Why Boston Teams Can't Win For Losing

At the gym this morning, I got to talking with an acquaintance named Nate. I don't know much about Nate, except that -- like most of the guys at my gym -- he's a fanatical Boston sports fan.

Although I've lived in Boston for more than a decade, I'm just about the opposite of a Boston sports fan. Full disclosure: my new book contains an essay called Red Sox Anti-Christ.

Nonetheless, it was impossible for me to deny that Boston is enjoying what may be the most mind-boggling run in modern sports history.

Not only are the Red Sox in the World Series for the second time in four years (thanks to an epic comeback against the Cleveland Indians), and not only are the 7-0 Patriots looking utterly invincible, and not only have the Celtics managed to assemble a trio of all-stars (Kevin Garnett, Paul Pierce & Ray Allen) to rival the Big Three of yore, but even the Bruins are off to their best start in years. Oh, and the Boston College Eagles are ranked Number 2 in the nation.

Huh?

So I'm sitting there with Nate and I can't help but say to him, out of sheer, grudging fellow sportsfreak admiration: "It's a good time to be a Boston sports fan, huh?"

"I guess," Nate muttered.

"What do you mean 'you guess'?" I said.

"We haven't won anything yet," he said.

"Yeah, but come on. Everything's going your way. Even the Celtics look like they have a shot."

"I'll tell you what I miss," Nate said. "I miss the Eighties. Bird. Parrish. I loved those guys."

"Wait a second," I said. "Right now, all four of your teams are lighting it up. The Sox have shrugged off their rep as chokers. If Tom Brady gets any better, he's going to ascend to heaven before the Pats get to the playoffs. The Celtics pulled themselves out of the crapper. This is your time to shine, baby. It's never going to get any better than this!"

Nate nodded. Then he said, in what was clearly a reluctant tone (really more of a sigh than a declaration), "True."

What I'm trying to convey here is something I've experienced over and over as an exile in Boston: the bizarre emotional dementia of the local fans. In blunt terms: these folks cannot simply enjoy the success of their teams.

Red Sox Nation is the most famous example. No matter what the Sox do in the first game of the World Series tonight, the faithful will find something to whine about. (And more so, they will feel that they are doing their duty by whining.)

I realize that complaint is the lingua franca of fandom, and that the partisans in Philly and New York and Chicago can be pretty unforgiving also. But having lived and rooted in half a dozen major American cities, I can say with assurance that the Beantown faithful are, by far, the most pathological of the lot.

They have all the passion and knowledge you could ever want. No argument there. But they're also tragically attached to their own martyrdom. If you gave the diehards truth serum, I suspect at least a few would admit to some disappointment at having won the World Series after '86 years. They used to be Major League Baseball's most famous hard-luck case. Now, they're just another big-market bully with cash to throw around.

Oh sure, the fans still complain. But it's just not the same.

And so, oddly, even as an avowed Red Sox hater, I sometimes find myself rooting for the team. If triumph is the worst punishment they can suffer, let them suffer all week.

Steve Almond is the author of the essay collection (Not that You Asked). He loves all his friends, even those who root for the Red Sox.