The Square Life

I've never done drugs. Luckily for me, that was never a big temptation. But I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be addicted to anything so much that you lose yourself in the process.

I often wonder to myself how drug addicts don’t wake up in the gutter and realize how foolish what they’re doing with their life is. I wonder what could possibly happen after you wake in the gutter that would compel you to keep using the drugs.

Thursday night, as I realized BYU’s season was essentially over, I felt sick—almost as if I was on a hangover. Now, I know there are still five more games on their schedule, but since “perfection” was their goal (or quest), and since college football is set up in such an absolutely ridiculous way, the season was really over for all intents and purposes when TCU beat up BYU. And it made me feel sick.

Without going over how any hours I have wasted looking up info on BYU’s team this year, and without trying to figure out how many hours I have spent calculating what needed to happen to get BYU to the National Championship, let me just say that I feel extremely let down. Well, okay: the number is probably 75.

I have three teams that I can call “my teams” without feeling sheepish: The BYU Cougars, The Utah Jazz, and The Boston Red Sox. By about 8:30 Thursday night, one of those three was virtually eliminated. By 9 PM, a second seemed doomed to follow suit. I was literally about to have two of my three teams eliminated on the same night. Thursday night, I found my gutter. Or at least I thought I did. But then . . .

Well, before I follow up my cheesy little “But then” anecdote, let me take a step back. When BYU was officially getting embarrassed, and when I turned the channel over to see that the Rays 5-0 lead had become 7-0, something profound happened within me. A thought crossed my mind that had never been there before (well, it had never seriously crossed my mind). I honestly thought that it was time to give up sports. I thought, “Seriously look at me.” I continued. “I’m not right in the head when I get too into this stuff; I become a crazy person. Maybe I should just walk away, and live a normal, ulcer free life.”

Honestly, I thought this. Two of my three teams were about to have their season end in embarrassing fashion, and I was feeling it. My wife had even worn our lucky Sox shirt (last year in the postseason, the Sox won every time she wore it and lost every time she didn’t). We were down 3 games to 1, and I felt like we needed some extra help. But still nothing. I mean, things were looking grim.

But then something magical happened. It was simple really. It all started with hope. With two outs in the bottom of the 7^th inning, the Sox had this season’s MVP Dustin Pedroia up to bat. We had two on, and no time to lose. After a tough at bat, Pedroia singled home the first run of the game. 7 – 1. Not exactly a bucketful of hope, but that’s the thing about hope, it only takes a little.

Then, Big Papi stepped up to plate. David Ortiz has given Red Sox fans more special moments than most superstars give their fans in a lifetime. So when he stepped up after Pedroia, I had kind of a “why not?” feeling. And sure enough, Papi drilled a three-run shot over the right field fence. 7 – 4. Slowly, Crazy Bryson snuck out from the back of my head . . .

Next inning. After Manny Ramirez’s replacement Jason Bay got a walk (sorry, but that is how I will preface his name for the rest of my life), J.D. Drew came up to the plate. J.D. Drew has been very hit or miss in Boston. But Thursday night he was definitely a hit. He rocketed a shot just a few yards from where Papi hit his homer, and pulled the Sox within one. 7 – 6. At this point, hope became faith . . . and Crazy Bryson started getting vocal. “Hey, didn’t the Mrs. wear the shirt?”

After Drew’s two-run shot, the Sox got two quick outs. But then after Mark Kotsay hit a double, Cocoa Crisp came to the plate. You know what happened next, of course. He hit a single; tie game. 7 – 7. And Crazy Bryson began doing the dance.

Top of the 9^th. It wasn’t pretty, but the Sox got out of it with the score still 7 – 7.  Pedroia and Ortiz were the first two at bat in the bottom of the inning, but both got out. But then . . . Youkilis stepped up and got a hit and an error to advance to second. And then the Rays walked Manny Ramirez’s replacement Jason Bay to get to J.D. Drew. “Good call Rays!” Crazy Bryson yelled maniacally. Hit-or-miss Drew stepped up and rocketed a shot over the outfielders glove, and just like that the game was over. Red Sox 8, Rays 7.

At this point, Crazy Bryson practically threw his arm out doing the fist pump. “This is why I love sports!” he started chanting happily. In the back of mind somewhere, I could vaguely remember some idea I had about quitting something, but Crazy Bryson was yelling too loud to think of anything else. But then . . .

As my wife and I left my sister’s house to head home, she said something interesting. She had been at a craft party (whatever that means), and apparently the other girls there were Utah Ute fans. And apparently they were celebrating BYU’s loss. “Wait, didn’t they realize that Utah needed BYU to win that game,” I said to my wife? Apparently they didn’t. “Typical Ute fans for you,” I said in an especially bitter tone. But then . . .

It hit me. BYU losing to TCU wasn’t the end of the season. As the Red Sox had reminded me, there is always hope. At this moment, as I felt a surge of hatred towards a certain team that plays on the hills of Salt Lake, I gained newfound hope. And I remembered something.

Any season where BYU beats Utah is a really good season. Especially when we could possibly be preventing them from going to the BCS. At this point, Crazy Bryson got a funny look in his eye and looked off into space. “There is always hope,” he muttered to himself. “Always.”

And that is how the Red Sox saved me.

Oh, back to my original point. I just don’t get drug addicts. They are so stupid.