Boston Red Sox and Los Angeles Angels have concluded their series. Spoiler alert: The Angels didn't win
It must be nice to be a Boston Red Sox fan. Actually, I feel like I sorta know what it's like to be a Boston Red Sox fan. We were all Boston Red Sox fans in 2004, weren't we? They were epic underdogs then -- David to the Yankee's Goliath. And America has a way of rallying behind an underdog. They were, in essence, the us of then.
But now, after the Sox toppled the Angels 3-1, effectively winning their series on the heels of Jason Bay's head-first diving slide across home plate, it's apparent that these are not your uncle Paulie's Boston Red Sox.
It's evident that we're witnessing a modern dynasty the likes of which we haven't seen in decades. And we're insanely jealous here in Chicago.
There was a time when it looked bleak for fans in Boston. When the sporting world was certain the team suffered a divine affliction similar to that of the not-so-venerable Chicago Cubs.
Now that the Sox have won this series and will now face division rivals Tampa Bay Rays, Curt Schilling's prediction that the team will go on to win the World Series seems that much more ... insightful.
The bottom line is this: We're so freakin' insanely wicked jealous here in Chicago -- specifically near the intersections of Clark and Addison. We want what Boston has enjoyed the last few seasons. We want to eschew our endless dread and feel perennially on top. We want it to be a given that we'll be there in blankets watching night games in 40-degree weather, warmed by the likelihood of greatness afoot.
We'll trade you. We'll give you Soriano for Pedroia. D-Lee for Papi. Fukudome for ... your bat boy. Maybe it's not fair on paper, but it's fair in life. It's only fair that you share the wealth, Boston.
And while we're at it, we want our injured pitchers blogging about how our teams are unstoppable. Heck, we'll take our healthy pitchers blogging about ... anything really.
Hasn't Chicago proven that it can handle a dynasty with the Bulls throughout the 90s? Haven't we paid our dues and proven that we deserve, year-after-year, to have a baseball team locking horns deep in October? We're good winners. We'll be cool.
We're told it's a sin to covet. That we should be happy with the many blessings that have been bestowed upon us. And don't get me wrong ... there are some blessings.
But what is a blessing if its automatic companion is a curse? Or in this case curses. Curses!
So tell us, Boston. Tell us how to hope.
Ours is a city that rose from its own ashes to become one of the greatest modern cities in the world. We're home to doers. Great thinkers. Artisans of renown.
But we cannot bring a championship to the North Side.
Perhaps, dear Bostonians, you can answer this question: Why? Why should we keep buying tickets here in Chicago? Why should we keep tuning in and hoping, praying when we know the end result is futility? Why should we care when we absolutely cannot bring a championship to the North Side?
Maybe ... just maybe ... this is the cost of love.
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