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Not Even in the Bronx
We gave away another one, and as the Yankee fans celebrated, I was able to yell expletives that even I couldn't hear over the noise. Tough loss, but we offer handshakes to the fans we've been jousting with all afternoon. They squeeze and smile because they won. Being well lubed, and confident we had plenty of time to catch our train, I led Wally into one of the bars on River Ave. I spot cold ones in a tub, order two, tip very big, and barely get a nod.
One guy tells me that they made people turn their "Boston Sucks" shirts inside out as they entered. In NYC? Weird shit. Some people refuse to shake hands, even some 10 year old. Those fans really fear us. At one point I heard my name called from across the room, but before I could turn I was snatching a well-worn Sox cap off of the floor as some big goon was preparing to stomp the shit out of it. No way, not in my face. Not even in the Bronx. No way.
I never wear a hat, but that sucker stayed on my head until it was placed safely in my office in Kingston. We dropped 2 out of three, not good, not good at all. However we learned quite a bit on this New York trip, quite a bit. And as life goes, if you can turn it into a learning experience, it's always a positive thing.
Cool Trip. Cool, cool trip. Even when you lose on the road you take advantage of that. Take advantage of the loss. The opponent isn't going to have shit to do with you if you beat them in their own house. But if they win they'll party with you and the real fans will definitely dig with you. I literally surfed off the train onto the platform in Westerly; we hit the bar across the street for one more round. File this road trip under Classics. Being a diehard Red Sox fan, and having become as many of you have suggested, the 'de facto' spokesperson for the New England fandom, I think it's important to make these trips. Travel to "The Big City"; taunt the NY'ers, cheer with them, take their shit, party with them; they need us as much as we need them. More than one person commented that we're all brothers in this, and we weren't necessarily talking about baseball. And because we live in a free society we're able to play this game with each other. That's what we're doing, playing a game with each other. And it's cool.
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I've been in enough baseball bars in enough cities after games to be able to judge the mood, and for that matter, the seriousness of the gathered fans. This joint was electric. I immediately started working the room, making sure even the glossiest of eyes could tell I was wearing a Red Sox shirt.
Someone with a brain yelled out to let me have it, and the goon turned into a goober. Nobody bought us beers however.
We made it to Penn Station in plenty of time and climbed above ground. Wally smoked a couple of cigarettes as we did a rather ample jay right on the sidewalk, across from Madison Square Garden. A quick flash back to RI on Amtrak, three hours. I drank a quart of pilsner on the ride.
