I hope the dog wins.
What more apropos way would there be to put an end to this President of Red Sox Nation farce than to elect a canine and bestow upon him the privileges and benefits that come with this inane season-long promotion?
As if anyone needed one more reason why Red Sox fans have become the laughingstock of the baseball word, we present to you the search for a President of Red Sox Nation. Ironically, as the search intensifies for the betterment of corporate Red Sox Nation, the Red Sox fan dies a slow death, a fact that people in the marketing department can’t seem to get a handle on as they relentlessly push on.
If you’re like me, you’ve simply tried to ignore the entire situation, lowering the volume when Jerry Remy provides you with his nightly take on the happenings of the election and cringing at the fact that Peter Gammons, of all people, is actually involved in this ridiculous affair.
Instead, the Red Sox are Sam Kinison to our Rodney Dangerfield, hammering us over our collective noggins with an election that, aside from the few wrapped up in this thing, the rest of us couldn’t care less about. The next person that I meet that hasn’t scoffed profusely at this joke will be the first. It’s gotten to the point where if I see Sam Horn’s campaign commercial one more time it’s going to take a Trot Nixon sized headlock to keep me from charging the monitor. I'm not sure which is more unreal, the fact that Sam Horn, who played all of 103 games in Boston, is a candidate or that the man spent real, live money to create these:
Well, ignore we can no longer. The search for a Red Sox leader has reached such idiotic heights that the team has corralled NBC’s Tim Russert to moderate tomorrow’s debate at Boston University…after he moderates tonight’s Democratic Presidential debate in Hanover, NH. I wish I were making this up.
Hilary Clinton one night, Rich Garces the next. Sounds logical.
Already turned off by a multitude of bandwagon-jumpers, “alternative” (see, not just pink, people, OK?) hats, and embarrassing shoulder television programming (season finale tonight!) better suited for E!, Sox fans have had to endure a lot in recent years, watching their franchise go from Olde Towne Team to global enterprise. I half-expect Hank Scorpio’s name to appear on the masthead one of these years with hammocks the primary feature in the new upper, upper bleachers.
Being a Red Sox fan at one point used to mean something, or have we forgotten? It was a fandom that was difficult to permeate unless you had experienced the heartache of seasons like 1978, ’86, and ’03. It was a status symbol of ultimate loyalty that is, for better or worse, now dead.
Forget No. 756, fans that hopped on the wagon during the ’04 ALCS should come with an asterisk. There is no possible way they could ever understand what the fan base meant previous to that, which in turn means there is absolutely no way they could ever feign such a passion for the team as fans bred into the culture previously. No way. As much as some want to argue that more fans are good for any team -- and what’s wrong with spreading the wealth? -- I will not budge from decreeing this thought as fact. Not point of view. F-A-C-T.
And yet, these, I assume, are the target audience of this campaign, the ones who paid $14.95 and up to be a card-carrying member of Red Sox Nation. The ones the Red Sox know they can get hook, line, sinker.
Let’s put it this way, the Red Sox have whittled down the list to 10 names from 1,200 original nominees. Twelve hundred. When you consider the millions of Red Sox fans in New England and around the world, what you’ve got is a minor sliver of people who have nothing better to do than devote valuable time to running this campaign. Not to be harsh, but when you dedicate every breathing moment (or piece of wardrobe) to the Red Sox, and it’s not, say, your job, there’s a certain loser factor involved, no? The dork in Fever Pitch wasn’t someone you’re supposed to aspire to be. I think we lost that translation somewhere.
Oh, by the way, the Red Sox are thisclose to clinching the American League East. The playoffs start next week. Jonathan Papelbon is on the cover of Sports Illustrated, and nobody is worried about a related curse. But, who cares. We’re electing a president, damn it.
Yes, it’s all silly, and we shouldn’t have any problem with it. But that’s the exact reason why many have expressed indifference…until now. The Red Sox wanted to make this a phenomenon, and as it seems they do more often than not, they have achieved their goal. Except for A-Rod, of course, but they’ll rectify that one by Christmas.
We should have felt free to ignore it. We could have lived in harmony this one time, despite the questionable pre-empting of postgame shows for Sox Appeal. Despite Dice-K’s CD. Despite the continued presence of Sweet Caroline and Tessie. Despite the annoying presence of “alternative” hats and know-nothings that have put affordable tickets out of reach for hundreds of thousands of fans. Despite all the cheese and annoyance that come with being a Red Sox fan in 2007, we were going to let this whole thing slide.
But the Red Sox have made it impossible, hammering us over the head with it until it hurts even more. Now that Russert is involved, we can fully expect it to be mentioned on national television, further prompting the rest of America to wonder just what is up with these tools in the Northeast.
Case in point, this pretty much sums up the ludicrous nature of this search. Here’s a campaign video for the canine candidate, Big Pupi.
This is what you’ve become, Red Sox fans. Congratulations. The president of your fan base might be a dog or a real-life Jimmy Fallon. Tiny American flags for everyone.
There’s never been a better time to be a Red Sox fan. Unfortunately there’s never been a more embarrassing one either.