Let's Go Fishing - a childhood fave for me and thousands of other kids

Playing “Let’s Go Fishing” with my favorite four-year-old (a cousin of my fiance’s) this New Year’s Day with the dull portion of the Winter Classic flickering in the background, the topic of conversation turned from what kindergarten would be like next year to the Boston Red Sox. Favorite Four-Year-Old, like every child born and raised in the Greater Boston area, understood that he was a Red Sox fan prior to understanding that hands were for picking things up, not chewing on.

Over the summer, Favorite-Four-Year-Old and I had played “Big Papi” and “Jason BAAAYYY” in his backyard – a catch-tag megamix named after his two favorite members of the Red Sox roster. This afternoon, I wondered if he knew what had conspired a few days before.

We held our faux primary colored fishing rods over the faux thrashing primary colored fish. I sighed, and asked the question that had to be asked. “Who is your favorite Red Sox player?”

Favorite Four Year Old’s head snapped up, forgetting about the fish. “Jason BAAAAAAAYYYYYYY!” he exclaimed, proudly, with a giant grin on his face. He quickly returned to faux-fishing.

I was left with a dilemma. Was I susposed to be the one to have the “free agency” talk with Favorite Four-Year-Old, or was this a talk that his father or grandfather needed to have with him? This was an important talk in the life of a young sports fan, and I felt that it needed to come from a close relative, and not just little ol’ me.

I looked around, trying to find Favorite Four-Year-Old’s father. He was busy in another room eating. His grandfather was no where in my sightline either. Favorite Four-Year-Old didn’t seem to sense the turmoil within me.

So I said nothing and set to not lose too poorly in “Let’s Go Fishing.” In that four-year-old’s world, Jason Bay could still be his favorite Red Sox player. If only just for one more day.

So I decided to wear my Buffalo Bills hat to Fenway Park — two days after the Patriots decided to decimate the Bills 38-7 on their quest to become the NFL’s most annoyingly unbeatable team.

I deemed this “My Great Social Experiment.” Would I elicit sympathy or taunts? Would Red Sox fans be sober enough to notice? Do Bostonians even pay attention to football on weekdays?

When Chris came to pick me up at work before the game, and he saw me decked out in my Kapler t-shirt and Bills hat, he asked me (rightfully) what the heck I was doing. “Embarking on a social experiment,” I cheerfully pronounced as we made our way out of the office.

“What type of social experiment?”

“I want to see what people’s reactions are to the hat.”

Chris snickered. “Ask you for your address so they can send you sympathy cards.”

Undeterred, we headed over to the park. Our first reaction was in front of Marsh Chapel, when a undergrad girl called out, “Ooh, the Bills! Go Bills! I like the Bills!” Chris then did his “I’m going to walk four steps ahead of you so people don’t think we’re together” move.

My hat didn’t elicit anymore responses until we were in the park getting food and expensive beer. I sat down at a bench after procuring the beer and waiting for Chris to get out of the longer hot dog line. There was two guys and a girl across from me. The girl looked at me and said, “Hey, I’m a Bills fan too.”

“Really?”

“Yep. And these guys,” she gestured to the two guys flanking her, “won’t shut up about Sunday.”

“Oh, yeah,” bragged the one on her right. “Where’s JP to save you guys now?”

“Go Patriots!” drunkingly boasted the other. Then he got serious. “Really, though, it is horrible how many players they’ve lost to injury. They just have some horrible luck.” We all nodded seriously (or as seriously as two drunk guys and their getting there female companion could.) My new friends and I spent a few more minutes discussing that beer should come in Capri Sun like packages at ballparks.

And…I’d love to say I got more reactions, but I didn’t. I guess one would say that the conclusion I could come to would be that Bostonians don’t care about football on the weekdays, but I think it was the combination of beer and the similar colors of the Bills, Patriots and Red Sox. Or that I’m really so short that no one notices me. Yep, that’s probably it.

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As you know, the Red Sox went on to win the American League East a few days later, and play their first Divisional series game tomorrow against the Angels of either Los Angeles, Anaheim or both. I keep flip-flopping between thinking that the local media is acting like the Sox have a direct ticket to the World Series and thinking that the sports media is strangely subdued. Channel 5 (our ABC affilate) as we speak, led their 11pm newscast with five minutes of unimportant Sox news, like who will be singing the National Anthem for Game 1 (oh gosh, The Standells are singing the national anthem! The Standells! You know, that studio band who sang a song they didn’t even write about Boston because they had never been to Boston? The song that became Boston’s anthem, despite making the town sound like the puritian but violent heck hole that it is? What a PERFECT choice! Channel 5, you amuse me.) Oh, and now, they are bashing the decision to sit Wakefield. The Channel 5 sports anchor just told us that it is “unfair” and “unfortunate.” Um, last I checked, Mr. Hollahan, you are a sports anchor, not a sports commentator, and I am looking for information, not your opinion. And anyway, had you watched any Red Sox games, you’d realise that Wakefield is old, ineffective, and should have been yanked two innings earlier than he was in any game he played this season. Look, Boston, the guy is old. In Buffalo, when guys are old, they trade them to places like Green Bay, San Diego, Washington and Miami, where they continue to have quiet, mediocre ends to their careers (Don Beebe, Steve Christie, Bruce Smith and Thurman Thomas, I’m looking in your directions.) So do like Ralph Wilson, and trade Wakefield already. Put him out to pasture. Let him fade gently away, until he decides to write a large print hardcover autobiography about him finding G-d especially when playing for the Packers (that time, I’m specifically looking in Don Beebe’s direction. And yes, my father owns his autobiography.) And then you still really won’t remember him all that much.

Oh, and now we’re getting the sports anchor’s Wakefield soapbox again. Hi, really, put that away.