Quarantine Diaries – Patriot’s Day Edition

It’s Patriot’s Day here in Massachusetts, a holiday which commemorates the first battle of the Revolutionary War at Lexington and Concord. Every year, the battle is reenacted on Lexington Common, but not this year. Patriot’s Day is also the day that the Boston Marathon is run. After months of arduous training, folks run 26.2 miles from the suburbs to the greatest city in the world, but not this year. Marathon Monday will be held in September, the first time the race has been postponed in it’s 123 year history. On Patriot’s Day there is morning baseball; an 11:05 start, the only morning MLB game, but not this year. Fenway park is less than a mile from the finish line. The end of the game usually works out well so the baseball fans can watch the masses as they run by. The day is truly a Boston tradition. Sure, it’s be interrupted before. Seven years ago for the Boston Marathon bombing, two years ago it rained and there was no baseball (sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, sometimes it rains. Well the Red Sox went on to win the win 108 games and the World Series, so..) The weather is not always good, but sometimes it’s stupendous. The true start of spring, but not this year.

We miss the daily rituals, the meeting a friend for coffee or a cocktail, the ability to run to the store for that one ingredient to cook up a masterpiece, leaving the house on a daily basis. I so very much miss fresh produce when I want it rather than making do with what is in the house… so so much. But the big milestone days, the days of rituals past. I miss Patriot’s Day. I do not want to be sitting on my couch writing this, I want to be out in the world doing things, seeing things, seeing people. Today will pass and tomorrow we’ll be back to missing coffee with friends, gossip at the water cooler, going to a movie or a party. I know it won’t be easy. More than a few people have started to hit the wall from being inside, from not knowing when this will end, from job and health insecurity, from lack of the social contacts we are used to having. This really sucks. We’re all grieving for our old lives. And just like in any situation involving grief, everyone handles it in their own way. No matter what your reaction, it’s ok. You don’t have to be productive right now. If you want to take up something new, if that will make you happy, then do it. If you want to watch all of Netflix, do that. If now is the time to track down every dust bunny in your home, go for it. I’m exhausted from feeling sad. I just want to do something positive.. Someday we’ll think back and say: remember that time we all had to wear masks, stand six feet apart, crossed the street to avoid walking by a stranger, only waved to our neighbors and communicated solely on the phone or on ridiculous, insecure Zoom calls? That sure was crazy. But for now, we have to preserver. What other option is there? Stay home if you can, wash your hands. You know the drill. Please think of every trip outside: is this worth risking my life? Is it worth risking the lives of every other person I come in contact with? Is it? Be a a Patriot and do the right thing. Please ask for the help you need, financial or otherwise. People want to help, you would be amazed.

David Ortiz

Today is the last regular season game for David Ortiz, the most important Boston sports persona of my life.  I’m a grown ass woman and I am going to cry like a baby during the ceremony.  Like a BABY.  

What does David Ortiz mean to us?   Just everything.  He was a cast away from a team that didn’t know what to do with him.  He came to us, a huge man with a huge personality and a huge heart.   He’s been a leader on the field, in life and in our hearts.   See, in our absolute darkest of times, after having been eliminated in the 2003 ALCS in the most excruciating way,  living through the long, long off season where we didn’t sign ARod (lesson:  what you think you want is not always what you really need), after a magical season to find ourselves in the playeoffs against our most fierce rival, only to go down 3-0, losing game 3 in the most humilating of fashsions.  We were going to get swept by the New York Yankees on our own field.  The abyss loomed and the dread was palpable.   And then Millar walked (there is life for the Red Sox), Dave Roberts came in to pitch run, Bill Mueller waited through a number of throw overs (Bill Mueller still waiting for his first pitch), until Dave Roberts stole second, the Mueller hit him in (Bill Mueller… has tied it).   For three excrutating innings we remained tied, late into the night.  No one went to bed.  No one went to bed for the entire ALCS, actually.   

And then…. Ortiz into deep right field.  Back is Sheifield.  We’ll see you later tonight.   

The Red Sox didn’t lose another game that season, winning three more against the Yankees, then four straight against the Cardinals to win the World Series.   That is what hope, heart and hard work can do.   That swing changed a fan base long used to losing, long used to heart break.  We have pre-2004 and post-2004 thinking now.  What he gave us was hope.  Hope that even when things appear their darkest, things can still change, things can get better.   Every time he approaches the plate, there is hope that this game can turn around.  Life can turn around.  And that is priceless.   Thank you so much for that gift, my friend.    

So many other hits, so many other memories… from worst to first, to worst to worst to first again, and then in our darkest time, he reminded us what really matters.   An immigrant who became a US citizen, but whose home is Boston, he is what this country is all about.  

So today will be the last regular season game, but we still have the playoffs, so I don’t have to say goodbye just yet.  But we will miss you and everything you represent, our Big Papi.  

#ThanksPapi

 

 

EXTRA… for those of you don’t know what it was like to be a Red Sox fan and just how much we changed after 2004 (and 2007 and 2013), I highly encourage you to watch the following back to back:

Still We Believe.  The Boston Red Sox Movie.   A documentary about the 2003 season..

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0403893/

Four Days in October.   The four days where the Red Sox went from 0-3 in the ALCS to the World Series.

Oh and by the way, the 2004 ALCS?   His hit won Game 5, too. 

And yeah, he hit a grand slam in the 2013 World Series.   The picture of the cop in the bullpen is STILL my phone home screen. 

And if you need more, and there is more…

End of the Year Wrap Up

I have been thinking about all the things to say about a whole year gone by of life, but none of them really sums it up like Steve Silva’s video of the Boston Marathon bombings. Watch it to see the joy of the day, followed by the horror, then watch as members of the Boston Police Department and other first responders run toward where the bombs went off. Toward it. Watch them manually rip down the barriers meant to keep the crowd off the street so the runners can run so they can get to them. Watch medical people run from the medical tents after the finish line back to the spot. And finally watch out Steve Silva doesn’t once try to take a salacious, graphic shot of the injured. Bravo.
Disclaimer, as in the Boston Globe: This is raw, unedited footage. It is not for everyone.

http://c.brightcove.com/services/viewer/federated_f9?isVid=1&isUI=1

These poor Marathon volunteers who earlier probably thought the hardest part of the gig that day would be donning that hideous yellow jacket, not keeping journalists away and I have to imagine at some point, family members.

I was about a mile away, in Kenmore having just come out of the Red Sox game (and I would be remiss to not mention Napoli hit a walk off that day). We were SO happy, until the minute we went came out on the Comm Ave side of the Kenmore T stop and were walking by a line of parked police motorcycles. Suddenly one of the them yelled into his shoulder: major explosion.. everyone roll out. And the police came from everywhere. It was an impressive and terrifying display. We then watched police stream in from municipalities near and far. I asked twitter to tell me why and sadly, it did. In real, terrifying, time.

Four days later my city, a major US city, went on lockdown. Lockdown. Amazing. Terrifying. I stayed up all night the night of the chase/gunfight. TV, laptop, ipad and cell phone going. I watched a gun fight on live tv. I watched tanks and men in swat gear walk down the streets of a place ten minutes from where I grew up. It was surreal and still somewhat unbelievable to me even now. That same we we had a reorg at work and my job was eliminated. It did not seem to matter anywhere near as much (it still consider it to be the least important thing to happen that week, though I did end up landing on my feet).

Boston is my home. Patriot’s Day is one of my favorite days of the year. I know much has been written, discussed, and analyzed about this event by people more eloquent than I, but this was personal. Not as personal as for the three lives lost that day or Thurs night, or for any of the multitude of injured, but it hurt, it really, really hurt. That hurt is only tempered by the site of those first responders going toward it, of the site of catching the guy and the pride in seeing the people who came out of their homes after being locked down all day to line the street to applaud the police.

Then there was Papi (I’m writing this wearing a ‘This is our fucking city’ t-shirt) and the Red Sox. The little, bearded team that could. These are the two things I will take away from this year. What others should take away is: This IS our fucking city, do NOT mess with us. I couldn’t be more proud, nor do I have any desire to live anywhere else (even though tomorrow we’re looking at 12+ inches of snow). I was on Boylston St. the first night it re-opened (and I have the picture of Anderson Cooper to prove it). I was at Fenway the first game we could get tickets for and will absolutely be back there for next year’s Patriot’s Day game.

These two of the three things I’ll remember most this year. The third was adopting the owner of this sweet face:
001 crop, who knows nothing about any of these things.