The Yankees were in the middle of going up 2-0.
Last night saw a close, heartbreaking game at the Fens against a hated rival. In the end, we lost by that score. I was waiting for it, it’s no surprise this year at Fenway that things would go this way, but I was starting to hope.
We made it until the seventh inning before it actually set in that it was going to happen.
Look, there are plenty of bad sports clichés. Using the plural first person to describe your favorite sports team? That’s one of them. But worse – much, much worse – is not paying attention.
Oh, I’m not talking about another Red Sox loss. I’m directing my ire and attention to you, guy in the bleachers who decided that a close game needed fan participation in the form of the manifestation of socialism.
Guy who started the wave – this is about you.
I worry every time I take a spin through Fenway about what I know is destined to originate in sections 35-37 of the bleachers. You know we know you’re going to do it. At the same time, I hope you know that we don’t understand from where the need comes.
It could be April, it could be August, but it is inevitable. It doesn’t take long for that one guy to decide he’s had enough of not having enough. It may have been a spark in his mind when he took a run up the ramp at the end of a mid-inning potty break. Maybe he was trying to impress the girl.
But at the end of the day, his best move was to yell, “1-2-3” and hope that a section lifted their arms and that people in the next one over followed suit.
It made it seven laps last night. I counted. I tried to stop my surrounding rows. My brother-in-law was with me but we knew we couldn’t do it alone. Join us, for the next 100 years of Red Sox baseball, and help end this.
Friends, don’t let friends start the wave at Fenway Park. Say it with me now.
1. 2. 3…