By Jill Campbell

The past two weeks have been the busiest I have had since arriving at Northeastern. With midterms looming and a pile of assignments growing ever larger, I spent a decent amount of time at my computer every night, but I could barely keep one eye on the monitor. Instead, my mind was focused intently on the Red Sox games, and each time they won I felt genuinely happy.

What is this? Since when does baseball actually make me excited? I’m not from Boston; I’m not even from New England. I don’t even really like baseball. And now suddenly I’m blowing off all other priorities to watch and enjoy a baseball game almost nightly?

Upon hearing that I was moving to Boston, most people asked me, “So, are you going to become a Red Sox fan?” My usual answer was, “Probably not. I don’t watch baseball, remember?”

Ah, famous last words. I didn’t watch baseball – until I came to Boston. And when I moved here, one of my first goals was to buy a “Yankees Suck” T-shirt. Yes, after less than two months as a resident of this city, I have caught the Red Sox spirit.

After growing up in Philadelphia, surrounded by men in my house and group of friends, I am used to disappointment when it comes to pro-sports teams. Almost every year, the Eagles, the Flyers, or both, build up amazing records and their fans’ hopes, only to lose in their respective conference championships. It’s a huge letdown for Philly, a city known for having some of the most supportive (and sometimes most abusive) fans in professional sports. The enthusiasm of Philly fans is incredible; last year the whole area even got excited when a locally trained horse, Smarty Jones, competed for the Triple Crown.

After winning the first two races, Smarty ran for his hopeful third victory on the day of my graduation party. About a hundred people crowded around multiple TVs in my house, watching as Smarty led like a champ, while yelling excitedly when we realized how close he was to winning … and staring in dejection as he lost. Drawing a hilarious parallel between Smarty’s behavior and the unfortunate habits of our local sports teams, my older brother rolled his eyes and proclaimed, “Ladies and gentlemen, the Philadelphia Eagles.”

Needless to say, I hoped the Red Sox would not turn out to be another Smarty Jones. I hoped it for the team; I hoped it for the devoted fans all over New England who crusaded against the Curse every year, no matter what happened the previous year. But the most interesting part is that, aside from all of that, I truly hoped for it within myself.

Before the Red Sox came into my life, I could count on two hands the number of pro baseball games I had ever watched with interest. Even if I had always liked baseball, I would not have wanted to “become” a Red Sox fan just because I was coming to Boston. Somehow I felt like that would be cheating, jumping on the bandwagon. The true fans are those who have grown up with “the faith” and keep it alive.

No one can become that kind of fan. I certainly wasn’t used to it because, well, the Phillies aren’t very good. At home, I barely paid attention to baseball, but all of a sudden, all because of the Red Sox, I really care.

I found myself putting off other activities because I wanted to watch the Red Sox. I found myself yelling at the television screen in protest of the opposing teams’ runs and biting my nails nervously during those extra innings. I have found a new appreciation for the phrase “Damn Yankees.” And I am proud to announce that I think Derek Jeter is ugly. To top it all off, I live within walking distance of the oldest ballpark in America.

How could I come here and not cheer on the Red Sox? Bostonians eat, sleep and breathe the Red Sox. They absolutely radiate support for their team. Every year has the possibility of being “The Year,” and this year, my first year of involvement, actually became The Year. I feel incredibly lucky to have experienced the reversal of the Curse and I can’t even imagine how great the Red Sox must feel to have such supportive, amazing fans. Boston, I commend you.

Friends and family laughed at me when I got excited about baseball, and they had every right, since I was never a baseball fan before. But Red Sox fever is contagious, and I have caught it. I’ll never be one of the diehard Sox fans that people here are because I’m not a native Bostonian, and I wouldn’t want to be. I’m proud to be a Philly girl who says “wuder” instead of “water.” I’m proud of my home teams and will continue to cheer for them. (For the record, Curt Schilling was a Phillie for many years.) But I’m also proud of the Red Sox and proud to live in the city that saw them win the 2004 World Series.

My boyfriend, who attends college back home, recently asked me, “Have they infected you with Patriot-itis yet?” For that question I have only one answer: “Who, me? Nah … I don’t watch football, remember?”

Famous last words? I guess I’ll have to wait and see.

– Jill Campbell is a freshman journalism major.