So Red Sox fans demarcate the date that the truck carrying the players' gear leaves Fenway Park en route to Fort Myers?
Yes. Yes, we do. We call it Truck Day, and it's coming on Tuesday.
For outsiders, I can completely understand how this might resemble lunacy, fanaticism taken to the nth-degree. But, really, it speaks to the winters in New England. Particularly this year. Granted, we don't live in Siberia, but The Red Sox still symbolize spring and another chance at redemption. For those of us who don't wear Pink Hats, pre-2004 (and, I should note, the biggest choke in professional sports history by a certain group of pin-striped shit-hounds), each spring carried the potential of being the year. Now that we've experienced the year, twice, it still signifies the fact that we made it through another winter, and the boys of summer will soon be taking another crack at the fall.
When the truck pulls out from Yawkey Way on Tuesday, there will be herds of rabid fans wrapped in their winter coats watching it leave, cheering it on, huffing the gas. Soon this ridiculous snow will melt, and we won't be scraping ice of our windshields each morning. Soon we'll be wearing t-shirts, clutching a cold drink, and listening to Remy and Orsillo as a warm breeze shoots through the living room. As I said, winter has been rough this year, and on Tuesday, Sox fans will see its first small hint of relent.
TS Eliot wrote in "The Waste Land" that "April is the cruellest month."
To quote Kenny Powers of Eastbound and Down: "Mr. Eliot, you're fucking out!"
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