On Monday night, I went to Game Three of the ALDS with my father and a family friend. We sat through the unfortunate thrashing that occurred, all 16 runs and myriad pitching changes. The crowd dispersed in waves after the big fourth inning that doomed the night, while others left a couple innings later when it was clear we didn’t have a comeback in us. Our friend left in the eighth inning, wanting to catch the train and get home on time.
We chose to stay, however. And by we, honestly, I mean my dad. Because I was miserable and had no desire to stay and walk out with the Sox fans that had stayed to celebrate their victory.