LaughAtlantis

Twinkies are always better in theory than they are in reality.

I was in the supermarket recently and was extremely hungry - never a good time to go shopping - and I saw a box of Twinkies. For some reason, the glory of Twinkies became paramount in my mind. Ooh, yellow cake. Ohhh, marshmallow cream center. Mmmmm, tasty goodness.

The problem is this: Twinkies were really tasty when I was ten. Now, not so much.

It's like you get a picture in your head or a sense memory of what the Twinkies experience should be. It's never going to match up to the image you have of it.

That makes me sad. I want a Twinkie from 1983.

I posted this elsewhere at the beginning of the 2004 season. I've updated it a bit because it still holds true. Very true.
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Here's the deal. Ultimately, if you're a fan of a team - an ardent fan - you come to fall in love with that team, and those players. I love my Red Sox. For all their faults, I love them so very much.

I love Trot Nixon. I love Jason Varitek. There's a special place in my heart for Johnny Damon. I love what Kevin Millar has brought to the team both on the field and off. I was at Fenway for Gabe Kapler's second game with the Sox, when he hit three homers, and I fell in love with him just a little bit then. And I miss all sorts of players who've gone by the wayside. I miss El Guapo, because damn, I liked Rich Garces. I liked Mo Vaughn and I liked Troy O'Leary and I liked Brian Daubach and I was strangely excited this year by his return to spring training in Fort Myers. I loved Shea Hillenbrand and was bummed out that we traded him (it goes without speaking that I feel the same way about Nomar) - yet I fell in love with the folks we traded him for. I still miss Shea and Nomar, but my boys are my boys.

I think the first baseball moment I remember in my life was Carlton Fisk's homerun - you know the one. The most horrifying moment I have ever seen in a game was Bryce Florie getting hit in the face by a line drive - the thought of that still makes me twitch. And the most moving moment I have ever seen on a baseball field was Ted Williams coming onto the field at Fenway during the 100th All-Star Game, entering in a golf cart and looking sick and wan, but embodying so much of what has been wonderful - and also terribly unfair - about Red Sox history. That man, who is inarguably one of the best players in the history of the sport, spent twenty-one years on the Red Sox roster and never earned a World Series Championship Ring.

This is my team. These are my boys. I love them all.

In all honesty, I don't give a flying fuck as to who or what the Yankees have on their team. What I care about is just the fact that they stand in the way of my team's ultimate goal. In that respect - and that respect only - the Yankees suck. I'm more than cognizant of the fact that the Yankees are a damn good team. But what I care about is my team, my team that I love. I want them to succeed because I love them - and because damn it, they deserve it. They don't deserve it simply because they are my team; they deserve it because these are some of the best damn players in baseball.

It's easy to be a Yankees fan. The boys you love succeed a lot. Not only can you love your team; you can be proud of them and celebrate with them. To be a Red Sox fan is both wonderful and heartbreaking, because your team gets so far and then the final reward escapes them.

When you love someone, you want the best for them. That's what it comes down to. I just want the very best for my Sox.