Any girl with a love of baseball is a treasure, but ah, to date a Red Sox fan—that’s a real treat. She can deal with the highs and lows of life, and through it all, she’ll be your biggest fan.

Date a girl who loves the Red Sox. You’ll know her when you see her. She’ll be holding an Italian sausage in one hand and an IPA in the other while cussing out the pitcher who just struck out her favorite player.

Date a girl who loves the Red Sox because she knows that true love isn’t just for when things are going great. She’s used to her heart being broken. And still, she’s there with her hopeful smile thinking that this time they’ll win; this time they’ll crush the Yankees.

To date a girl who loves the Red Sox is to date a hopeful optimist. She just can’t help it, for her there’s no other team worthy of her admiration. She’s not one to cheer on more than one team at a time. She’s loyal to a fault. For her, there’s only one—even when it’s the bottom of the 9^th inning and all seems lost.

That’s because she believes in great comebacks. When her back is to the wall, she doesn’t hang her head in defeat, she turns her cap inside out and around because it’s rally cap time.

It’s time to play. To go big or go home.

To date a girl who loves the Red Sox is to date a piece of your childhood. She’s ballpark bubblegum on a sweltering day in Fenway, the smell of fresh grass and sunshine. She’s blue cotton candy melting in your mouth, staining your fingertips with memories that will last forever.

Sure she loves to play, but she’s never been one to be a player, and she won’t tolerate games of the heart—hers especially. If you find yourself up to bat with a girl who loves the Red Sox, know that you didn’t get there by accident. Even if it’s you’re first time, you’re far from a rookie. She drafts her men with expertise and knows that sometimes it takes until the end of the season to get things right.

She has faith in her men just like in her favorite team. But make no mistake about it—she’s a heartbreaker too. Her all-American charm is mixed with the brooding love of the game. If you actually get the privilege of taking her to Fenway and she doesn’t talk to you, don’t take it personally. She’s at home in the red metal seats taking it all in; she’s truly there to watch the game.

She’s the one sitting forward elbows on her knees as Pedroia is up to bat—already two home runs under his belt for the game, one inning left to go, two men on, down two against the Yankees. She’s quiet expectation. And then she’ll cover her eyes, gasp and jump up. She’s as passionate about her team as she is about her men. This is just one more thing you’ll love about her.

Don’t be surprised if she waits until between innings to lean over and kiss you. It’s not that you’re less important than the Sox, but here in this place, they come first. After all, you’ll be the one leaving with her, her hand in yours as you walk down Yawkey Way, crushed peanut shells under your feet, laughter and muddled conversations spilling out from the bars.

If your beloved Sox lose, you’ll still see her smiling—her baseball cap covering her cheeks rosy from the sun, her feet in blue Converse bouncing on tiptoes as she goes on about the game—and you’ll know, right then and there.

And if the Sox come out on top, they’re not the real winner—you’re the one going home with a girl who loves the Red Sox.

It’s not just a home run, it’s a grand slam.

Over the Green Monster.

 

Author: Kate Rose

Editor: Evan Yerburgh

Photo: courtesy of the author