I was an intern at Trinity Rep, working in the PR department, and this cute graphic designer named Lauri created a cute "Go Sox" drawing for everyone in the department, filled with Sox players in 1918 uniforms. I still have it in a box, somewhere.
I can still close my eyes and see myself, in that apartment. Nana sitting on her old green naugahyde couch, knitting an afphgan. Dad sitting in the recliner to my right. I took up the rest of the couch.
My favorite player was Oil Can Boyd. He was just such a colorful character. I used to watch The Wizard of Oz, and always would laugh when the Tin Man asked for an oil can, thinking of him.
Dad would scream at the TV when things would go wrong, his rich voice filling the air with a "goddamn" for every player who made a mistake. Oh, and he had particular anger for the coach of the Red Sox at the time. Johny Mac. He could never do anything right.
And that last game, with Buckner screwing everything up. It tumbled like a house of cards after that. Dad wouldn't talk for hours afterward. Ah, I guess I forgive him, now.