If the Red Sox won the World Series but no one was there to see it, did it happen? Picture this. Keith Foulke is on the mound for the Red Sox, it’s game 4 of the 2004 World Series in St. Louis. Edgar Renteria steps into the box with a 1-0 count. He takes the next pitch and hits a knubber back to the mound. Foulke snares it; he is so stunned and excited that he hesitates to throw on to first. He takes a couple steps towards the bag and flips underhanded to Doug Mientkiewicz. That’s it. The Red Sox have just won their first World Series title in 86 years. BUT! The stands are empty, there are no camera crews, no flash bulbs, no Joe Buck trying to capture the emotions of hundreds of thousands of Boston fans. It’s just a bunch of guys pouring champagne all over each other in the middle of a baseball field. Doesn’t sound right, does it? So what conclusion do we draw from this? We face facts: it’s a fans game. And I’m not just talking about baseball. The American sports industry would be absolutely nowhere without its fan base.
That one moment on October 27th, 2004 changed the lives of millions of people and sent a riptide through the sports world. With an unlikely cast of characters, a sometimes wobbly manager, and a 3-0 hole to the Yankees in the ALCS, no one expected them to win. But they did, and it was the fans who carried them through those last 8 games. When Dave Roberts stole that base in game 4, we knew something special was about to happen. On ANY other Red Sox team, in ANY other year, he gets thrown out and the season is over. But he didn’t and the Sox pulled off one of the most incredible comebacks in the history of sports. And WE did it. Am I biased? You bet your ass I am. The Red Sox are my team. They have been since I came out of the womb. I’ve followed them every season since I could comprehend the game. We, as fans, want to believe that we are a part of this, that we can somehow affect the outcome and push our team to the next level. We employ truly crazy superstitions, wear rally caps and scream until our lungs bleed, all in the hope that we get to see them in the playoffs. We pour our hearts and souls into these teams. So why are we getting such a raw deal? Professional sports are an industry. I get it. There is money to be made, and if you have the opportunity to make a buck, why wouldn’t you do it? Ticket prices are climbing, the media frenzy is increasing, every Tom, Dick or Harry is writing a blog (ironic, isn’t it?) or doing a Podcast. We are all trying to cash in. All it’s costing us is our sports identity.
That’s where I come in. I took a sports broadcasting class this summer led by the immortal Ed Ingles. He brought in a cast of characters to impart some wisdom on breaking into the sports business. And they all basically had the same advice: Don’t quit, practice practice practice, and lastly, write. It was that last one that knocked me for a loop. I never considered writing; I didn’t think I had the chops, but sports broadcasting is what I want to do. It’s something I feel like I can be good at. So what do you write about? Who will read it? I thought about this for a long time and I came to this. Fans will read it. And so, I will write about the fans. How do we get that identity back? Who will fight for it? I don’t have the answers, but I’m hoping to explore these questions, and with your help maybe we can figure something out, come to some sort of arrangement, either with the sport (whichever it may be) or with ourselves.
So what are we going to do here? I’m glad you asked. Of course we’re going to talk sports, because a real fan isn’t a fan without knowledge. But this can be so much more than that. Along with all those sports posts, on the first Friday of every month you’ll see a story about the fan experience. We have lots to discuss; whether it be gambling, fantasy sports, announcers, TV blackouts, the disappearance of the NHL, the lack of soccer in America or just plain old ticket prices — we’re going to cover it all. And I want your feedback. Each monthly post will be sent along with all your comments, to someone who can make a difference. For example, the post set for December is about the disappearance of the NHL. After the lockout ended in 2005 it seemed like the league vanished from TV and sports news shows, but no one seemed to get angry and it continued to get worse. Now they cover, maybe 10 games nationally all year. In the 2008-2009 postseason you couldn’t even see the first three rounds on National TV! So, we send the letter along with all your comments to NHL Commissioner Gary Bettman in hopes that he’ll notice the millions of hockey fans aching for more coverage. Will it work? Who knows? But it’s worth standing up for. Sports mean so much to us, so why shouldn’t we fight back? The 2004 Boston Red Sox were underdogs just like the fans of today. Everyone is counting us out, but maybe, just maybe, we can pull off an even bigger comeback.