How I learned to stop worrying & love the Sox

A Little Background on my Sox Project

I have a longstanding tradition of food shopping during Super Bowl. Not only do I get the aisles to myself for cart surfing, but also the “associates” are so bitter to be working that they never notice the filet mignon slabs down my pants.

As a self-proclaimed sports denier, double dating can be problematic. Most guys don’t realize it, but they’re uncomfortable discussing anything beyond baseball. This becomes an issue when the girls start yapping and leave me to chat with Troy.

Have I attempted to resolve my stigmatism? No; instead I moved to Boston, where one in every three women has a Red Sox logo tattooed on her tailbone, and where even snobby academics enjoy watching grown men in tights run around grass diamonds.

How did I exacerbate my aggravation? I took a job writing for the Boston Phoenix, in an office located just feet away from Fenway Park. I smell funnel cake and overpriced street meat from my desk; on game days it takes ten minutes to walk two blocks.

I need to wrestle my resentment and funnel some frustration. And I may have found an outlet through which I can execute my forever-plotted journalistic takedown of pro sports, and possibly assimilate to my adopted hometown. That’s right; I’ll be chronicling a season-long attempt to spark an interest in the Boston Red Sox.

Considering my childhood appreciation for NBA hoops, there’s a chance I might catch the virus. I’m certainly not too intelligent, as I once believed; around here even Harvard elites crowd Cambridge bars and restaurants during playoff season. Neither is my apathy related to some athletic deficiency; if such inferences withstand, then every couch potato quarterback must have been a four-year all-American.

Some people bet on sports to pique their excitement. But I have no love for gambling or shattered kneecaps. For me to understand Bostonians who orgasm every time a homer clears the Green Monster, I need to invest more than just money. This project, it seems, is the answer. Go Sox? Maybe sometime soon, but it will take a cataclysmic conversion. Let the games begin.