Love-hate romance with Sox endures

You can start digging the grave now, Igor.

All right, I never won the Power Ball. But my cursed-beloved (depends on the year) Red Sox have won the World Series not once, but twice in my lifetime. That was exactly two more than I ever expected. If you told me anytime before 2004 that the Sox would win two series in four years, I would have signed your committal papers.

It is never easy for a Sox deviate. In the ninth inning of the fourth game, with a one-run lead and two outs and two strikes, I would not have made a bet on them. I have seen them lose this too, too many times.

You know the history.

I go way back, back to Willie Mays. There was a Jimmy Fund game every year in the 1950s. One year Mays came to town and had a throwing contest with Jimmy Piersall. If I remember correctly (a rarity), Piersall threw his arm out and was never the same again,

I was amazed that Willie Mays ever heard of the Red Sox.

I have been crushed too many times and wound up like a dog that’s been beat too much. When the Colorado Rockies (who?) would get a single hit, I would change the station. When they got two hits in a single inning, I would pull the (Ralph Lauren) comforter over my head, like a 6-year-old watching a “Halloween” movie. Actually I watched “Halloween,” which was far less scary than Mike Timlin on the mound.

I want a 15-run lead in the ninth so I can relax and enjoy the game.

The games in Colorado were killing me. I was up until 1 a.m., 2 a.m., waiting for the collapse that never came. Hell, I don’t stay up that late for New Year’s Eve anymore. I walked around in a coma the day after those Mountain Time games. Why can’t they start at 4 p.m.?

Then, there was the scary fact that Colorado had won an amazing 21 of 22 games just to get to the series. That’s worse than “Halloween.”

When the Sox finally won it, I was alone in the house, screaming just as loudly as I could. Imagine what the neighbors think.

In retrospect there was nothing to worry about. The Sox outscored the Angels 19-4, the Indians 51-32 and finally, the Rockies 29-10. After falling behind the Indians by three games to one, the Sox outscored their opponents 59-15.

What was I so worried about?

I thought they celebrated too much after each series. I say take your win quietly so the gods don’t notice, until the last game is played.

And if I were in charge (a frightening thought), I would not allow any of this champagne spraying which looks a little odd to me. If you are going to spray your teammates – and even your fans – with something, make it ginger ale. If you have 100 bottles of champagne on ice, drink the stuff and enjoy it when you finally win. Or else ship it to Cobb Manor, where it will get a decent, and appreciative, burial.

If there were failure ghosts still residing along Yawkey Way, I believe they have been forever exorcised by that delightful madman Jonathan Papelbon. In case you missed it, he danced on the pitcher’s mound in his underwear, then did his personal Riverdance in front of a few hundred thousand of his closest friends at Boston City Hall in the victory parade on Tuesday.

Do you think he was thinking of Joe Morgan, Bob Gibson, Bucky (bleeping) Dent or Mookie (damn him) Wilson, all of whom stuck daggers into Rex Fans over the long and lonely years?

I would guess he never heard of them.

I can now die happy. The grave, Igor.

Wait.

The Patriots are playing the Colts on Sunday on their way to another Super Bowl.

Wait until next year.

Send complaints and compliments to Emmet Meara at emmetmeara@msn.com.