In 1993, I was 14 years old. I had braces, big hair, a closet full of Aqua Net, and was knee deep in the middle of my 'awkward phase.' I was a freshman in high school and trying desperately to fit in. Socializing was much more important than studying, as school was nothing more than a search for a group to be a part of.

Enter the "Worst to First" 1993 Philadelphia Phillies, the first baseball team I ever fell in love with. The Phils had finished in dead last the season before and, to the surprise of nearly everyone, were suddenly playoff-bound. The Summer of '93 saw Philadelphia, a blue-collar football city through and through, become completely enraptured with a team of misfits that would have looked more at home on the side of the highway picking up trash than on a baseball diamond. John Kruk, Mitch Williams, Lenny Dykstra, Darren Daulton...these guys were wild. They were the townies who crashed your prom on their motorcycles and stole your date. They were the uncles we all have but never talk about, the ones who spend their days at the bowling alley while they "look for work." They left their shirts untucked, their shoelaces untied, and their hair uncombed. They belched, they spit. These guys were slobs.

They were also the very definition of a TEAM, united by their unshaven faces, offensive body odor, and a willingness to do just about anything to win baseball games. That group of guys that captured the hearts of a frustrated sports town came within 10 innings of winning a World Series, and though they were broken up the following year, they are a team that will never be forgotten in the city of Philadelphia.


Cut to 2004. It's the first week of September and, from coast to coast, a cult-like community of people is stirring. They are a passionate people, driven by their frustrations, unwilling to lose faith, united by a dedication so fierce that no heartbreak is enough to derail it. Their love for the sport and the team are unflappable, but this year, it's different. This year, there is something magical happening on the field every night, and Red Sox Nation knows it. There are group hugs after every homerun. The dugout has started to resemble a Paula Abdul music video, and there is an infectuous silliness in the clubhouse that is spreading to the fans. Manny Ramirez, David Ortiz, Pedro Martinez, Kevin Millar...Theo and Co have assembled what is, quite possibly, the most loveable Boston Red Sox team in history. They are Dirt Dogs to the very core, and anyone who's watching can tell that they are having the time of their lives. They slide into second without bothering to wipe the dirt off their uniforms. They're more than happy to take a faceful of dirt diving across the first base line if it means stealing a hit and keeping their bases empty. They have beards, afros, goatees, jericurls, and bald heads, depending on which day of the week it is. They play with Fisher Price foam bats in the dugout during games, wear Elvis sunglasses and gyrate their hips a la the King, and play more practical jokes than there are letters in Mientkiewicz.

Speaking of Mientkiewicz, just one month after coming to the Sox he remarked at how much fun the club was having, before saying, "I think George Steinbrenner would have a heart attack if he had this team." It's no secret that Steinbrenner does not stand for unkept appearances or wild antics. Thus, the 2004 Boston Red Sox are the anti-Yankees. They are the shaggy beard to the Yankees' clean shave. They are the torn jeans to the Yankees' nicely-ironed sweater vest. They are the bong to the Yankees' pocket protector. They are Jeremy Piven's Droz to David Spade's Rand McPherson in PCU. They are the fun-loving Boston college kids to the Yankees' stiff Wall Streeters. The team's image has spread from the crowded Fenway clubhouse to the just-as-crowded Fenway bleachers, with fans donning long beards and DIY shirts to show their support. Red Sox Nation has begun to identify with the outkast reputation of their team, and they are having more fun than ever.

And while ESPN announcers and Yankee fans across the globe seem to think that this sort of behavior is disrespectful to the sport and not indicative of a winning attitude, the Sox have not-so-quietly put together a 9-game run and won 14 of their last 15 games, pulling them to within 3.5 games of the Yankees that once led them by a whopping 10.5.

This brings us to last Tuesday night, one that will live in infamy in Red Sox Nation. The Sox defeated the streaking Anaheim Angels while a few hours away, the Cleveland Indians answered the prayers of an entire city and slaughtered the Yankees by a score of 22-0. When asked what it was like to be on the mound in Fenway that night, to be a part of something as magical as Red Sox Nation, Curt replied, "It was enough to give me chills."

And we looked at our team of misfits, the perfectly-constructed group of hooligans that hold in their hands the fate of an entire Nation, and thought, "You're not the only one."