That informs why dawning horror splashed across my face Friday afternoon as two (and there’s really no other way to describe them) Sox-bros stood up at the bottom of a nearby section, and began to exhort their fellow fans to giving rise to the wave. I had long prided myself in saying that no Sox fan would ever participate in the wave; ‘Oh no,’ I thought, ‘the safety of my imagined reality is being breached! Maybe we do, indeed, 'wave.’
Thankfully, the nonsense was short lived. Others around me grumbled their displeasure, and, out of hundreds sat before them in the section, only a scant handful even pretended to participate. Surely, the lousy performance put on from the home nine that afternoon had put a damper on fanatic spirits, but the curse of a wave to satiate the bored was avoided.
If you or anyone you know struggles with the urge to 'wave,' let me encourage you to seek out professional help. Together, we can cure this devastating affliction.
Today in the bag, I'm talking another round of roster attrition in men's basketball, the Masters, and some final ruminations from my weekend trip home to the SouthSide.
Click below for the bag...