What it's like to be a Red Sox fan

For my dad, it was Bucky F'n Dent.

For me, it's Aaron F'n Boone.

Different decades, same results... a letdown that cannot be described... except maybe like... Well, there really ISN'T anything like it. It's like putting your blood, sweat and tears into a 2003 Red Sox team that had more ups and downs than a Six Flags roller coaster.

If you don't live in Boston, it's hard for you to understand. I'm serious. You may think you have an idea, but, no, you really don't.

Here in Boston, Sox fans like myself live and die by the Red Sox. We're so crazy, each and every one of us feels like we're family and friends with these guys. They aren't Ramirez, Damon and Garciaparra. They're Manny, Johnny and Nomahhhhh.

With extreme pain, let me take you back to some of the highlights and lowlights, if you will, from last year's Sox season, which nearly gave me my first heart attack at the ripe old age of 19.

After a successful regular season, hopes were high here in Boston. The team was strong, thanks to first year GM Theo Epstein's near-genius acquisitions of, among others, David Ortiz, Kevin Millahhh and Scott Williamson.

Boston went down 0-2 to the Oakland A's, and the "curse" was supposedly in the air. But, as we all know, the Sox came back improbably, and took out the A's in a wild Game 5 in Oakland.

The Sox had won the American League Divisional Series, but you would've thought they just won the World Series if you were anywhere around Fenway Park that night... and I was.

Though the Sox won the game across the country in California, sheer minutes after Derek Lowe struck out Terrance Long for the final out, thousands of Sox fans (mostly of college years) sprinted into the streets of Boston surrounding Fenway, and, well... they went nuts.

Sox fans from surrounding streets all made the pilgrimage to Fenway, our Mecca, and partied in the streets like it was 1918. Fueled by passion, and well, maybe some alcohol, Sox fans chanted, "Yankees suck!" and turned over unlucky cars until Boston Police smartly turned off all the street lights surrounding Lansdowne Street (the street behind the Monstahhh), forcing the street party to, unfortunately, end (though it took awhile because, well, no one could see a damned thing).

A few hundred Sox fans found an open door in to Fenway, and took it upon themselves to storm into the Park and run onto the field. Those fans, carefully and respectfully, did not destroy anything on the field, because Fenway is holy to one and all baseball fans. Those fans just danced around the outfield, hugging complete strangers and kissing the Green Monster like it was their girlfriend.

I was one of those lucky ones. It will probably be the only time I ever step foot on Fenway's field, and for those brief few minutes, I thought I was in heaven. I scooped up some grass to show my kids someday. Can you see A's fans scooping up grass from the Coliseum like it's gold? I think not.

We were on top of the world that night, nothing could take us off that happy threshold... and all the Sox had done was win the Divisional Series.

Next on tap were the hated (the word doesn't even serve this situation justice) Yankees, but nobody was worried, the Sox were invincible! Bring on the Yanks!

We all know what happened. Game 7, Grady Little, Pedro, Aaron Boone, yeah yeah yeah. I'm not going to get into specifics or else I'll probably start crying and throw something out of anger.

But, I will say this: When that ball hit Aaron F'n Boone's bat and took off for the left field bleachers, my heart sank not into the pit of my stomach, but into my toes, and it would've gone lower if it could have. I couldn't move, I couldn't think, I just remember thinking to myself: "That's it. I'll never be able to put so much energy into the Sox again."

And I was only 19, so I can't even imagine what fellow Sox fans of a generation older were thinking. It probably isn't a big stretch to say that the whole city Boston was put on a suicide watch that night.

And yet we're back this year... same passion, same love for the team. However, I can sense a little caution surrounding Red Sox Nation this summer because frankly, we can't take another year like last year. Sox fans are trying not to wrap the Sox around their brains quite just yet, in case of another letdown.

The team is doing well so far, overcoming the early injuries of Nomah and Trot (Nixon... remember we don't use last names, because they're family). Now, they're back, and the team can finally play as a whole, although Bill Mueller is out (though Sox fans have become smitten by his replacement, Youk (Kevin Youkilis).

In Red Sox Nation, the worst night of the week is Monday. That's the night when the Sox usually have a day off. We don't know what the hell to do with our lives on Monday nights. It's not like that anywhere else (save perhaps New York and Chicago).

Red Sox fans pay more attention to their team than their spouses between the hours of 7 p.m. and 10 p.m. (or 10 p.m. to 1 a.m. during West Coast games). We are the smartest baseball fans in America because we live and die by the game.

Though we've been hurt and crushed by our team, we keep coming back like a wounded dog. Thank God for the concept of hope and for "next year."

We wouldn't want it any other way... Except maybe a World Series title.

THIS IS THE YEAR! Yeah, you've heard that many times before, but we're serious this time. This is it! Or else I'm throwing my TV out the window so my heart doesn't give way again.

It's like your dream girl leaving you and then coming back again next year only to leave a few months later. Your heart can take it only so many times.

This IS the year!