The Broken Curse: A Literary Theory

If only Howard Rubenstein Public Relations issued coupon vouchers for half off on a new set of tired soundbites for the scores of celebrity Red Sox fans, we might be in business this April. That's when the World Championship banner flies over Yawkey Way, and Yankees fans assign themselves to their own personal dental chairs to revisit the deep pain of last October.

The novocaine will be watching the likes of Matt Damon, Dennis Leary, Ben Affleck, Doris Kearns Goodwin, Peter Gammons, Russ Smith, Stephen King and even the loveable Ouisie Shapiro try to come up with a new schtick about being "heartbroken" Red Sox fans. Instead of "they always find a way to lose" and the endless anecdotes about Harvard Square or the fucking Cask and Flagon after three Coors Lights and that famous Mayflower-era 1:30 a.m. last call.

(And if Rubenstein isn't available, call that Lizzie Grubman "power" girl, though she might have to be briefed on the whole Boston-New York rivalry thing because, despite her ability to snag a prime last-minute table at Legal Seafood in West Newton, she thought Boston was that crab place in Maryland.)

For Yankees fans wondering how it all happened, how David Ortiz stopped sucking and Kevin Millar was vindicated and Bronson Arroyo's testicles descended just in time for the ALCS, the answer lies in a place quite familiar to Bostonians and the upper crust of Red Sox Nation. A literary journal borne of academia, good sir.

The Red Sox won the World Series last year because their home jersey was inadvertently featured on the cover of the Spring 2004 issue of The Kenyon Review.

It was an accident, according to the editors. Some accused the cover-design decision of cowtowing to the testosterone of "sports fan" types, but that was not really the case, according to a source. Inside the issue, there's poetry by Stanley Plumly ("I went to this tree every season for a year") and a short fiction piece by Quinn Dalton entitled "Lennie Remembers the Angels." Nothing to do with the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim, as they are now called in Seligville, and thankfully Dalton resides in North Carolina and not lower Sudbury or Saugus or anywhere within NESN's broadcast territory.

The cover photo depicts a crowded bus in Havana, a lad with a shiny wristwatch in the window seat, with a passenger standing over him wearing the home white Red Sox shirt, no doubt sweating through the poly-blend, though it doesn't look like a cheap replica shirt. It looks like the real $89 deal you might get off MLB.com. The photo is on the front and back of the journal, and it was taken by C.J. Groth, who specializes in colorful vintage car tableaux shot on the streets of Havana. Oddly, most of Groth's work features pastels and tropical-flavored colors. The Kenyon Review, perhaps buying into the grim legacy of the Red Sox, chose to run its cover in black and white. The Red Sox in Cuba? Was this fan pictured on the bus part of Theo Epstein's failed effort to snag the famous hurler Jose Contreras? We'll never know, and the Red Sox never looked better coming out on the short end of that particular "deal."

Perhaps there are some type of Alistair Crowley forces at work in the hills of central Ohio, where The Kenyon Review art director made a design decision last year that ended an 86-year-old curse in Boston. Maybe the art director had just visited the haunted swimming pool on the Kenyon campus? Gambier, Ohio, the home of Kenyon College, didn't exactly bask in CNN's spotlight last November when local voters waited in line nine hours to use one voting machine as John Kerry's presidency hung in the Buckeye State balance until the wee hours. In that sense, they let Boston down, and if there is ever a wind-surfing pool built at Kenyon, you can bet it too will be haunted.

It should also be noted that the photographer Groth is based in Key West, FL, and the only viable Key West?Red Sox connection would be the aforementioned Arroyo, who was born in Key West in the punk rock year of 1977. You might remember the skinny kid pitcher who punch-tagged his way into baseball's aggro scrapbook with his resounding play on A-Rod in Game 6 of the ALCS last year, making the star third baseman look like a "sissy" on his way to first base, and on his way to not beating Boston in the playoffs.

Until Jimmy Buffet rewrites his hit in honor of the Red Sox ("Meatball Grindah in Paradise") and until McSweeney's buys ad space next to the Utz girl on the wall behind the Yankee Stadium bleachers, it follows that the best advice is to not pick up literary journals at the onset of a baseball season. It only leads to trouble.

-Spike Vrusho