I wrote my first ever column for Newton North’s The Newtonite about my love for the Boston Red Sox. I now find it only fitting that I write this column, my last before leaving for college, about the same team.
The other weekend I lay sick in bed, fighting the drowsy effects of my nasty cold medication to watch the Boston Red Sox sweep the most formidable opponent in all of baseball, the reigning world champion Los Angeles Dodgers.
As the Sox launched dinger after dinger, I temporarily forgot my illness to holler with the announcers on my screen. And as the medicine finally took its hold on me, I dared to dream of celebrating October baseball at Fenway Park.
Even with a fever-fried brain, I knew as soon as I dreamed it that I would not be able to experience the end of this magical season close up.
Now, there is a fairly solid chance that this suddenly red-hot team will produce enough wins to make the playoffs. For thousands of Boston area residents, this dream of mine has true potential to become a reality.
But for me, baseball in Boston ends September 14. It ends with a one-way ticket on a plane to Chicago, where I will move into a completely new life – away from my hometown team.
Earlier this summer, when the Red Sox were at a season-low 14 games under .500, I joked to everyone who would listen that when I left for college, I would leave my team too, opting instead for a soon-to-be-local franchise.
White Sox or Cubs? I kidded at the time. White Sox games are cheaper but I’d have to make the haul to the South Side. And the Cubs’ home, Wrigley Field, is the National League’s Fenway Park.
Although I presented it as a joke, my discontent with the sliding Sox was real.
In those tough days of early June, I was occasionally tempted to jump ship. I certainly wouldn’t miss screaming at my screen after every error or watching in horror as my favorite player’s average dipped below .200.
Back then, we had no chance of playing in October. With a terrible team, it would have been easier to board the plane.
While I am ecstatic to see my team turn it around, our recent successes make moving out much more difficult. Each successive win seems to be begging me to stay, to see the season out.
Living in a cramped college dorm halfway across the country means missing late nights with my whole family in the living room, sitting on the edge of the couch, the NESN announcers on full volume.
As I study for midterms (which, I hear, happen every week at Northwestern), I won’t be able to keep score at Fenway with my grandpa and a dull golf pencil. And if by some small miracle we win the World Series, I will feel a jolt of jealousy for all those who experienced the electricity of the moment in Boston.
In this far-away world that not even the Boston sports radio satellites can reach, I will have to change my relationship with baseball, with family, and with my home for nearly all of my 18 years.
Doing so will be difficult but not impossible. I will have to be more intentional about maintaining these connections: to baseball and beyond. Living in Chicago, I will rarely find myself walking down the street and be able to nod to a stranger in a Red Sox hat. But in the few times when I see one, I will be sure to spark up a conversation. I will bring Boston to me.
On the nights when I am able to watch my Sox, I must account for the hour time difference. My morning conversations over coffee with my parents, blabbing about everything from trade deadlines to niche Boston history, will have to move to text.
I will no longer be obligated to pick up my brother from baseball practice, but will miss playing “guess the walkup song” with him on the ride home. Maybe instead we will make a shared playlist to compensate for the lost hours in the car.
Staying close to the Sox will not mean ignoring the baseball in my new backyard. If I’m being honest, I already have plans to go to a Cubs game at Wrigley in the spring. But even as I dip my feet into the Chicago lifestyle, I will stay true to my roots, representing my team in the stands with a weathered Red Sox cap on my head.
No matter where I go, Boston will always be my city and the Red Sox will always be my team. Even when my connection to this city is not a physical one, I will put in the work to adapt it and maintain it.
To paraphrase David Ortiz in the aftermath of the 2013 Boston Marathon bombing (and sanitize his language a bit), this is my city. And I intend to keep it that way.
Maya Solomon graduated from Newton North High School in June and will attend Northwestern University in the fall. She is a former sports and features editor for North’s student newspaper, The Newtonite. She can be reached at mayaisolomon@gmail.com.