Spring really is the season of hope, don't you think? For most New Englanders, by mid-January we are hoping that Groundhog makes the right call and we get an early spring. An early reprieve from a brutal New England winter. True to form, most of New Englanders complain about the heat and humidity all summer and by October are b*tchin' about the cold. I guess it helps pass the time. But can we really complain about this year's "An inconvenient truth" of a winter? We have had a total of 6 inches of snow total over 7 "snow storms." By all accounts, a very mild winter.
So what did we really have to hope for this winter? Baseball. The Red Sox. That is what I am talking about. What an off-season. Welcome Dice-K, JD (as a compliment to Manny and Papi, this is exciting, as a replacement to Manny I would not be as excited. And I thought Mike Lowell got a bad rap before he donned a Red Sox jersey), and Julio. Lester is healthy. Papelbon moves to a starter role. The man-child, Wily Mo is primed for a break out year. Pedroia looks to be this year's Youk. The anticipation is almost too much to bear. It is like the night before Christmas.
Only in Boston, would the top news story leading into sports be a 4-4 tie between the Sox and the Twins in Grapefruit exhibition play over regular season games for the Celtics and Bruins. The Celtics are a far cry from the glory years of the 80's. The Bruins are now the team with the longest championship drought after being a long time holder of the consecutive playoffs record. They are a beat or two away from flat-lining.
What really makes me smile, are my boys enthusiasm for the upcoming baseball season. They are already geared up for clashes against the Evil Empire. And the boys actually have by passed mention of the Yankees, or the Stankees and just refer to them as the Evil Empire. I am proud of the young Red Sox Nation disciples. They know that "A-Fraud is a cheater." They take great pleasure in torturing their Uncle Schles, my brother in-law, by shouting "Go Sox!" or "Sox Rule!" into the phone at him. The boys actually called Uncle Schles on the phone after the Pats beat the Jets in the playoffs to gloat.
I know what you are thinking. My brother in-law is a NY sports fans. He must live in effing NY. Actually, all my direct in-laws live in NY. Yes, my wife is from NY. I know. Isn't that a cardinal sin for a card carrying member of Red Sox Nation? A casual observer would tend to think that. If you had asked me in high school or college, if I thought I would have married a girl form NY, I would have slapped you silly. But rest assured all is not as it seems. A few points of order:
1) Demi had left NY at 21, so she had been out of the state for years when we met on a tropical island, while on vacation, with no intention of going back to NY. We were initially living in a neutral site while we were engaged and first married. The thought of moving to a half way point in CT, lasted about a half of a second. CT? That's barely a step up from Jersey. Is there a worse stretch of highway than 95 through CT? Is it a state law that 95 be continually under construction? So we compromise. We moved to MA.
2) Demi was not a Yankees fan. She really had no baseball preference. Her family was actually split between the Yankees and Mets. I know. Not a whole lot better.
3) It was agreed before marriage that any offspring would be raised right. Pats Fans. Sox Fans. Celtics Fans. Bruins Fans (this was well before there was any indication that hockey would soon die and would rival the British Polo league for viewership).
4) A pagan ritual was performed to induct Demi into Red Sox Nation, that included candles, chanting, oaths and a little blood letting. A definite compromise was made. Not like Rules of Engagement where she wanted a cat, he didn't. They compromised and got a cat. She promised to cheer for the Sox, live and breathe the Sox, in return for a Sox hat and the right to ogle Jeter's tookus when I left the room.
Bonus Points - Demi successfully argued down two male patrons of the restaurant where she worked, on why Warrick Dunn should win the Heisman. Sniff...I think I have some dust in my eye.
If there was any doubt about her loyalty, there was no one sadder after Game 7 in the 2003 ALCS. And she was as exuberant as the rest of the Nation after Game 7 of the 2004 ALCS.
A Male's loyalty to a sports team is an important character trait. It is a defining trait. It is the choice between the two sides of the Force. Could you imagine having to live as a Devil Rays fan? With the importance of that load in mind, I gave a lot of thought about introducing my sons to sports fandom. I certainly didn't want to force sports on them. I want them to develop into their own persons, with their own likes and dislikes. But my word, what if they turned out to be Jets fans and I had to disown them?
My opinion on life is that life is a struggle for balance. The struggle is the adventure, the journey. The goal is to achieve balance. Tip the scales too much one way, you falter. Tip them too much the other way you still falter.
When it became apparent that my sons would follow in their old man's footsteps and become a sports fan, I had to decide what to present them to shape their team loyalties. Again, balance comes into to play. There is a fine line between stupid and clever. You don't want to inundate you kids with your sports team's lore and immerse them in your sports team's color. You can push them in the opposite direction. I have known plenty of guys who say they chose their team because they were the enemies of the dad's team. Can't have that. And you don't want to be to aloof where they pick the Bengals because they like the tiger stripes (my grandmother in-law actually took an interest in a Dolphins game because their jersey matched Dan Marino's eyes.....oy vay). Yep, a fine line.
A lot of the burden was taken off of me by my grandmother. She lived with us from the time my first son was born until he was 7. At 10 months old, she sat him on her knee in her favorite chair and watched the Sox. She never missed a game, to the point that if the Sox played a day game, you would usually catch her watching the game replayed at night. At 2 years old, I would come home from work to eat dinner. Caz would take his sippy cup into the living room, hit the lever for the footrest in my recliner, push the back of the chair all the way horizontal, climb in, sprawl out with hands behind his head, the Sox are on TV, and he would ask, "Is Derek Lowe pitching tonight?" Music to my ears. His little brother took interest and followed suit. Perfect. Coco is Little Papi. You would think Big Papi is Santa Claus except I think Coco likes Papi better.
Caz actually tried to get under my skin when he was around 5. He would try to slip in a "Go Yankees" to see who I would react. It was my youngest son who would have a conniption. I usually ignored him or just mildly carried on. At one point though, I did say, "Well, you have a choice. No Yankees fans are allowed to live in this house. So if you want, you can go live with your Unlce Schles in NY." That ended that. Poor kid. Banished at age 5.
I believe the key was that I didn't push. Did I secretly hope they would choose the Jedi side of the force and root for our New England sports teams? Sure. But did I plot a course for that? No. I gave them enough information to come to the right decision on their own. Subtle introductions to interests, whether it was sports, or reading, or chess, or what have you, is a fine way to approach things. Achieve that balance.
Both kids are actually very good chess players already. How many 3 year olds do you know that know how to castle? Exactly.
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