I’ve never been the face-paint donning, foam-hands clad, spectator-sport enthusiast. Prior to living in Boston, I had as much interest in watching a paced game of baseball as I did waiting for a virus-ridden computer to start up. But
a few visits to Fenway Park quickly fixed that.
For Bostonians, being a Red Sox fan is a cult vow, turning even the most left-brained, emotionally stable citizens into unflinchingly faithful and superstitious beings who don the “B” on their dusty caps as if it were a red badge of courage. A
telling instance is the fact that, as late as the night of game four in this season’s World Series, Boston city officials were afraid to pre-plan any victory parades, so as not to jinx the team that has caused an 86-year-old heartbreak for so many.
I sadly can’t make the city-wide parade that’s being held today, but I look forward to experiencing it vicariously through my fellow fans on Flickr.