On 10/28/04, Don Dudley e-mailed me:

Thankfully, I was able to talk you into purchasing your handsome Red Sox hat back on April 9th. Else I'm sure all of New England would still be waiting ;-).

And on 10/29/04, he forwarded this message he had sent to his brother, Dave, and some friends:

Another quick story for you. You might remember David Poppel, who participated with his son, Zach, as team Bob, in the 2003 Coors draft. David and I have been trying to make both the Red Sox and Rockies' Home Openers the last couple years (in 2003, we failed on two Boston attempts due to rain, but at least we did get to see Ray Charles twinkle the ivories on a huge grand piano they wheeled out into right field in the drizzle). This year (2004), the Red Sox opened on Friday, 4/9. As we were driving in to Fenway, thoughts of Aaron Boone's game-winning homer the previous October still firmly in our heads, David remarked to me that he had never owned an authentic Red Sox hat. He had resolved that he would buy himself one if the Red Sox ever won the World Series. He then wondered if that were the wrong philosophy and rather that he needed to buy a Red Sox hat in order for the Red Sox to win the World Series. I convinced him the latter was correct, thankfully, or we would all still be waiting ;-). He sported the handsome hat on his trip to the Rockies' Home Opener with me.

And in a 10/29 e-mail to me, Dave Dudley wrote:

David,

Don reminded me of your decision to buy a Red Sox hat.  I am sure glad you did.

Dave

To which I replied on 11/02:

It seems the hat was not such a simple matter after all.

As Don has told you, I had never yet owned a wool, fitted, "official" Red Sox hat, preferring the soft, weathered cotton types, and believing that I was not entitled to own the authentic team lid until the BoSox had "reversed the curse." As this Spring approached, and my usual annual optimism-in-the-face-of-historic-reality prediction ("THIS is the year!") seemed to be morphing into "Last year WAS the year!," it did occur to me that perhaps I had been the problem (or maybe just a part, great or small, of the problem), and my NOT owning "the hat" was the final obstacle in realigning the cosmic forces needed to change history. So, as Don witnessed prior to the 2004 opener, I resolved to take action, and with his able assistance, I went the distance to ease our pain, as the James Earl Jones voice-over (never asked Don if he also heard it) said: "Buy it, and the ring will come."

Well, as I proudly, if not somewhat uncertainly, sported my new talisman, the Olde Towne Club proceeded to drop not only the opener, as Don and I twisted our heads to the left for nine innings from the right field grandstand, but they failed to win any game I attended or watched on TV while wearing the hat! (I am prone to calming myself at times by wearing all sorts of hats, even inside the house.)

What to make of this seeming indifference of the cosmos and the gods of baseball to my act of faith (to say nothing of my cash sacrifice)?

So I "reasoned" that it was not important for me to wear the hat, and in fact, to assume the casual use of the sacred item at such an early stage of our relationship, was premature and presumed too great an intimacy with the karmic forces at play.  It must be it was only important for me to own the hat for the necessary outcome that would again bring joy to the faithful and light to the downtrodden and blind.

So...with reverence, I placed the hat in a prominent spot in my closet, atop a stack of mock turtlenecks and rugby shirts, and left it there to work its miracles from within the confines of its new ark--the holy of holies--my bedroom closet.  Each morning, as I chose clothes for the day, I'd give the hat a brief, reverential look, just to remind it of the great need it had to fulfill, not just for me, but for all the Nation.

Then the season ground on with its starts and stops, its 3 game winning streaks and its failures. Its cataclysmic trades and its nosedives and ultimate resurrection into the Wilderness of Card--a limbo from which only the truly faithful could believe the team would emerge into the Heavens of October.

But the hat began to reach out from the ark and gave to Ortiz the powers of the Almighty to slay the fallen Angels.

And so from out of the Wilderness of Card, the tribe of the red stockings, those pilgrims from Boston, sons of the Somersets and Beaneaters, the children of Obi Wan Fran Konah, went forth toward the Empire of Evil, to take on the dreaded and boastful Jeter Knights, who wielded the A Rod in the Fields of Sheff. And there did Damon lead his brethren against the dreadful God Zilla. They sounded the piercing tones of the Horns of Bell to exorcise the spirits of Babe, Buckner and Boone. At times, fighting only with their knuckles, as happened on the Field of Wake, the leaders sacrificed in the moment to give relief to those, who stood by in reserve to rise later to meet the violent temper of the Bombers who threatened to rally before they died. And so came forth the righteous Man of Til, and also Alan of the Wad, and among these at close of day arose the gentle mannered man of the Folk, who could not be frightened by ghostly sounds that came forth from the Valley of the Monuments. And so too did Peter rise. And, though he would later betray the Nation by his idol worship at the bush that never questions, listens or learns, did the wounded Kirt come forth, bloodied, but master of all his many weapons, suffering pain and torment in order to ease the burden of his followers. There were Manny more heroes: the mighty Teck, Nick’s son the Trotter, Reese the Poker, Rapid Roberts and the many skilled Mac-C, the clan of the Douglasses, and the gathering of Millers, the Wizard of Orlando and the Bronzed Son of Arroyo. And then, LO, as if congealed at last solid out of the Vapors of Inconsistency and the Mists of Travail, came Lord Derek, and LO, he was a marvel! He grew before the eyes of all the enemies of Goodness, enlarging his portion in the future, as he slew evil angels, bombers and birds the color of blood.

Anyways. Back to the hat. Obviously, the sweep in the divisional series enhanced my view that I had finally figured out how the hat and I could play our parts, but, sadly more apparent was the reversal of fortune as it occurred in the next three games. It seemed that all my efforts were to no avail and entirely wrong-headed. I really did not know what to do next, but as I sat watching Game 4 unfold, to ease my pain, as I considered the prospects of a Yankee sweep, I felt like putting on a hat. So around the 3rd inning, I got up from my chair to get the nearest available hat--a suede leather baseball type cap I had bought from The Territory Ahead. It hung in the nearby coat closet, so I got it and put it on. When Game 4 was resolved, I had an epiphany. No way Sox could have won that game, saving them from the brink, without a powerful change in the Force. Could it be that I had stumbled upon the true HAT OF POWER? No, I felt, at that point, that it was more than the hat alone, for some mysterious force had driven me to put on, just before the game, the University of Bologna t-shirt I had bought when we visited Zack during his semester abroad, and put on over it a new fleece pullover I had mail-ordered from Cabela's. The khakis I had worn to work and my new L.L. Bean slippers completed the outfit. Yes! “Of course,” my inner voice (faintly sounding a bit like James Earl Jones again) said, "That's it! It's the whole combo: hat, t-shirt, fleece." Of that I was sure. The role of the pants seemed less certain, as I pondered these events, but the slippers seemed likely necessary as well.

And so for Games 5, 6 and 7, the routine never wavered. U of B tee, Cabela’s fleece, khakis, Bean moccasins. And the hat, the suede cap, never taken out of the closet and put on before the first inning was complete. That turns out to be key, I think, though I did have to debate and decide exactly when I should cover my head, knowing it could not be at the start of the game, but not being sure exactly when in Game 4 I actually did put the hat on for the first time, I elected to wait one inning, and that certainly seemed to work.

Four straight and out of death's jaws, drinking champagne in the House that Ruth built!!!! 

Game 1 of the World Series saw Deb and I in Stamford, CT at the annual 1156 Trumbull College roommates’ reunion. I, of course, was not going to fool with the routine, but I decided to see why I did not feel the pants were important, so I left the khakis at home, opting for denim. Knowing I was among a very skeptical audience of men of science, business and law, I played the significance of my ritual to the hilt, turning the other cheek to all the blows that at times must befall the faithful. Sunday morning, Game 1 in the bag, unsettled but curious, the businessman from the Motor City, greatest of all the skeptics, woke early to ask me more about the hat and its power, and I know he is now seeking the source of his own mojo, as we speak.

Well, of course, through all the eight games of the Festival of the Reversing of the Curse, I faithfully followed the ritual that played so great a part in helping the Sox and their Faithful remove the burdens of history. I ask for no thanks, and seek no reward, as I am beatified by the transcendent rapture of THE BIG SWEEP.

Don, we finally got it right!

David

To which Dave Dudley replied on 11/02:

I figured there was more to it!

To which Don Dudley replied on 11/14:

David,

Do you mind if I post this on my baseball site? I think it's worthy.

Apart from the great piece of work, and I know it took some effort, I have a couple of trivial comments:

I must be what you call one of the "truly faithful," as I really liked them coming from their Wild Card position. From August 16th on, I felt they showed many, many signs of becoming "the team that gets hot in October to win it all," notwithstanding their 3-3 split (three losses in a row) with the Yankees going down the stretch. True, the Angels were probably more formidable than the Twins, but the entire post-season dynamic would have been altogether different had they beaten out the Yankees in the AL East.

I would never have had guts enough to trade the khakis for denim down in Stamford!

Don

To which I replied on 11/14:

Yes, it was an incredible way to go about it, what with the final run for the wildcard, all the heroics and walk-off stuff, most bestest of all, getting to the Ring running over the Yankees! And especially after deconstructing and laying down on what appeared to be the Alter of Agony, the final, fatal cut to be made in a Yankee sweep. Phoenix from the ashes! It was mythic! Absolutely mythic!

Interesting observation re the risk on the denim. Not sure it was guts or just a puckish try to mess with the gods a bit. You know, show them a mere mortal can try to enjoy a tiny bit of free choice, even with all the marbles on the line. Well, maybe it was more stupid than gutsy, and be assured if they had not made it all the way those last 8 games, I would never have admitted my caprice. I am sure that would have brought down the Nation on me with more grief, guilt and punishment than was visited on that hapless Cubs fan who messed with the foul ball last year.