For Love of Fenway

Here and there, you see them. They are wearing this sublime, deeply felt, yet cautious and lonely smile. They are Boston Red Sox fans, who live in Israel. Many of us remember the Impossible Season of 1967, which ended with Yaz flying out and we muttered: 'Hullio Havier is a Herk.' Others remember Pudge Fisk's tie-breaking homerun in the 11th inning against Cinncinnati, screaming 'We're Number One' all night in Kenmore Square, only to lose the seventh game.

And so it went until 2004. When pigs finally flew (Ad astra per alia porci), and the Babe's curse was consigned to the trash heap of history, and the Sox finally did it, we Red Sox fans exulted in this world (and, I suppose, the next).

It was, however, very lonely for us abroad. Here, few people seemed to care. The Israelis didn't have a clue. Most American Israelis came from that 'other place.' I wore my Sox cap to school, and felt a bit foolish. That is, until a Law Student who was not alive in the magical year of 1967 (0r 1975 or 1987, for that matter), came up to me with tears in her eyes and said: 'Thank you. I was up all night watching the game and talking to my sister in Newton. When I got off the phone, I felt so alone, it was unbearable.' I commiserated with her and we both felt better and a lot less lonely.

So, here we are again. The Sox crushed the Rockies in the first game, and we have three more to go, Inshallah. We, the loyal fans of the knghts of Fenway Park, need to reassure and support one another. So, I'm going to start sporting the colors today and hope others will do so as well.

It might not help, but it certainly won't hurt.