A fairly pedestrian beer company has, for a couple of years now, had a cute campaign centered around the odd things sports fans do to try and influence the performance of their teams in the games they watch. The first few were pretty fun, but I have grown a little tired of them as they have gotten more and more complex and absurd. I'm also more than a little embarrassed by the portrayals because, as it happens, I do some of those things.
When I was younger, I had a North Carolina Tar Heels hat that I would place on the television for big games. The record that the UNC basketball team had in "games with Tim's hat on the TV", while not available from Elias Sports Bureau, was spectacular (you'll have to trust me on that). The mojo was far too precious to use for every game, so I would only break it out for the big ones. ACC Tourney finals, Final Four games, etc.. Far, far more often than not, the hat did the job. At best it was a practice that gave me a sense of involvement and identity with the team I was rooting for. At worst it was the manifestation of a pathological delusion of grandeur. Either way, it was a part of me.
And in many ways, it still is. After an historic collapse at the end of the 2011 Red Sox season, hopes were high for 2012. A new manager was in town, and things felt like a fresh start. In early April I went to Fenway for my first game of the year (I try to get to 3 or 4 each season). I decided to buy a new Sox, banking on the voodoo of getting it at the ballpark to outweigh the Fenway markup. The 2012 Sox did not figure out how to make up for the slide of the previous autumn, instead being an even more unlikeable, embarrassing, underachieving group. Eventually, against the incredulous protests of my much more sane wife, I threw my new hat in the trash.
This past spring, after yet another manager change and one of the biggest trades in baseball history, no one expected much out of the Red Sox. Still, knowing I needed a hat, my in-laws picked one up for me as a birthday gift. It's important to note here that the hats in question were identical. Deep denim blue, with a olde style font, red "B" proudly on the front, an adjustable strap in the back with another little "B" on a tag. No matter where you are in the country, you have likely seen this hat today. The one I threw away, and the one I got as a gift were indistinguishable, but they were most certainly different.
A few days ago, the Red Sox won the AL East for the first time in years. As it sit here, they possess the very best record in all of professional baseball and they are a favorite to win the World Series by their own fans and the taking heads on national sports channels alike. They are a fun, silly, skilled group of guys who play the game right. They are balanced, and they have been on a roll all year long.
I know that my hat has nothing to do with all these accomplishments. After all, it's just a hat, but I'll be damned if you can borrow it.
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