I used to love the fall and in many respects I still do. But I married a Red Sox fan and lived in Massachusetts for fifteen years. October is just this huge flaming anxiety attack to me now.
Ultimately I returned to NYC, my hometown, and I gave birth to a beautiful boy who I actually helped pull out of my own body during delivery (that's another story). When the doctor handed Ben to my husband, he raised him in the air and announced "another Red Sox fan is born".
Having survived hours of labor and natural childbirth, I was too tired to even react to that spontaneous sports baptism. I was far too busy wondering how they'd sew up what sure felt like a tear that started at my vaginal canal and ended somewhere between my shoulder blades.
Of course my son is also a true believer in the Red Sox. I can see that little ulcer starting in his seven year old tummy already. I can't begin to describe the fights he gets into at school about this issue.
One day Ben and I were walking down Hudson Street. Ben was wearing a bright red Sox tee shirt. A middle aged woman walked by and said under her breath - but certainly not out of earshot - "the Red Sox suck".
I was stunned. My son squeezed my hand and looked up at me looking completely insulted and a bit freaked that an adult would say that to him.
Luckily, I'm a very even tempered mommy and never lose my cool in front of my son...I simply looked up at the woman and suggested that she take a flying fuck.
I suppose she set off something in my working class Irish gene pool. Blame it on Darwin or Intelligent Design (which sounds like the name of a Soho contemporary furniture store).