it’s opening day at fenway.

and bill buckner threw out the first pitch.

in order to understand the magnitude of that act, you have to understand just how completely, utterly, and catastrophically devastated every red sox fan was that horrible night in 1986. old men were on the brink of witnessing something they never thought they would live to see. people had popped the corks on bottles kept sacred for years. and then the ball, and by extension, bill buckner… rolled into infamy.

and red sox nation fell to its knees and wept.

old grudges die hard in the bitter hearts of new england sports fans. from that day forward, bill buckner became the symbollic whipping boy for every failed hope, every heartache sustained, ever tear shed. he became the bearer of nearly 70 years of cursed belief, and he would carry that weight until grady little relieved him of it in 2003.

that he was invited to throw out the first pitch in the hallowed grounds of fenway – that he did so to a standing ovation – is more proof than anyone could ever need about the kind of team we are now. the kind of fans we are now.

we can afford to be magnanimous now. we can be gracious and forgiving.

we can collectively bury any residual silliness about curses or jinxes.

with a single pitch, bill buckner gave us the opportunity to breathe a sigh of relief, and let the old grudges evaporate with the ghosts of history. and the realisation that in doing so, we unshackle billy buckner, but more importantly, ourselves from the past.

redemption. it feels good.

thanks, bill.

bernard fanning – wish you well

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