We knew the Red Sox had something up their sleeves for Big Papi’s final regular season game at Fenway Park. You don’t let a player like David Ortiz go gentle into that good night without some fanfare and fireworks. And they delivered, by bringing back some of the Large Father’s teammates from each of his championship seasons to cheer his ass on. And I’m not talking guys like Pedro and Tek and Kevin Millar who show up more than the craft beer guy at Fenway. This was a treasure trove of “holy shit, where’d they find him?” featuring the likes of Julio Lugo, Nomar, Kyle Snyder, JD Drew, Maaaaaaaanny, Jonny Gomes, Schill and, amazingly, mothereffin’ Mark Bellhorn, who disappeared from plain sight with the precision of a KGB spy when his baseball days ended.
It was exhilarating and bittersweet and a reminder that as all these players filtered through our organization, played their part and moved on, Ortiz remained the constant. The rock on which each team was built. It also begged the question, without Papi, do any of these World Series even take place? I say no. I say without Ortiz, we are still trying to break the curse. Still struggling under the weight of Yankee oppression. Still waiting for someone to come along and turn the tide.
Now. Here are some shitty vines and screen shots:
When the dust settled, the parade of players ended, and everything that had to be said was said, Ortiz got down on one knee and thanked the fans.
And at that moment, it hit me. That in possibly as many as four weeks or as few as one, it’s over. The David Ortiz era has ended. And he’s leaving, Maybe he’ll pull a Bellhorn and fade into thin air. Maybe he’ll be as omnipresent as Pedro. But one thing is certain: things will never be the same.
Ever.
