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I need some irrelevancy right about now, an escape from the horror of politics, and baseball used to be my solace. When my youth was rudely disrupted by the New York baseball Giants being wrenched away from the city, I eventually tried to transfer my loyalty, first to the Yankees, then to the Mets, and then again to the Yankees. But my heart was never in it.
Fast-forward to the 1970s, when a bunch of us, who had gone camping in Vermont, ended our trip by attending a three-game Boston-Yankees series at Fenway Park. The excitement was like nothing we had ever experienced, especially when the Red Sox won the third game, which put them in first place. Leaving that final game was exhilarating, as the chant, "We're Number
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For many years thereafter, I intermittently paid attention to post-season activity, like Pennants and World Series, but not too deeply. Then about four or five years ago, I absentmindedly began to follow the
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So, as they take on California's formidable Angels, here's wishing the Red Sox the same kind of luck they had last
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