The Guilfordian

Issue date: 2/25/05 Section: Sports

Media Credit: www.isonline.com Do the fans make Boston the ultimate sports city?

Media Credit: www.allposters.com View from Boston´s Fenway Park

Media Credit: www.whitehouse.gov President Bush invited the Angels to the White House after their win in the 2002 World Series

Media Credit: www.scf.usc.edu In L.A., even defending NCAA football championship teams have trouble filling the seats

Media Credit: ael-limmasol.net L.A.´s Lakers -- and Shaq -- provide a welcome alternative to the Boston Celtics

It must be something we're feeding them.

Only three and a half months ago I drove 13 hours to spend a weekend in Boston.

Now, I'm getting a phone call from my Dad. He's in his office, in the John Hancock Building.

He tells me to listen as he holds the phone up to the window. He wants me to "soak up some of the atmosphere."

The events I am referencing are the Rolling Rally for the Boston Red Sox and the Parade for the New England Patriots, in honor of each team's respective championship victories.

These events have led me to a simple, obvious and unquestionable conclusion: Boston is the greatest sports city in the world.

With three Super Bowl victories in four years, the Patriots have marked themselves a dynasty.

With a league-leading 16 Championships, the Celtics are arguably the best team in NBA history.

Although there is no denying the historical dominance and popularity of the Yankees, has anyone else noticed the outrageous number of Red Sox hats being worn on campus since October?

My point here is simple. Boston sports are the best.

Period.

Why is this, you may ask? Well here is the answer, friends: It is because of me and all the other die hard fans.

We love our teams and we love our players.

Granted we want their heads on a mantle if they screw up, but that's part of our charm.

To a Boston fan, Ted Williams is the greatest hitter of all time. Curt Schilling the greatest big game pitcher.

We have admired Peter Gammons in our quest for a World Series victory the same way the Fellowship looked up to Gandalf in The Lord of the Rings.

In the NBA, the best player in history is a toss up between Bird and Russell. Wilt and Magic just can't compare. Jordan doesn't even enter the pictures.

Red Auerbach is the top coach in NBA history. The same can be said for Bill Belichick in the NFL and if Grady Little even thinks of showing his face in Boston, I'll ... I'm getting off topic.

People often comment about the outrageous number of Red Sox and Celtics shirts, hats, sweatshirts, shorts and shoes I own.

At home this is normal. My friend Mike has a shirt of every player from the Red Sox 2004 starting lineup, except Mark Bellhorn.

My friend Will owns a Kevin McHale jersey from when he played college ball at the University of Minnesota.

Will also keeps a Red Sox schedule in his wallet, on which he records the score of every game.

He picked this trait up from his father, who color-codes the family's yearly calendar with Red Sox results.

You might find this strange.

I find it admirable.

As part of the final exam for an Interpersonal Communications course I took last semester we were asked what social/cultural groups we were a part of.

I wrote that I was a Bostonian.

I cited Game 4 of the 2004 ALDS against the Anaheim Angels. At 7 O'Clock the Sox were up 6-1. I headed to bowling club assuming victory (which any Sox fan will tell you is the last thing you should do).

Shortly after arriving I got a call from my dear friend Adam AT. "The game is tied," he said. "Vlad hit a bomb off Timlin. A Grand Slam."

After shouting every obscenity in the book, I did the only thing I knew at times like these. I went to seek solace from fellow Red Sox fans.

Sure enough, in this tiny bowling alley in Greensboro, N.C., there were half a dozen fellow Guilford students all decked out in Sox gear. They all had the same distressed look on their faces that I did.

For the rest of the night we checked in on each other periodically. "Did you hear anything?" we would ask.

"No, not yet, I just got off the phone with my sister."

Or, "My friend says it's in extra innings."

Or, "Just talked to my dad. He says Foulke is looking good out there."
Finally, my phone rang with the news I had been waiting for. It was Adam AT again. He was out of breath, "Ortiz ... walk-off bomb ... we win."

I ran to all of my fellow Red Sox fans. "We won!" I said, "We won!"

We all embraced. No lie. There we were, six people who had nothing in common except an undying passion for a cursed sports team, hugging, in a small bowling alley 800 miles away from Boston.

This sort of dedication is what makes Boston the best sports city in the world.

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