Not the Copycat

Ah, another baseball entry that starts with only a title. This should be interesting and more meandering than usual. As I drove in this morning, my mind kept hearing the phrase, "Not the momma. Not the momma!" It's what the baby dinosaur always told the dad on Dinosaurs, a television comedy from the early 90s. I remember it for the same reason I remember Fran Drescher's distinctly nasal voice on The Nanny: it bugged me beyond belief.

Anyway, this post was to be about not wanting to be a copycat. Yesterday, so many blogs were raving about the Boston Red Sox and the greatest comeback in baseball history. I wanted to write about it, too, but was reluctant. What could I possibly say that wasn't said already? I'd simply be an echo. I sat and read many entries from everyday people and articles from professional sportswriters. So many voices, yet they all said the same thing. It reminded me of watching those large girl groups on the Japanese show, Hey! Hey! Hey! Music Champ. It's scary seeing seventeen teenaged girls sing a song in one-part harmony.

I really don't want to be one of the girls in the chorus. It's an ego thing. My ego says, "You need to be better. You need to be original." My ego is wrong, of course. I don't need to be either of those things. It would be nice, but it isn't necessary. If my ego has its way, this blog won't have a record of how I felt while watching Games 6 and 7 of the ALCS. If it happens that I feel the same way everybody else felt, then more power to the feeling.

Game 6 brought me sheer exhilaration. To watch Curt Schilling pitch seven innings of one-run baseball on an injured and bleeding ankle was incredible. His performance was redemption for a poor Game 1 showing. I loved the slogan on his shirt during the post-game interview, "Why not us?" There would be redemption for Mark Bellhorn, who hit a three-run homer to give Boston the lead.

The game also saw redemption for the umpires after reversing two incorrect calls. One involved declaring Bellhorn's hit a home run and the other calling Alex Rodriguez out at first. I'll forever have the memory of A-Rod blatantly slapping the ball from Bronson Arroyo's outstretched glove.

The slumping Johnny Damon redeemed himself in Game 7. Coming in, he had been hitting 3 for 29 in the series. That night, he went 3 for 6, with a single, a two-run dinger and a grand slam. Watching him swing in the slow motion replay and witnessing the way his hair moved as he made contact reminded me of a L'Oreal commercial. I half expected him to remove his helmet after the home run, toss his hair back and say to the camera, "Because I'm worth it."

The ALCS was the most dramatic and riveting sports event I've seen in a long time. It left me feeling drained, stunned, overjoyed and worried. Drained from the constant tension. Stunned that Boston won the series after being down three games. Overjoyed that they beat the smug Yankees in New York of all places. And worried that after this unbelievable display of never-say-die, they won't succeed in their ultimate redemption: winning the World Series.