Three weeks ago, I leaned forward in my seat in Section 8 of Fenway and watched Big Papi’s 1,000th hit as a member of the Red Sox fly out of the ballpark.
Nine months ago, I sat in the Fenway bleachers and watched his home run sail into the crowd, igniting one of the greatest comebacks in playoff history.
And three years ago, I stood on the walkway behind home plate at Camden Yards and stood in stunned disbelief when I saw him launch a ball out of the stands in person for the very first time.
I’ve been to scores of baseball games in my life and have seen many amazing plays, but Papi’s moments are always at the top of my own personal reel of witnessed greatness.
Which is why this hurts so much.
When I saw the headline, it was like staring at an eclipse. I couldn’t look away even though the words were searing my eyes.
But I wasn’t shocked. Frankly no one would shock me right now. The state of baseball today has left us fans jaded and mistrusting and I’ve read too much about Dominican baseball not to think that its favorite sons haven’t tried this or that to get ahead because the desperation can choke a man.
So no... I didn’t think Big Papi was untouchable, but the fact that his name is now linked to this scandal makes the sting feel a little worse.
Do I believe Papi? I don’t know.
But I want to believe in him... in spite of what the answers might be.
And I don't think that’s being blind, naïve, or misguided. That’s wanting to feel that same magic I’ve felt before when Papi crushes one out of the park.
So when I’m sitting at Camden Yards tonight, watching Big Papi lumber to the plate, adjust his gloves, spit into his hands, and clap twice before settling into the batter’s box, I probably won’t be able to put this debacle out of my mind, but you can bet the headlines will be replaced by the same prayers I’ve uttered hundreds of times before.
“C’mon, Papi. Please.”
And maybe he’ll give me another memory for the reel that will eclipse all of the headlines... even if it is only for the duration of a trip around the bases.
