Boston Sports 1985-1986

1985 and 1986 were magical years. I was 9 years old and had just begun to develop an interest in sports. Despite being harassed by my older brother for years to be more interested in them and to play more, I always wanted to help my mom in the kitchen, making cookies and baking cakes, and, of course, getting to lick the egg beaters. Nevertheless, we lived across the street from the public park in Bangor, Maine and my brother would manage to get me outside to play football with him, as we would don our old Pat Patriot replica football helmets and parkas and play in the deep Maine snow. Sometimes, we'd get our dad out there to play with us. His legs seemed like tree trunks in his old yellow sweat suit as we tried to wrap our arms around them to topple him to the ground. We would get a victory, always thinking it was hard fought, not realizing until later that Daddy, still in his 30s and full of energy, was a really good actor.

In 1985, however, my eyes were opened wide. My parents had decided that they were going to move to Boston. As a part of this move, they wanted to enroll my brother and me in private schools. I would go to Dexter School, an elite all boys school just on the Boston line, which boasted the Kennedy brothers as alumni. Part of the Dexter program was intramural sports of every variety, including football starting in 3^rd grade. We didn't wear face masks as the athletic director was more concerned about people getting their necks broken than their noses. I remember going for my interview at Dexter and standing outside pretending to snap the football to my dad after the interview was over, all excited that I was going to get to play football. The admissions officer was still watching us through the plate glass windows on the other side. So much for life in the kitchen.

It was as if our arrival in Boston brought with it a tidal wave of success that would wash across the entire Boston sports landscape. As soon as we got there, things seemed to happen. The New England Patriots, the longtime laughing stock of Boston sports and across the NFL put together a spectacular run, which culminated in a Super Bowl appearance. Along their way to the Super Bowl they became the first Wild Card team to make it to the big game by winning three games on the road. They also managed to win their first game ever in the Orange Bowl against the Miami Dolphins. In the Super Bowl, however, they were reminded that they were still the Patriots, and were summarily dismembered by the Chicago Bears, considered to be perhaps the best team of all time. In most other seasons, the Pats might have had a shot at the game, but they met the Super Bowl Shuffling Bears who carried with them an air of inevitability rather than mystery. A championship for the Bears was a mere formality.

Even though the Patriots lost, everything was okay, because that title run was a complete surprise, and besides, we still had the Celtics. Larry Bird was in his prime and the best basketball player in the world. Many people at this point in time were calling Larry the greatest ever. At that point in time, he might have been. In my mind he still is. The 85-86 Celtics were dominant too. They posted a 67-15 record, losing only one game at home the whole season, and only one game in the Eastern Conference playoffs before meeting the Houston Rockets in the Finals. The Rockets that year were a good team, with Ralph Sampson and Hakeem Olajuwon. But, the Celtics, like the Bears of the NFL that year, carried with them the same air of inevitability. It was so obvious that they were going to win. The question was really in how many games, not if. My brother was out playing in the yard when the Celtics won game 6 and the title. I remember running out of the house to tell him the Celtics had won. He acted as if it was no big deal. They were supposed to win.

Then there were the beloved Red Sox. No matter how much success the Celtics or New England Patriots have, the team in Boston is the Red Sox. Red Sox baseball is a New England institution. Sure people talk about Boston as a hockey town, but, the team that tugs at fans' heartstrings the most is the Sox. Combining veteran talent like Jim Rice and Dwight Evans and younger stars like Wade Boggs and a brash young pitcher named Roger Clemens, the Red Sox won the AL East handily and squared off against the California Angels. I'll never forget sitting in the living room of our house. The Red Sox were trailing the Angels and facing elimination when Dave Henderson stepped up to bat. Our friend, Gayle, was visiting us from Maine and she calmly said, "He's going to hit a home run, right here." We all looked at her with disbelief. It was over. The Sox had had a good run this season, but, the Angels were going to face the dominant Mets that year in the World Series. Gayle nodded her head again as she sat there with the afghan draped across her shoulders. "He is. He's gonna do it." And then....bam! Dave Henderson, Hindu, smacked one. It went back, back and out. His home run was reminiscent of Carlton Fisk's 1975 blast in the World Series against the Cincinnati Reds. Hindu hopped down the first base line, coaxing that ball over the fence and then did a full 360 when it went out of the park. The Red Sox won, and then went on to win, what was for me, an unmemorable 7^th game.

What happens next is every New England sports fan's worst nightmare. Just say the year 1986 and people in Boston don't remember the Celtics, they don't remember the Patriots' unlikely Super Bowl run, they remember a ball going through someone's legs. Me, I'm somewhat of a Bill Buckner apologist. First of all, the implosion had already occurred when the ball went through his legs. The game was already tied and a best case scenario had the game going into extra innings. People somehow have this memory that the ball going through Buckner's legs happened in a situation where if he had just made the play the Red Sox would have won the World Series then and there. They also seem to remember that by the ball going through his legs they lost the World Series at that very moment. That was not the case, however. There was still a game 7. Boston was up by one game. Also, Buckner should not have even been in the game in that situation. Dave Stapleton had been backing him up all year long and would frequently come in for Buckner for defensive purposes in these types of moments.

My brother was absolutely obsessed with the Red Sox this year. When the Red Sox lost that game, my brother cried. My dad told my brother not to cry, it was only a game and there would be still be a game 7. In the next game, game 7, where the Red Sox also lost a lead, though not so dramatically, my dad cried. I remember being heartbroken myself, watching my dad and brother cry, hugging each other, consoling one another in the pain.

People can be critical of the obsession of sports fans. But, sports are not just a game. For people with busy lives and jobs and families, the sports become something else to focus on, like a hobby. People get to know the players. They follow the teams in their hometowns. They can trace the years of their lives based on the success of those teams. Almost everyone in Boston was following those Red Sox closely that year, whether they were baseball fans or not. Wade Boggs, Marty Barrett, Jim Rice, Dave Henderson, Roger Clemens, Dwight Evans, even the goats, Calvin Schiraldi, Bob Stanley and Bill Buckner, they came into our living rooms, they came over to our houses for two months that Fall every couple of days. They became like family. We didn't just grieve for ourselves after that game 7, we grieved for them. For my brother and me, they welcomed us to our new hometown. They welcomed us to Boston.