The last great American rivalry

John Henry thinks he is a man of fate. He has believed ever since he bought the Red Sox in early 2002 that it was up to him to end the curse. He has known that the only way to do that is to win a World Series. Once Grady Little stuck with Pedro Martinez in Game Seven and it all unraveled for the Red Sox, a prevailing view took hold in New England that 2003 was in the end mostly about adding a fresh entry in the long, long roster of disappointments to pull out and work like worry stones. That is how Red Sox fans have been brought up to react, and how they will always react, until their team finally wins another World Series.

Peter Farrelly was probably not alone among Red Sox fans when he said that, six months after the Game Seven disaster, he could not even recall where he was that day, even though he can describe in detail each of the Five Most Painful Sporting Events of his life. "I swear I can't remember where I was when Grady Little left Pedro in too long," he said. "I may have been in L.A., maybe Massachusetts, possibly Texas, maybe at a bar, or a hotel room, or home. I really can't recall. And that's good. Because it means I've learned to block this shit out. I did watch the game. Somewhere. But this is all I recall: I remember never thinking for a moment that they were going to win. I remember being proud that I wasn't getting sucked in, feeling grown up."

Farrelly actually picked up the phone late in the game to call one of the nephews he had brought to the August 30 game at Fenway.

"Tommy, protect your heart," he said.

"They're gonna win," his nephew told him.

"Thomas," Farrelly said. "Protect your heart."

"They're gonna win!" Tommy said, louder now.

"Tom -- they're not," Farrelly said.

"Shut up!" Tommy said. "They are too!"

Farrelly gave it one more try.

"I'm not breaking your balls here," he said. "I'm doing this for your own good. I've been hurt real bad by these guys before, real bad, and I promised myself that they would never, ever again hurt me and or anyone I loved, so I'm telling you, protect your heart."

Tommy was not persuaded.

"They're gonna win!" he screamed, and then hung up and went back to sit through a last few minutes of pleasure and hope before Aaron Boone dashed them all with that home run.

John Henry may never take Sox fans closer than they were that night, five outs away from the World Series. The topsy-turvy Game Seven with Pedro Martinez on the mound might have been his one and only shot. But I don't think so. Based on what I saw during the several months of the 2003 season I spent studying the John Henry Red Sox from up close, helped in the preparation of this book by unprecedented access, I believe the Henry ownership group is really going to do it. That is just a guess. But one thing I picked up in nine years covering professional sports for the San Francisco Chronicle was a conviction that when you have a hunch about a team, or an organization, you're right often enough to trust your hunches. Bostonians would be unwise ever to go on record with such a prediction, but as an outsider, a Californian of all things, I'm willing to say it here in black and white: The Red Sox will win a World Series on Henry's watch. It may be this October. It may be next October. It may take several more years. But it will happen.

Next Page: The Red Sox were trying to out-Yankee the Yankees, even if it meant turning off a lot of people in baseball

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