The scene: A little house (not more than a cottage, really) on a little pond in the woods of a little town northwest of Boston. It was the fall of 1986, and I was 7 years old and in the 2nd grade. It was a perfect New England fall - the days were sunny, the nights surprisingly brisk. And our beloved Red Sox were in the World Series.
Would this be the year the curse of the bambino was finally broken? I didn't really know what that meant, but I wanted to watch the games all the same. The grown-ups sure were excited. My bedtime was 8:30 though, so I couldn't watch them all. My father tried to be firm about this, but come on.. the RED SOX were in the WORLD SERIES. So on the sly, he lent me his portable radio so I could listen to the rest of the games without my mother knowing. I sat in bed every night for that week in October, listening to the games with my eyes closed, trying to picture every hit, every pitch, every ball, strike, and out.
And then came the 6th game. The Red Sox were ahead, 3 games to 2. It was a Saturday night (Oct. 25, to be exact), and there was a good chance that the Red Sox would win and thus win the World Series for the first time since 1918. So my dad let me stay up with him to watch the game. I don't remember much of the game itself. But I do remember the end.
It was the bottom of the 10th inning. The Red Sox were ahead 5 to 4. The Mets had 2 outs and 2 men on base. Mookie Wilson was up and had 2 strikes against him. The Red Sox were one strike away from WINNING THE SERIES. He hit a slow grounder up the first base line, to Bill Buckner. This was it! The Red Sox had WON!
And then it happened.
The ball went through his legs.
The Red Sox went on to lose the 1986 World Series.
This was how I learned the meaning of "disappointment".