The 2004 World Series: Ten Years Later
- Thread starter The Talented Allen Ripley
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I've been quietly reminiscing this week about the events of 10 years past - thinking about where I was, what I was doing and how the memories will live with me for a long time. This is a slightly long and self-indulgent post, but it feels right given the time and circumstances.
A little context - I'm a Brit who got into baseball (and the Red Sox) through family holidays to New England during my teens. As a family, we've always been into all sports so it was natural to watch baseball when staying in Newburyport. I remember my dad being especially fascinated by seeing Wakefield fluttering his knuckler - it seemed to alien in a game full of (chemically enhanced) power. And the perpetual underachieving, badly run nature of the Red Sox seemed a natural fit for a family of Newcastle Utd fans. The interest in the game was reinforced when one of the broadcasters in the UK started carrying the ESPN Sunday and Wednesday night games live whilst I was at university - midnight game times were pretty much perfect for the student lifestyle.
By the time 2004 came along, I was two years out of university, working in the north of England, and trying to keep up with the Sox through early versions of MLB.tv, occasional ESPN games, and through lurking here. I was absolutely a fan and having been crushed by Aaron Boone the year before, had invested more and more time in following the Sox throughout 2004. By mid-August, as they found some momentum, I'd begun to get a "feeling" about the team - there was something special in the mix of individuals that just made me think the season was going to be remarkable. So I booked time off work to coincide with the World Series, and (half) jokingly said to my friends and family that I'd being going to Boston to see the Sox. Predictably, they looked at me like I had two heads.
By the time my birthday (October 18th) began, I was making other plans for using my vacation. Or I was until at around 6am UK time, when Ortiz delivered and the dream stayed alive. Sleep deprivation and emotionally draining late night viewing became a way of life for a few days, and as Damon et al finished the job in Game 7, I realised that I needed to find a way to get to Boston...and quickly! There was no way I wasn't going to be in Boston for these next few days.
At the time, the cost of trans-Atlantic flights at short notice, plus the cost of staying in the city pretty much maxed out my credit cards - I was paying off my student debts so disposable cash wasn't in large supply. Flights took me via Toronto, and I was far from alone in wearing a Sox cap when I arrived at the departure lounge at Heathrow - others were clearly doing the same (I've always wondered if anyone else on that flight posts here). Accommodation was an issue - I didn't really know anyone in Boston and hotel rooms were generally going at rates above what my credit card was going to allow. But what the heck - I was on the flight, and would find a hotel room when I got across the Atlantic.
Arriving in Boston on the day of game 1, the nearest place I could find a reasonably priced room was way out in Billerica(!), so that's where I headed for - making it out there in time to locate the hotel, and to find a very random sports bar to watch the game with a bunch of very confused locals, who were wondering why a baseball-loving Brit had chosen their sports bar to show up in. And having allowed Wakefield and friends to shred my jet-lagged nerves, I woke up the next morning needing a plan to get closer to the action.
A bit of intensive searching later, and a small room was located in an inn off Beacon Street - much better. And that became my base for the next few days of life-enhancing events. I knew I couldn't possibly afford to scalp tickets for Game 2 (as if anyone was going to sell them, anyway) so based myself in the Boston Beer Works beside Fenway, where I was lucky enough to be adopted by some kindly locals, who also had a couple of ex-pat Brits in their group. The good times rolled from there - watching the games with the same group of fabulous people, breathing in the atmosphere around Boston, and making sure that I collected every last memory I could. Games 2, 3 and 4 seemed to go past in a slightly delirious daze and before I knew it, the Series was won, the city was going crazy, and I was right in the heart of it.
I vividly remember waking up on the Thursday morning after the night before, and walking around outside Fenway to clear my head, taking photos of everything I could and awaiting the opening of the store to gather up whatever merchandise I could afford - the World Series winners mug is still my preferred morning coffee receptacle. The billboard of Manny that had said "Believe" the day before, now said "Thank You" - such a fresh memory. I also bought a copy of every paper in town (including the New York ones), and these went home with me to be turned into a frame full of headlines and cut-outs which hangs above my desk, and will undoubtedly stay with me for the rest of my life.
If I've got my dates right, tomorrow (October 30th) will be 10 years since the victory parade - I'd managed to convince my employer to extend my vacation time so that I was able to stay in Boston for that too. I don't fully recall where I was standing on that day, but I do recall (and have the photo evidence to prove it) someone standing on the opposite side of the road with the famous "Jeter is playing golf today" sign, and me thinking that was a pretty cool line. Clearly Manny thought likewise and the sign has become another item of history woven into the story of that chilly October week in 2004 - the Wikipedia page for the 2004 World Series includes a picture of Manny with the sign, and it always makes me smile.
Since that point, the Sox have been at the centre of my life, and have been one constant whilst many other things have come and gone. To think that 10 years has passed since that week in Boston is slightly terrifying, but the memories remain as strong as they did on the day I flew home. To prove that the world has a strange way of joining life back together, I'm going to be in Boston for a week as of Sunday evening - work now brings me across the Atlantic regularly. I'll be finding time on the evenings to retrace a few of my steps, and to reflect on how fortunate I've been to have followed the Sox for the past 15 years or so. 2007 and 2013 were special for their own reasons and in different ways, but nothing will ever come close to 2004. The perfect sporting moment.
A little context - I'm a Brit who got into baseball (and the Red Sox) through family holidays to New England during my teens. As a family, we've always been into all sports so it was natural to watch baseball when staying in Newburyport. I remember my dad being especially fascinated by seeing Wakefield fluttering his knuckler - it seemed to alien in a game full of (chemically enhanced) power. And the perpetual underachieving, badly run nature of the Red Sox seemed a natural fit for a family of Newcastle Utd fans. The interest in the game was reinforced when one of the broadcasters in the UK started carrying the ESPN Sunday and Wednesday night games live whilst I was at university - midnight game times were pretty much perfect for the student lifestyle.
By the time 2004 came along, I was two years out of university, working in the north of England, and trying to keep up with the Sox through early versions of MLB.tv, occasional ESPN games, and through lurking here. I was absolutely a fan and having been crushed by Aaron Boone the year before, had invested more and more time in following the Sox throughout 2004. By mid-August, as they found some momentum, I'd begun to get a "feeling" about the team - there was something special in the mix of individuals that just made me think the season was going to be remarkable. So I booked time off work to coincide with the World Series, and (half) jokingly said to my friends and family that I'd being going to Boston to see the Sox. Predictably, they looked at me like I had two heads.
By the time my birthday (October 18th) began, I was making other plans for using my vacation. Or I was until at around 6am UK time, when Ortiz delivered and the dream stayed alive. Sleep deprivation and emotionally draining late night viewing became a way of life for a few days, and as Damon et al finished the job in Game 7, I realised that I needed to find a way to get to Boston...and quickly! There was no way I wasn't going to be in Boston for these next few days.
At the time, the cost of trans-Atlantic flights at short notice, plus the cost of staying in the city pretty much maxed out my credit cards - I was paying off my student debts so disposable cash wasn't in large supply. Flights took me via Toronto, and I was far from alone in wearing a Sox cap when I arrived at the departure lounge at Heathrow - others were clearly doing the same (I've always wondered if anyone else on that flight posts here). Accommodation was an issue - I didn't really know anyone in Boston and hotel rooms were generally going at rates above what my credit card was going to allow. But what the heck - I was on the flight, and would find a hotel room when I got across the Atlantic.
Arriving in Boston on the day of game 1, the nearest place I could find a reasonably priced room was way out in Billerica(!), so that's where I headed for - making it out there in time to locate the hotel, and to find a very random sports bar to watch the game with a bunch of very confused locals, who were wondering why a baseball-loving Brit had chosen their sports bar to show up in. And having allowed Wakefield and friends to shred my jet-lagged nerves, I woke up the next morning needing a plan to get closer to the action.
A bit of intensive searching later, and a small room was located in an inn off Beacon Street - much better. And that became my base for the next few days of life-enhancing events. I knew I couldn't possibly afford to scalp tickets for Game 2 (as if anyone was going to sell them, anyway) so based myself in the Boston Beer Works beside Fenway, where I was lucky enough to be adopted by some kindly locals, who also had a couple of ex-pat Brits in their group. The good times rolled from there - watching the games with the same group of fabulous people, breathing in the atmosphere around Boston, and making sure that I collected every last memory I could. Games 2, 3 and 4 seemed to go past in a slightly delirious daze and before I knew it, the Series was won, the city was going crazy, and I was right in the heart of it.
I vividly remember waking up on the Thursday morning after the night before, and walking around outside Fenway to clear my head, taking photos of everything I could and awaiting the opening of the store to gather up whatever merchandise I could afford - the World Series winners mug is still my preferred morning coffee receptacle. The billboard of Manny that had said "Believe" the day before, now said "Thank You" - such a fresh memory. I also bought a copy of every paper in town (including the New York ones), and these went home with me to be turned into a frame full of headlines and cut-outs which hangs above my desk, and will undoubtedly stay with me for the rest of my life.
If I've got my dates right, tomorrow (October 30th) will be 10 years since the victory parade - I'd managed to convince my employer to extend my vacation time so that I was able to stay in Boston for that too. I don't fully recall where I was standing on that day, but I do recall (and have the photo evidence to prove it) someone standing on the opposite side of the road with the famous "Jeter is playing golf today" sign, and me thinking that was a pretty cool line. Clearly Manny thought likewise and the sign has become another item of history woven into the story of that chilly October week in 2004 - the Wikipedia page for the 2004 World Series includes a picture of Manny with the sign, and it always makes me smile.
Since that point, the Sox have been at the centre of my life, and have been one constant whilst many other things have come and gone. To think that 10 years has passed since that week in Boston is slightly terrifying, but the memories remain as strong as they did on the day I flew home. To prove that the world has a strange way of joining life back together, I'm going to be in Boston for a week as of Sunday evening - work now brings me across the Atlantic regularly. I'll be finding time on the evenings to retrace a few of my steps, and to reflect on how fortunate I've been to have followed the Sox for the past 15 years or so. 2007 and 2013 were special for their own reasons and in different ways, but nothing will ever come close to 2004. The perfect sporting moment.
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