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Shipping cost cannot be calculated. Also, this traveling thing, it catches up with you. Yeah, I think so. I work extremely hard to accomplish that. The reality is a lot of us give up on chasing things as we get older because our body, our mind, you know. In my case, man, I want to be good. I want to continue being productive.
My hitting coaches know that. He said he is going to miss the roar of the crowd. When Mike Schmidt retired, he said he would miss room-service French fries.
What is David Ortiz going to miss most about baseball? I think being around my teammates. Plus, I think I play for the best fans in baseball. What about the criticism? I remember a lot of people writing that you were done years ago. Are you going to miss that? As you get older, you start getting mature, you start understanding things better. The year they started that up [], I ended up with almost 30 homers and RBIs.
But then, after that season, I worked extremely hard to prove everybody wrong. I announced my retirement after last year, but I also in my mind said I want to give the fans one of my best seasons ever, so let me get prepared for that.
So here we are, almost at the end of the season. Having a good year. What are you most proud of? I got to say the relationships that I have built with everybody around. You guys—the media—my teammates, the fans, the opposition. I think people are going to remember me more for that than what I had done on the field. In my case, I think, I always take my time to talk to everyone.
I would like everybody to feel good about themselves. I want to help, you know. You and me, we got that relationship. We go back and forth. I think at the end of the day that separates [me] from a lot of people. All I care about is [making] the game better, man. I want to sit down five, 10 years from now, watch one of those kids and be like, Man! Last night I was having dinner with [Toronto outfielder] B. Whole group of kids.
See, those are the kinds of things I like to hear. So we went to play the Tigers the other day. I sit down to talk to my boy [Justin] for a minute about his hitting. It might be because of what we talked about. He was going through some things. But I do that with a lot of guys in the league. Just because I want the game to get better. All right. What is your biggest disappointment? Because my career was supposed to begin the way it [will end].
Like I was a legit power hitter coming through the minor leagues. But you know what? At the beginning of my career, being an inexperienced guy, not knowing how pretty much everything works at this level, I was just a kid that was trying to play baseball, have fun and be who I am. And he had his reasons. Like I always say, the reality is that what I ended up doing in my career, that is what I was projected to be like since Day One. You surprised me because I thought maybe you would bring up that survey test from , the drug test.
That came out [in] , [but it was] about Fred was the oldest man in the world. Within three weeks after they had watched the Sox win the Series, both of them passed away. On its most basic level, sport satisfies man's urge to challenge his physical being. And sometimes, if performed well enough, it inspires others in their own pursuits. And then, very rarely, it changes the social and cultural history of America; it changes lives.
The Boston Red Sox are such a perfect storm. The Red Sox are SI's Sportsmen of the Year, an honor they may have won even if the magnitude of their unprecedented athletic achievement was all that had been considered. Three outs from being swept in the ALCS, they won eight consecutive games, the last six without ever trailing. Their place in the sporting pantheon is fixed; the St.
Jude of sports, patron saint of lost athletic causes, their spirit will be summoned at the bleakest of moments. When they say, 'Naw, I can't do this,' you can say, 'Ah, yes you can. The obstacle was much greater for these 25 men, and they overcame.
So can you. What makes them undeniably, unforgettably Sportsmen, however, is that their achievement transcended the ballpark like that of no other professional sports team. The Brooklyn Dodgers were the coda to a sweet, special time and place in Americana. The Detroit Tigers gave needed joy to a city teeming with anger and strife. The Yankees provided a gathering place, even as a diversion, for a grieving, wounded city.
The Red Sox made an even deeper impact because this championship was lifetimes in the making. This Boston team connected generations, for the first time, with joy instead of disappointment as the emotional mortar. This team changed the way a people, raised to expect the worst, would think of themselves and the future. And the impact, like all things in that great, wide community calledRed Sox Nation, resounded from cradle to grave.
Paul Barnicle, a detective with the Boston police and brother of Boston Herald columnist Mike Barnicle, left his shift at six, purchased a single red rose at the city's flower market, drove 42 miles to a cemetery in Fitchburg, Mass. Five days later, Roger Altman, former deputy treasury secretary in the Clinton Administration, who was born and raised in Brookline, Mass. He drove to the gravesite of his mother, who had died in November at age 95, dug a shallow trench and buried the front page there.
The totems changed, but the sentiments remained the same. At Mount Auburn Cemetery in Cambridge, for instance, gravestones were decorated with Red Sox pennants, hats, jerseys, baseballs, license plates and a hand-painted pumpkin. So widespread was the remembrance of the deceased that several people, including Neil Van Zile Jr.
Team president Lucchino says he's going to look into it, though Major League Baseball Properties would have to license it. Van Zile's mother, Helen, a Sox fan who kept score during games and took her son to Game 2 of the World Series, died in at There isn't anything else I can do for her. Red Sox fans often made pilgrimages to visit the gravesites of loved ones after the team's long-awaited triumph.
One day last year Van Zile was walking through a cemetery in Chesterfield, N. Blouin was the family name chiseled into the marble. Beneath that it said Napoleon A. At the bottom, nearest to the ground, was the kicker of a lifetime. Dear Red Sox: Thanks for the motivation. Like snowflakes in a blizzard came the e-mails. More than 10, of them flew into the Red Sox' server in the first 10 days after Boston won the World Series.
No two exactly alike. They came from New England, but they also came from Japan, Italy, Pakistan and at least 11 other countries. The New England town hall of the 21st century was electronic. There were thank-you letters. There were love letters. The letters were worded as if they were written to family members, and indeed the Red Soxwere, in their own unkempt, scruffy, irreverent way, a likable, familial bunch.
How could the faithful not love a band of characters self-deprecatingly self-dubbed the "idiots"? DH David Ortiz , who slammed three walk-off postseason hits, was the Big Papi of the lineup and the clubhouse, with his outsized grin as much a signature of this team as his bat. Leftfielder Manny Ramirez hit like a machine but played the game with a sandlot smile plastered on his mug, even when taking pratfalls in the outfield.
Righthander Derek Lowe, another shaggy eccentric, became the first pitcher to win the clinching game of three postseason series in one October. Foulke, third baseman Bill Mueller, catcher Jason Varitek and rightfielder Trot Nixon--the club's longest-tenured player, known for his pine-tar-encrusted batting helmet--provided gritty ballast. The love came in e-mails that brought word from soldiers in Iraq with Red Sox patches on their uniforms or Red Sox camouflage hats, the symbols of a nation within a nation.
Soldiers awoke at 3 a. Besides the e-mails there were boxes upon boxes of letters, photographs, postcards, school projects and drawings that continue to cover what little floor space is left in the Red Sox' offices. Mostly the missives convey profound gratitude. He is a Red Sox fan and moved to Ohio two years ago. There were countless nights that I kept the phone next to the radio so that we could listen to the game together. Maryam had never seen a baseball game before She knew how obsessed people back home were about soccer teams.
Dear Red Sox: Your first round of drinks is free. Nightfall, and the little girl lies on her back in the rear seat of a sedan as it chugs homeward to Hartford. She watches the stars twinkle in between the wooden telephone poles that rhythmically interrupt her view of the summer sky.
And there is the familiar company of a gravelly voice on the car radio providing play-by-play of Red Sox baseball. The great Ted Williams, her mother's favorite, is batting. Roberta Rogers closes her eyes, and she is that little girl again, and the world is just as perfect and as full of wonder and possibilities as it was on those warm summer nights growing up in postwar New England.
Once every summer her parents took her and her brother, Nathaniel, to Boston to stay at the Kenmore Hotel and watch the Red Sox at Fenway. Nathaniel liked to operate the safety gates of the hotel elevator, often letting on and off the visiting ballplayers who stayed at the Kenmore. Kathryn, of course, so despised the Yankees that she never called them just the Yankees.
They were always the Damnyankees , as if it were one word. That was it. We went to the Kenmore, and we watched the Red Sox at Fenway. I still have the images Roberta lives in New Market, Va. Kathryn is 95 years old and still takes the measure of people by their rooting interest in baseball. On Oct. They can still lose this game! It was not without good reason that her mother had called them the Red Flops all these years.
This time they really did it. They really won. She called her children and called "everybody I could think of. Kathryn's eyesight and hearing are failing, and she was surely sleeping at such a late hour. I've got the best news! The Red Sox won! Kathryn's face lit up with a big smile, and she lifted both fists in triumph.
And then the mother and daughter laughed and laughed. Just like little girls. Dear Red Sox: I really want to surprise my whole school and the principal. The conductor on the a. Steinberg opened the case and revealed the gleaming gold Commissioner's Trophy, the Red Sox' world championship trophy. Solomon, who had survived leukemia and rooting for the Sox, fought back tears.
The Red Sox are taking the trophy on tour to their fans. And two weeks ago when the Red Sox won the World Series. Everywhere the trophy goes someone weeps at the sight of it. Everyone wants to touch it, like Thomas probing the wounds of the risen Jesus. Touching is encouraged. It's an intense, cathartic experience. Why should the bond between a people and their baseball team be so intense?
Fenway Park is a part of it, offering a physical continuum to the bond, not only because Papi can stand in the same batter's box as Teddy Ballgame, but also because a son might sit in the same wooden-slat seat as his father. The Sox specialized not, like the Chicago Cubs , in woebegone, hopeless baseball, but in an agonizing, painful kind. Indeed, hope was at the very breakable heart of their cruelty. From the Impossible Dream team until last season, the Red Sox had fielded 31 winning teams in 37 years, nine of which reached the postseason.
They were good enough to make it hurt. People don't move from New England. They stay here.
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