've never seen on his face since he landed on the team - sadness. If he could have looked back through the television into my living room, I'm sure he would have seen his counterpart.

However. There is still a part of me that is defiant. That's waiting for that one big inning. That knows it's not over hasta la gorda canta. I'll worry about reloading my faith and belief on Friday. I know I'll be able to reach back and find more. But tonight I just want to say, in case I don't get another opportunity: Gracias, Pedro.



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