Dec. 1, 2001
God is a Red Sox fan. Believe it or not, He is. And because He is, I have been asked to write this. As you probably know, I'm John Straus. I'm 109 years old, and I played for the Sox in the old Fenway, from 1912 to 1931. I'm in the Baseball Hall of Fame, and was inducted last year, the same year as Carlton Fisk. Can you believe he actually went in wearing a Red Sox uniform? Everybody said that that would be the greatest honor of my life, but they were wrong. Playing in Fenway Park for the Boston Red Sox was.
Being inducted into the Hall of Fame was great, but you have never heard the roar of the Fenway Faithful as they rise to their feet, cheering for you as you hit the ball out of the park. The fans have a real connection with the players, and with the game of baseball. When they went to Fenway, they saw the game of baseball as it was played 89 years ago. Sure, the uniforms have changed, and hot dogs no longer cost 10 cents, but the atmosphere is the same. When Fenway was torn down, part of that thrill, the connection with baseball was lost.
That's why I've been asked to write this. A group called ''Save Fenway Park'' met with me and told me they were putting together a book about Fenway memories, and asked me if I would contribute a piece. But I owe it to the fans. And to Fenway, And so I agreed. Some people are amazed I've lived so long, but I knew that I needed to see the Sox win another Series in Fenway before I could die. I was there when they first won it in 1912, and every time since. And I knew that if God was a Red Sox fan, He'd make it happen again.
A few months ago, on Oct. 5, He did, I really still can't believe we won it. In the division series we beat the Anaheim Angels, and we played Cleveland to capture the pennant. The World Series. The Atlanta Braves. The wrath of John Smoltz, Tom Glavine, Greg Maddux, and Roger Clemens. (After two years with the Yankees he was traded to the Braves.) And then a team that hasn't won a World Series in 83 years. You do the math. The odds aren't good. The Braves won the first two games, then the Sox won the third, the Braves won the fourth, and the Sox cleaned up the fifth and sixth. And then it was the deciding game.
Smoltz was pitching for the Braves, and Brian Rose for the Sox. The whole stadium was packed, even the 600 Club. Rose and Smoltz were at each other's throats. Smoltz was pitching a no-hitter, and Rose had only given up one. Unfortunately, that one hit was a two-run homer by Andruw Jones in the fifth. In the eighth, Tim Wakefield took over for Rose, and in the ninth, Tom Gordon came in. The score was still the same: 2-0, Braves. Smoltz was looking good, and there was no reason for Clemens to come in, but he wanted to. It was the bottom of the ninth, and the Sox had two outs. Nomar had popped out to left, and John Valentin had struck out. Michael Coleman had gotten a single that he stretched into a double, and Lou Merloni, after getting the fans' cry of ''Loooouuuuu!'' drove the ball into the gap in right field, sending Coleman to third. Wendell Kim had waved him home, but Coleman smartly decided not to go.
Now Trot Nixon was up, facing the Rocket, Roger Clemens. Trot had been hitting .176 for the series, so Clemens had nothing to worry about. He was doing well in his closer's role, and he just had to strike out poor Trot, who was starting to shrink back under the immense presence of the Rocket. Clemens went into his set and fired it at the plate. ''Steerike!'' The ump yelled. Clemens smiled to himself. This was going to be easy. He threw a forkball just outside the plate, the kind that taunted you to try to hit it. Trot fell for it and swung, only missing by about 3 feet. ''Two,'' the ump called. The fans silently rose to their feet, all of their eyes on Trot. One strike away, Clemens thought, all I need is one strike and I get a World Series ring. He slowly went into his set, raised his arm, and fired it right down the middle. Trot took one look at it, closed his eyes, and swung. He felt the bat connect with the ball, and ran. About halfway down the first baseline, he looked for the ball, and didn't see it. The ball had already flown past the Coke bottles and into Red Sox history. Clemens stared at it in disbelief, then whispered the word ''no'' as he looked away. He was only one strike away.
Coleman was rocketing past home, and then jumped into the stands. Lou was trotting past third, with tears steaming down his cheeks. Trot was numbly jogging around the bases, with a stunned half-grin on his face. Wendell was bouncing along the baseline, wildly waving Trot home, even though the ball was long gone. Rico Petrocelli, the manager, sprinted out of the dugout toward home, with the players streaming out behind him. And Tom Gordon, coming out of the dugout, pointed his index finger to the sky. Joe Castiglione and Jerry Trupiano were shouting wildly into their mikes. ''They did it! The Red Sox won the series! The Red Sox have won the World Series for the first time in 83 years, and Tom Gordon is pointing to the sky! They did it!''
The crowd was streaming onto the field, and the police did nothing to stop them. They were just as shocked and stunned as the rest of us. The new owner, Stephen King, jumped from the seat he was in and onto the field. It was as amazing night. People were laughing, crying, and dancing at the same time. I can still hear it in my ears now. The old ballpark was cradling the fans in her arms. I don't think I could ever describe that night exactly, because no one could ever describe the emotions, the spirit that was there. It will be forever in the minds of those who lived it.
They tore Fenway down right after the series, but they will never tear the memories down. I close my eyes now, and I see the fans on the field, and Fenway embracing them. And then I remember 1912 when I walked out of the dugout and onto the most amazing field I had ever seen. The whole stadium was brand new, and I hear the crowd cheer as I hit my first home run. They were cheering for me, but they were actually cheering for baseball, for the love of the game.
I'm an old man. I've seen a lot in my lifetime, and a lot of ballgames. And I've seen the Sox win the Series again. I can now die peacefully. In my sleep I hear the crack of the bat, and I feel myself drift toward the sun. And as I leave the ballpark known as life, The Fenway Faithful rise to their feet and start to cheer.
