My son and I had tix for game two of the ALCS. We boarded a flight in Newark that would get us to Boston in time to be able to watch the Pats game at a bar near Fenway. The flight was massively delayed with no end in sight, and I somehow talked our way off the plane, as I decided that I would rather drive up with the game on the radio than risk missing the Pats while we were in the air or, even worse, landing too late to be on time for the Sox. Three aspects of the drive up will never leave me. One, we stopped at a bar on the outskirts of Boston in time to watch several crappy plays by the Pats offense near the end of the game, including an awful Brady pick. When the pick happened and the game looked over, we got in the car and started driving closer to Fenway, as it was getting a little too close to game time. Two, hearing the call of the game winning pass to Tompkins. I was driving by the giant parking lot on Beacon and almost drove off the road. Three, after somehow finding a spot on a side street, running into Fenway with my son as if we were on air.
We were with a client and one of his friends from Detroit at the Sox game. That friend was loud and celebrating the inevitable Tigers win throughout. For my then 12-year old son, it was pretty miserable. It wasn't a lot better for me. In any event, my son was pretty despondent until Papi hit his bomb, and then everything changed. Delirium, again.
"Good times" doesn't do it justice. It was nothing less than one of my favorite days with my son, and also one of my favorite days as a Boston sports fan that did involve winning a title.