Tuesday, February 08, 2005
Their was once a time when Boston was known as Loserville. Not exactly an easy thought to hold here in Championship City these days, but it was true only five years ago. Before Adam Vinatieri kicked the Superbowl winning field goal as time expired in New Orleans against the "Greatest Show on Turf" (and a 14 point spread), Boston was a source of great disappointment and letdown for fifteen years. Following 1986, which saw the Pats, the Celtics, and the Red Sox all compete for a world title, the Boston sports trophy case sat and collected dust.
What happened? The 86 Celts, maybe the greatest basketball team of all time, won another title, and then it all started to happen....
Len Bias died. Then Game 6 happened. Then the Oilers came to town. Then Dave Stewart started for the A's. Then Wesley missed the net. Then Bird's back gave out. Then Ulf Samuelson happened. Then Reggie was gone. Then Clemens left for Toronto. Then Desmond Howard returned. Then Parcells left for the Jets. Then Carroll was hired. Then Pitino showed up. Then the ping-pong ball fell for the Spurs. Then the Yanks celebrated at Fenway. Then Bourque hoisted Stanley wearing snow.
It wasn't just that it seemed like everyone but us was winning, it was that we just kept losing. Losing playoff games, losing players, losing championships, losing coaches, and worst, losing hope.
Why bring this all up now? After another championship and dynasty? Because those agonizing, hopeless, and fruitless years make it so much more special now.
Just think of how bad it was. How you questioned why you cared, or why you were so sick after another loss. Think of all the times you swore to never watch again, only to keep watching and keep yelling at the screen. Think of the tears or the dented walls, or the late-night calls to friends cursing the same dead dream.
Think of all the times you questioned if it would ever be worth it.
Then think about the last four years. Think about the glorious tuck rule, Troy Brown on special teams, Adam Vinatieri always, Tom Brady's poise, Bill Belichick's sweatshirt. Think about 20-17, 32-29, 24-21. Think about Curt Schilling's sock, Varitek's glove in A-Rod's face, Dave Robert's being called safe, David Ortiz in extra innings, a groundball to Pokey from Sierra.
Think about an easy chopper to Keith Foulke.
Sports is never easy; it wouldn't be worth if it was. For a city as proud and as passionate about its sports teams as Boston, it was hard to imagine what we had done to deserve fifteen miserable, loser-filled years.
I never believed in the Curse of Babe Ruth. I always thought if there was something sinister going it was more likely the Curse of the 86 Celts. Maybe they were so damn good that the sports gods felt we had gotten more than our fair share of sports greatness for awhile. We had seen the pinnacle, and it was our time to feel what it was like to be on the other end.
How stupid of me.
The sports gods were not punishing us. Instead, they were preparing us for a run of unprecedented and unimaginable greatness. They didn't move Mookie's grounder away from Bill's glove to punish us, they did it to set us up. And they kept setting us up, for fifteen long years, because they knew they were going to make it worth it for us. I guess that fifteen was enough, that they had done all the setting up they needed. They knew that no other group of people could handle it, even if they complained the whole time, like we could. And they knew that no one would appreciate it like us when it happened.
And then, on a snowy Saturday night, when an old, decrepit stadium was on its last legs, a referee looked into a tiny TV and recalled some small rule that no one knew about, and changed fifteen years.
It's a better story that way.
So if you think it's curious to dredge up all the bad moments at a time like this, I'd say it's curious to forget about them. It is those times of bleakness and soul-searching that make the euphoria of accomplishment that much sweeter to savor and appreciate.
And if the sports gods ever decide to set us up again, it will be these new moments that will carry us through. They have forever answered our questions of whether or not it is worth it. What we have seen the last four years has been not just a re-affirmation of our sports dreams, but of our ability to hope, to persevere, and to achieve.
Enjoy being Championship City Boston, but don't forget that they used to call us Loserville.
It makes it that much better.
What happened? The 86 Celts, maybe the greatest basketball team of all time, won another title, and then it all started to happen....
Len Bias died. Then Game 6 happened. Then the Oilers came to town. Then Dave Stewart started for the A's. Then Wesley missed the net. Then Bird's back gave out. Then Ulf Samuelson happened. Then Reggie was gone. Then Clemens left for Toronto. Then Desmond Howard returned. Then Parcells left for the Jets. Then Carroll was hired. Then Pitino showed up. Then the ping-pong ball fell for the Spurs. Then the Yanks celebrated at Fenway. Then Bourque hoisted Stanley wearing snow.
It wasn't just that it seemed like everyone but us was winning, it was that we just kept losing. Losing playoff games, losing players, losing championships, losing coaches, and worst, losing hope.
Why bring this all up now? After another championship and dynasty? Because those agonizing, hopeless, and fruitless years make it so much more special now.
Just think of how bad it was. How you questioned why you cared, or why you were so sick after another loss. Think of all the times you swore to never watch again, only to keep watching and keep yelling at the screen. Think of the tears or the dented walls, or the late-night calls to friends cursing the same dead dream.
Think of all the times you questioned if it would ever be worth it.
Then think about the last four years. Think about the glorious tuck rule, Troy Brown on special teams, Adam Vinatieri always, Tom Brady's poise, Bill Belichick's sweatshirt. Think about 20-17, 32-29, 24-21. Think about Curt Schilling's sock, Varitek's glove in A-Rod's face, Dave Robert's being called safe, David Ortiz in extra innings, a groundball to Pokey from Sierra.
Think about an easy chopper to Keith Foulke.
Sports is never easy; it wouldn't be worth if it was. For a city as proud and as passionate about its sports teams as Boston, it was hard to imagine what we had done to deserve fifteen miserable, loser-filled years.
I never believed in the Curse of Babe Ruth. I always thought if there was something sinister going it was more likely the Curse of the 86 Celts. Maybe they were so damn good that the sports gods felt we had gotten more than our fair share of sports greatness for awhile. We had seen the pinnacle, and it was our time to feel what it was like to be on the other end.
How stupid of me.
The sports gods were not punishing us. Instead, they were preparing us for a run of unprecedented and unimaginable greatness. They didn't move Mookie's grounder away from Bill's glove to punish us, they did it to set us up. And they kept setting us up, for fifteen long years, because they knew they were going to make it worth it for us. I guess that fifteen was enough, that they had done all the setting up they needed. They knew that no other group of people could handle it, even if they complained the whole time, like we could. And they knew that no one would appreciate it like us when it happened.
And then, on a snowy Saturday night, when an old, decrepit stadium was on its last legs, a referee looked into a tiny TV and recalled some small rule that no one knew about, and changed fifteen years.
It's a better story that way.
So if you think it's curious to dredge up all the bad moments at a time like this, I'd say it's curious to forget about them. It is those times of bleakness and soul-searching that make the euphoria of accomplishment that much sweeter to savor and appreciate.
And if the sports gods ever decide to set us up again, it will be these new moments that will carry us through. They have forever answered our questions of whether or not it is worth it. What we have seen the last four years has been not just a re-affirmation of our sports dreams, but of our ability to hope, to persevere, and to achieve.
Enjoy being Championship City Boston, but don't forget that they used to call us Loserville.
It makes it that much better.
