With two outs and one man on base, a familiar form walked towards the batter’s box.
From my seat in the upper deck directly behind home plate, it felt like I was watching something unfold from on high. I could see every section of Camden Yards. I could see into the Red Sox dugout. I could see people gathered on a balcony beyond the park’s perimeter. Everyone was waiting for this moment.
And then we heard it... a cacophony of boos echoing throughout Camden Yards as Big Papi stepped to the plate.
Without warning, a feeling of defensiveness, a feeling of loyalty surged up inside of me. The past 24 hours had seen Red Sox Nation reeling with the news that our beloved slugger might have made a mistake or might have been a liar, depending on whom you talk to and what you choose to think. But none of that mattered in that instant. We might be mad at Big Papi, but we’re not going to let anyone else knock him down, especially not the fans of a team that has been tainted by the very same cancer that is ravaging the sport.
As Papi went into his stance, a few people down in front of us stood up. Then a few more. Then Izzie, Dusty, Meeks, and I jumped to our feet. From our perch, we could see hundreds of other red shirts rise to applaud Papi, not with an ovation of affirmation because the jury is still out, but an ovation of support, an ovation that said we’re mad, but we still love you.
Papi struck out in that first at-bat, but would not make the same mistake the second time around. With Red Sox fans on their feet again and the cheers for him drowning out the boos, Papi drove the ball into the center field bleachers.
And as he rounded the bases, the words of detractors disappeared. The suspicions were erased. There was nothing but pure euphoria.
Eventually the reality returned though, but just as I had hoped, he had given me one more memory for the reel.
One day ago, I stood with my dearest Sox friends and together we watched Papi silence his naysayers with a single swing of the bat.
I just hope he continues to do so.
