On Rocky Ground
Lawyer Andrew Cohen analyzes legal affairs for CBS News and CBSNews.com.
Three years ago my son and I celebrated our first week in a new home by watching the Boston Red Sox sweep the St. Louis Cardinals to win a World Series for the first time in 86 years. Four years ago, we consoled each other when Sox manager Grady Little left pitcher Pedro Martinez in the game too long, allowing the Yankees to win the 2003 American League Championship Series on a homer by the not-so-immortal Aaron Boone.
Twenty-one years ago, just before that soft groundball began to tumble through Bill Buckner’s legs at first base at Shea Stadium, I was zipping up my jacket on and heading down the stairs toward Kenmore Square in Boston to help the city celebrate the Red Sox’ victory over the New York Mets. It was the moment in my young life when the relentlessness of its disappointments came squarely into view.
Twenty-nine years ago, on a tiny black-and-white set in a tiny room in Montreal, I remember wanting to barf when the Yankees’ Bucky Dent hit his three-run homer to doom the Sox in a 1978 playoff game. I can still see in my mind’s eye Carl Yastrzemski’s pop-up to third to end that game. So, yes, you could say, without any measurable degree of hyperbole, that I am a patriotic, with gusts up to fanatic, citizen of the Red Sox Nation (except I don’t pay dues).
But this week I am in unfamiliar territory even in my home state. You see, I am a long-suffering (well, not that long) Colorado Rockies’ season ticket holder. My friend, Dan Frank, and I invested together in the tickets 14 years ago and I still have them. Everyone (including Dan, I guess) seems to have thought I was going to put my rooting interests where I have put my money over the years. Everyone figured I would be torn about whom to root for. Everyone tells me I have to be a good resident of Colorado and pull for the team now filling up Coors Field, a static and sanitary ball field. As usual, everyone is wrong...
(AP Photo/Eric Gay)
Twenty-one years ago, just before that soft groundball began to tumble through Bill Buckner’s legs at first base at Shea Stadium, I was zipping up my jacket on and heading down the stairs toward Kenmore Square in Boston to help the city celebrate the Red Sox’ victory over the New York Mets. It was the moment in my young life when the relentlessness of its disappointments came squarely into view.
Twenty-nine years ago, on a tiny black-and-white set in a tiny room in Montreal, I remember wanting to barf when the Yankees’ Bucky Dent hit his three-run homer to doom the Sox in a 1978 playoff game. I can still see in my mind’s eye Carl Yastrzemski’s pop-up to third to end that game. So, yes, you could say, without any measurable degree of hyperbole, that I am a patriotic, with gusts up to fanatic, citizen of the Red Sox Nation (except I don’t pay dues).
But this week I am in unfamiliar territory even in my home state. You see, I am a long-suffering (well, not that long) Colorado Rockies’ season ticket holder. My friend, Dan Frank, and I invested together in the tickets 14 years ago and I still have them. Everyone (including Dan, I guess) seems to have thought I was going to put my rooting interests where I have put my money over the years. Everyone figured I would be torn about whom to root for. Everyone tells me I have to be a good resident of Colorado and pull for the team now filling up Coors Field, a static and sanitary ball field. As usual, everyone is wrong...
