A few weeks ago, Uncle Bob accused me of jinxing the Red Sox, our neighbor Margaret was upset about it, and I had to crawl into a rain barrel. One detail I left out was the fact that on Sunday morning, on our way back from Aubuchon Hardware to get rain barrel parts, my father and I noticed Margaret had not taken in her Sunday paper. It was still on the rack under her mailbox. I was worried; what if she had fallen into a deep despair about the Red Sox? If I had jinxed them, it was my fault.
“You call her when we get home,” my father said.
(By the way, that’s what we do in a small town; we look after our neighbors.)
Home is about a nano-second from Margaret’s house. My father was in his “work shop” gathering up his tools and I was on the phone to Margaret before we could say “Jared Saltalamacchia.” She picked up promptly after two rings and confessed to sleeping late. I told her I was worried; it wasn’t like her to sleep late. Or was it?
“Bobby said you jinxed the Red Sox!”
Then she asked to speak to my mother and I went down into Hermie’s “work shop” to discuss the rain barrel strategy. As I shut the door, I heard my mother say “jinxed the Red Sox…” and “ha, ha, ha.”
Margaret and my mother must have had quite a discussion about the Red Sox jinx. In fact, it seems that Margaret was actually worried about me. She was so worried that on Monday, April 23, she sent a slice of toast to me via my mother. Since I wouldn’t be back home until the following Saturday, my mother put the toast in the freezer.
Margaret doesn’t have ordinary toast. After all, she’s a really big Red Sox fan. She’s never wavered in her devotion; she is the antithesis of the dreaded “pink hat” fan. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised, then, when my mother pulled the toast out of the freezer and said “Margaret sent this over for you.”
The funny thing is, on the very day she toasted that slice of Arnold’s Whole Wheat bread, the Red Sox started winning. They beat the Twins 6 – 5. They won 6 of their 7 games. They won last night, 11-6.
Word to Bobby Valentine: Get a toaster for the club house if you’re worried. And one for the bull pen, too. Or call Margaret; I’m sure she’d let you borrow hers.