Things weren’t always this sweet.
Once upon a time, the Boston Red Sox played in a ballpark without Green Monster seats. “Sweet Caroline” was a maudlin, over-sentimental favorite by Neil Diamond, but not a staple of the eighth inning of every game at Fenway Park.
Before last October, having a championship baseball team in Boston was merely a pipe dream – a wish often ignored in order to avoid agony.
Oh yes, things have changed in Boston. The fortune of the city’s teams has dramatically altered as a curse was reversed and a dynasty arose at Gillette Stadium. But life for Boston sports wasn’t always so pretty, and it hasn’t been long enough to forget.
Not a decade ago, an affable Pete Carroll was being grilled in Patriots media sessions and watching the New England franchise’s performance dip in quality throughout the late 1990s – from 10-6 in 1997 to start off the post-Parcells era, to 9-7 in 1998, to 8-8 in 1999 – instead of bouncing around on various college football sidelines as a champion while being praised by nearly every publication in the country as he is now.
Five years ago, Tom Brady was a practice-squad quarterback on a 5-11 Patriots team. A sixth-round draft pick and an apparent nobody, the man from Michigan spent 2000 watching Drew Bledsoe run the show, while Brady memorized plays and donned a brand name Patriots cap on the sidelines of Foxboro Stadium.
Troy Brown was a third-option at wide receiver, a role player with occasional playing time who fell behind the likes of Terry Glenn and Vincent Brisby on the depth chart.
The frustratingly mediocre 2000 New England team was coached by a defensive wizard who had failed at his job five years before in Cleveland. That man, whom many scoffed at for costing New England a first-round draft pick when leaving the Jets, was Bill Belichick.
Johnny Damon was a beardless, short-haired free swinger in Kansas City who fans couldn’t have cared less about.
Boylston Street had never seen blue and white confetti poured upon its asphalt. Bob Kraft hadn’t danced at Government Center. The Duck Boats were reserved for tourists.
The Red Sox consisted of players like Dante Bichette, Bret Saberhagen and John Burkett, part of a group of past-their-prime stars continuously collected up by General Manager Dan Duquette.
Super Bowl XXXI haunted you. Desmond Howard was your archenemy. And you questioned Kraft’s credentials as owner. Taking Bill Parcells’ side in their ongoing feud was not out of the question. Playing a concert at Fenway Park was an afterthought. It was quite unlikely that its tight quarters, precious lawn and undersized outdoor selection of 34,000 seats could support an event like the Rolling Stones or Jimmy Buffet.
Those rooting for the Red Sox consisted of far fewer people, and Red Sox merchandise had very few options – a blue cap, a blue jersey or a blue t-shirt. It could only be found in souvenir stores, not in music stores, convenience stores and gas stations. And if it was your preference and you got lucky, you might have found the then-limited selection of pink Red Sox merchandise.
Curt Schilling labored for the Philadelphia Phillies, recognized for his workman-esque mentality and his consistent, fire-throwing style. Terry Francona was a four-year symbol of mediocrity in front of the same unforgiving fans, leaving the managing ranks with disgust in 2000.
Jerry Remy was a well-respected announcer, whom many continuously said they enjoyed watching as a second baseman. However, once upon a time, he would be surprised at the occasional “Rem Dawg” poster in the stands.
Box seats at Fenway Park cost fewer than $40.
The idea of a gleaming, modern football stadium in Foxborough was an idea too far out of reach. Fans accepted aluminum seats and spent decades without a Super Bowl. The reality of a dynasty for their beloved team was akin to the reality of being handed a million dollars for nothing.
Not long ago, Boston was championship-starved.
But as for you, incoming freshmen and current members of the Northeastern community, you’re now in Boston at the zenith of its sports popularity. You arrive in Boston at its most successful period of sports domination, with two teams holding championship crowns at the same moment.
You have David Ortiz’s “Big Papi” persona and Damon playing Jesus in the Outfield. You have a dynasty in Foxborough. You have the world’s greatest coach in Belichick, and you have him looking over Tom Brady’s sturdy shoulders.
Fenway Park has nearly reached the status of a national landmark and the Red Sox are so immense in popularity that nearly every ballpark across the nation seems to feature a sizable slice of the Nation in their crowds.
The Patriot mantra of success and teamwork is the definitive style for every athletic team in this country, from the minor leagues in Virginia, to Pop Warner players in Southern California, to Pee Wee hockey players in North Dakota.
Enjoy this while you’re here. Appreciate the significance of this moment in Boston sports’ history. Just your luck, you weren’t here when Duquette and Carroll were the men in charge.
