(Warning: I am going to swear a lot in this post. Sorry, Mom.)
David Ortiz did today what some people weren't able to do on April 15: he crossed the Boston Marathon finish line. The Boston Red Sox won the World Series on Wednesday and, with that, earned a victory parade around our city. When the rolling rally got near the finish line- mere feet from the site of the Marathon bombings- Papi got off his flatbed truck. He then jogged across the finish line, got back on his ride and finished the parade. Hood up. Shades on. Casual. This is Papi we're talking about: this guy carries our city on his back like it's no big deal. Like it's his job. And at this point? It kind of is.
Two assholes with names I can neither spell nor pronounce thought it was a good idea to ignite some bombs near the Marathon finish line. So that's what they did. On April 15, the Tsarnajfksdhkusdf brothers stashed two pipe bombs in their backpacks and headed to Boylston Street. (Side note: I refuse to spend the time Googling how to spell their last name. Fuck them.) One bomb went off. Then another. There's a lot to say about what occurred on that day and on the days until the younger Tsarhdagfjkdsgfjkad brother was captured, but I don't need to write about it here. We all know what happened.
What did Papi do? Five long and confusing days after the Marathon, David Ortiz got up in front of the crowd at Fenway Park and gave one of the best speeches ever. English may be his second language, but Papi is clearly fluent in badassery. In some ways, the post-Marathon healing process began when the ever-casual Papi dropped the The Fuck Heard 'Round the Hub. His words gave Boston a rally cry: this is our fucking city. We needed that.
Sometimes, like today, life is serendipitous. Boston was the victim of an act of terror and, six months later, the Red Sox won the World Series. The team- for whom mediocrity would have been a success this season- won the World fucking Series. Then (because it gets even better), the Sox placed the World Series championship trophy on the Marathon finish line. I can't even type that last line without crying my eyes out.
Let's be honest: at this point, you cannot disassociate the Marathon bombings and the Red Sox's championship. You just can't. For better or worse, these two events are like the beginning and end of some big-budget, Michael Bay blockbuster movie. But instead of having Robert Downey, Jr. as the lead action hero, Boston has David "Cooperstown" Ortiz. Better casting, if you ask me.
In six short months, I'm going to (hopefully) do what Papi did today. I'm going to cross the Marathon finish line, too. I'm not running the Marathon to seek some sort of metaphorical redemption for my city in the wake of the Tsarvndklvchsdukf brothers' terror attacks. That's not what I'm saying. Quite frankly, I don't think my running 26 miles could do that, anyhow. Until now, I didn't really know why I was running the Marathon; it's just something I thought I could do.
Besides making me super emotional, this whole Marathon bombings/ Red Sox championship thing has given me a purpose for running-- something I desperately needed. This is our fucking city. I'm part of the "our" to which Papi was referring. I'm a Red Sox fan. A Celtics fan, too. (Totally NOT a Patriots fan.) I teach in the city's public schools. I went to college here and I've lived here for the past ten years. I'm a Bostonian. This is my fucking city, too. I've met some of the greatest people on the planet in this city. I've experienced most of the best moments of my life here, as well as most of the worst ones. In a lot of ways, this city has made me who I am and I'm proud of that person. I'm not running the Boston Marathon because I want to be part of the inevitable Phoenix rising hoopla that will accompany the race, but because it's another moment for my city and I to share. I love Boston. This is my fucking city and I can't wait to experience it in a totally new way: with my running shoes.
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