CONFESSION
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CONFESSION
I live in Massachusetts but I’m not a citizen of “Red Socks Nation” or Patriots Nation for that matter. It’s nothing personal. I felt the same way in Texas ( Cowboys–America’s Team–oh please), Chicago (Cubs, Socks, Bears, who cares?); Michigan (Sports enthusiasts in a city desperate for basic services), New York, Virginia, Maine–ad infinitum. I prefer to confine my citizenship to onenation (USA), and one state at a time.

Silence in the face of team hysteria is the politically correct and wise course of action. Typically I grimace but never confess that I actively hope the team in contention LOSES! Until academic achievements are celebrated with the same zeal as athletic prowess, I will persist.

Today’s Globe reported that each home game pumps $25 Million into Boston’s economy. Now that’s something to celebrate. But when drop out rates and youth unemployment hit the stratosphere, does a winning sports team mean anything for the host city? Not really.

Yesterday, I carried it too far. At the dry cleaners, a lovely older lady asked me, “Did the Sox win last night?”
Instead of playing along, I told her I was not a fan. The poor woman looked crestfallen. “I usually don’t follow them,” she said, averting her eyes. “Just for the world series.” After she scuttled away, I experienced an acute case of GUILT. If an activity brings pleasure (and economic bliss) to people, must I be the grinch who spoils things?

My new resolution is to trot out my party manners and act neutral. I will be Switzerland in a shooting war between teams, whoever they may be. Don’t expect me to like them or to care.

That’s my confession. Please be good sports.


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