To the editor:
It is almost impossible to just listen to the Red Sox.
If it is not Johnny Pesky night, it is a celebration of a past winning team.
Knee-jerk applause greets lumbering memories as everything is made golden with a sort of saint-halo religious tint.
A kind of self-adoration takes over from ‘just play ball.’
A game played for money is doused with sprays of holiness by high-priest announcers.
A double-play is divine, a home run proof of the presence of God.