Monday, September 29, 2014

Here’s To My Friend.

I normally hate the Red Sox with a white-hot intensity seven times the sun, but I gotta hand it to them – they handled all of the festivities beautifully yesterday. I’ll post some pictures and video tomorrow. Nice job, ya bastards.

It was a crazy, last-minute decision to meet my friend Ted in Boston to see Derek Jeter play his last game, but when Ted asked if I wanted to join him, I didn’t hesitate. We’ve known each other since we were six, and practically grew up at Yankee Stadium. Seeing Jeter one last time – at Fenway Park – was beyond once-in-a-lifetime.

My 26-hour pilgrimage began Saturday at 10 p.m. and ended at midnight last night. Two plane flights, no luggage.

After we grew up together, Ted and I couldn’t have taken more divergent paths. He became a banker, moved to Charlotte and had four kids. Yet we always remained close. We’ve never texted each other once, because we call each other every week. It doesn’t matter if he’s a soccer dad four times over – our shared experiences supersede our disparities.

After the game ended yesterday, we had some time before our flights, so we walked through Boston. We paused at the marathon finish line, where the bomb went off last year, then made our way through Boston Gardens and Faneuil Hall to the redone waterfront. I realized the last time I’d walked these streets was actually with Ted during a high school trip, and here we were years later, still without a lull in the conversation.

Last Thursday, after Derek Jeter got the game-winning hit in his last at-bat at Yankee Stadium, the place was bedlam. When it settled a bit, Derek walked out to the shortstop area, crouched and had an unexpected, emotional moment for a guy who is usually even-keel cool. He stood up, and then behind home plate were four of his old friends/teammates, all of whom were now retired. He had no idea they were going to be there, but now they waited for him, as if to say, “Come with us. This is where your life is going now.”

I landed in Boston a couple hours before Ted, and passed some time scrolling through Facebook posts until I came across this one, from my friend Tim Murphy:

“My dearest and oldest friend, Tom Allen, passed away this morning. We met when we were about 5-6 years old and we swam together on club and school teams through college. We played hockey, baseball and, basically, we did everything together. He was the best man in my wedding and he has always been my best man in life. RIP, Tommy.”

Sorry to hear about your friend, Tim. For whatever it’s worth, reading that ensured I didn’t take anything for granted yesterday.