As The Summer Dies

   The 2004 World Series was what scientists call an anomaly- a rare event that can be viewed as a deviation from the norm. The Red Sox winning the World Series was probably around that video of the kitten chasing the bear up the tree as far as the level of anomaly goes. It ranks above a June snow on Cape Cod, and slightly below a pregnant man or US President Iron Mike Tyson.

   Any further proof of this statement can be found in the Yankees five game curb-stomping of the Old Towne Team. We may just be in for another 86 year drought, and all but the most heroic advances in medicinal science will keep me alive to see the next Dub. Some would call me pessimistic, but others would just see it as a case of things returning to the norm.

   The September Swoon came early this year, and the old-timers here view the collapse of the Sox as a harbinger of an early winter. I haven't mentioned this theory to the people at Mann Farm in Buzzards Bay (who we photo-essayed last year right here: Mann To The Fiz-Arm), but I'd be willing to bet that they will harvest the crop a lot earlier than November 4-11 this year.

   Farmers are very attuned to the change of seasons. Their fortune can be made or lost by leaving the crops unreaped a week too long. New England weathermen have a history of blowing the forecast, so farmers have what we call Other Ways of determining how the weather will work itself out months in advance.

   While I haven't read the Old Farmer's Almanac this year, I bet THEY haven't had to change their hurricane forecast this summer. The people at the NWS spent a lot of your money to blow a forecast, and they're the best we've got.

   Native Americans had little use for calendars, and watches only got in the way. You hunt until you can't see the deer anymore, and the night rightfully belonged to the Beasts. While there were exceptions, many societies measured times by Moons. The Beaver Moon, the Harvest Moon, the Reverend Moon... all had their own period, and- however primitive this system may look to someone with a $2000 Rolex- they had it down well enough that the Harvest Moon never came in April.

   Teachers have it down, too. I learned rather quickly that summer ends when school starts, winter arrives with the first snow, spring begins when the last snow of the year melts (and thus can only be determined retroactively), and summer begins when school lets out. As occupationally specific as this sounds, anyone with children follows the same schedule. Once they get used to it, the patterns continue after the kids flee the nest.

   It's an adaptable plan. A snowfall in June merely means that Spring was really, really late. No snow until January means that we had an early Autumn, an Indian Summer, and an extended harvest season.

   Since I got out of teaching, my seasonal perception has been off-kilter. Autumn never started last year, and- were it not for New England winters- I'd eventually be at a loss to go outside on a 50 degree day and tell what season it is. I'd then have to go to the calendar... and begrudgingly admit that my kung fu is not the best.

   Thankfully, the world of professional sports helps keep me in line. The Celtics and Bruins sort of share the winter, when the weather outside is too frightful to sit in a chair and drink to the good health of Mr. Nice Warm Sun. The fact that the NHL playoffs have men skating in June show that their season is way too long... but it's also tailored to Canadians, who live in a far colder climate.

   The Red Sox are a sign of Spring, and they rule the Summer. The September Swoon is usually just too late to use as a barometer for buyinh school supplies, but usually far too early to wager on who'll be the Homecoming Queen at your local Kid Factory. It never happened in 2004, but it came damn early this year.

   You can pretty much stick a fork in the Sox after the Yankers prison-bitched them to the tune of a sweep last week. Sure, they could still rally for the wild card spot... but they'll have to go another series with the Yanquis at some point, and we all saw how that worked out last week.

   Summer isn't over yet, andthe nights won't truly get chilly until that day when the Sox are eliminated mathematically. Still, I saw a lot of prep work being done on the bogs when I walked Sloppy Dog today. The time has come to think football.

   Sure, I think football all summer. There was no way that I couldn't have noticed the departure of Adam V, let alone that of Willie McGinest... who was among my 10 favorite humans (and favorite black man, slightly ahead of MLK) for most of this decade.

   The effect was not such that I changed my perception of the seasons, though. It was much like waking a hibernating bear... sure, he might kill you, but he'll most likely go right back to sleep after.  

   But now, with the virtual death of the Sox... I want to see someone blitzed. I have not given up on the summer. I'm simply thinking of the Harvest earlier than I am most years. It's instinct, but the fact that I recognize it doesn't lessen the fact that I just shifted from thinking baseball to thinking football.

   We'll get into the Patriots soon enough. Sometimes football is more than the game, and this seasonal aspect they share with the Sox and the Weather was pretty much where I had to go with this column.

   For a generation of young baseball fans here in New England (except treasonous Connecticut, whose Yankee fans I would gladly trade from New England status for, say, Long Island), the death on the vine of the Red Sox is pretty much perfectly coordinated with the start of school/end of summer... and the impression may stick with them until they are in their 90s, as any long-time Red Sox would attest to.