sportsgal	Female SOMERVILLE, MA
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             I’ve noticed a trend among many of the people I know. When asked what their favorite season is, there’s usually a resounding answer of FALL. While I’m not surprised that many New Englander’s aren’t answering “Winter! Yes, definitely around January, February, when the roads are usually the iciest and everyone has gained twenty pounds and completely lost morale,” the fondness for fall isn’t for all reasons stereotypical. Sure, we love foliage for some reason. Even better still are Halloween and Thanksgiving: two fantastic fall holidays that are good for binge-eating, football, and family.

            None of this gets to the autumnal events that really get the blood pounding, though. I think that all I have to say to you Sawxheads is this: October. Playoff baseball.

            You can feel it already, can’t you? You’re not leaving the house without a hoodie these days, and you’re definitely not going out for the night without a fleece. You’ve switched from that iced coffee, cream & sugar, to a medium hot coffee—black, at Dunkin’ Donuts. The seasonals (Gritty’s Halloween, Shipyard Pumpkinhead, Sam Adams Octoberfest, etc.) are now on tap at your favorite neighborhood pubs. Now for those of you how aren’t in the Boston area, I’ll tell you about this much of it: there’s electricity in the air right now. This city is humming with an underground current of excitement and anticipation and with every game the Red Sox win, it grows stronger.

            Last season I had the incredible fortune to go to my first Playoff game. I had taken the bus from UConn to Boston to spend my birthday weekend in the city, and as soon as I stepped onto that platform at South Station I could feel the collective adrenaline that seemed to be powering the entire city. Little did I know that I was going to be surprised with a ticket to an ALCS game. Unfortunately, I was the October 16 game versus Cleveland, but it’ll always be one of my favorite Fenway memories. Sitting behind the bullpen, taunting Franklin Gutierrez unmercifully was an incredible experience that can never be replicated.

The night was predictably cold and the sky was clear; unmarked by stars, of course, because of the purple aura that will forever hang over the city as long as the lights are lit. Fans were bundled: Red Sox scarves tucked into Red Sox sweatshirts that were covered by Red Sox jackets, Fenway Franks clasped firmly by glove-covered hands, Red Sox skullcaps covering the ears left exposed by Red Sox field hats. Sometime in the seventh inning, I remember hearing a surprising noise rise above the cheers and drunken heckling of the fans. “That sounds like…music? Since when has there been a spoon-clanking band of fans at the Park?” I’d said, craning my neck forward to where the noise was coming from. This was my introduction to the bullpen band and I’ve been a groupie ever since.

I had gone to other games that season, but at that Playoff game, something was different about the players too. It was the fire in their eyes, the way they weren’t just draped over that dugout rail but looking like they had to have their energy physically restrained. Their steps toward those bags seemed longer, their toes and fingers stretched to the limit on every stride once a bat made contact with the ball.  

             I don’t know about the rest of you, but I feel like last night’s game versus Toronto really stoked the fire under the ass of our team. Every night is obviously played to win but that come-from-behind victory, against a team that was making a standings surge, felt sweeter than any win I’ve tasted lately. If anything though, it only whet my appetite for more.