Seeing Petey

Despite the fact that I've had the culmiinating paper of one of my courses due none other than tonight, I've managed to watch the last two days of SNY (for non-NY'ers, that's the Mets channel, for all intents and purposes) to follow the adventures of one Mr. Pedro Martinez as he returns to Boston. I had to tape the game tonight, because I was in class (and thank you KB for giving me the advice as to which channel to tape, and which might be blacked out, as I generally tape the wrong channel when a game is being broadcast on multiple stations. I took your counsel as the word, and I did not even question it, and it was correct.)

In any case, by the time I got home from class, Petey had been chased out of the game. I didn't want that to happen. I think the majority of Red Sox fans didn't, either. In so many ways, Pedro was a person who initially hooked me into becoming what was an average Sox fan to being obsessed with watcing his every start, with watching his every pitch knowing that I was seeing something incredible. And along with thousands - millions - who knows - I'm not a numbers girl - of Sox fans, he was an icon to me. He was someone who didn't just physically pitch well, but who mentally was so much more astute and intelligent than most people I have encountered in my life. To be cliche, this man is a legend.

When I came home from class tonight, the score was 8-1, Sox. And I knew most of those runs had to have been off of Pedro. In retrospect, even though this game is still going on right now, I wish those runs had come off of a reliever. But the box score doesn't lie. And you know what, I'm glad I didn't have to see that shit first hand. Because I would have been conflicted. I would have felt like I was watching an ex-great love, whom I still loved but who had moved on because of circumstances, fight against a current love. This is a bad analogy, not because it's inaccurate, but because it doesn't convey the depth of what I would have felt. I would have probably had to drink myself under the table... oh, I don't have a real table, maybe the side table... in order to see it. Pedro vs. Manny in an at-bat? My two most loved Sox of all time facing one another? I haven't seen the tape yet, so I haven't seen how it (or they) transpired, but if I were either of those two I would not have been able to concentrate on my job.

Because sometimes jobs transcend the job itself. Sometimes you become so loyal to those with whom that you are working; sometimes you become close, close friends with those whom you are working. Especially when you overcome such obstacles in the face of adversity and personal stress (the MFY's series, circa 2004, and circa 2003 to precede that) that you form a bond that cannot be split no matter what. I can maybe better compare it to two war buddies who fought together - and won - at one time having to fight against each other at a later time.

God damn - I hope, I hope, and I hope that when I watch the beginning of this game that Pedro was so palpably received by the Boston fans that he KNOWS how much he meant to us. I didn't want to know that he got blown out tonight; I want to think it could easily be chalked up to emotion, or something. No matter what, in my mind, Pedro will always be Pedro. The guy who sparked so many people's love for the Sox again, who rejuvenated hope in the team, who made me love baseball again. (And fuck yeah, it's fucked up to see him in another uniform when there are Sox uniforms in the picture.)

Thank you, Petey, for your seven years with us. If we see you again in the World Series (something I have contemplated in the back of my mind since about 20 games into this season) then I will love you the same. You were honorable, you were charismatic, you were inspiring. I'll still root for the Sox, but I will always love what you did for Boston, even if you are not here any longer.