Everything Was Fine
I was in Kenmore Square in 2007 when the Red Sox won the World Series. We sprinted my friends’ cockroach-infested, rat-visited, immune system-shattering house in Allston, down Commonwealth Avenue and into Kenmore Square where the rest of the city celebrated until the Riot Police backed us down Comm. Ave.
Everything was fine.
I was roaming the streets when the Celtics won the Championship in 2008. Cars sped, honked, blasted music. There wasn’t one single congregation - maybe down by the Garden - but the entire city was out, alive and celebrating.
Everything was fine.
I was in Copley during the Bruins parade after they won the Stanley Cup. It was sunny. Warm. Loud and boisterous. Once again, we were celebrating the teams that have led us from success to failure and back to success again.
Everything was fine.
I went to St. Patrick’s Day in South Boston. I party hopped from house to house. I drank with police officers, friends and strangers who became friends. I explored a neighborhood I barely knew and felt safe and at home knowing the muddy water wasn’t that far away.
Everything was fine.
In the five years that I lived in Boston, four of which spent in college, I celebrated Marathon Monday every April. I cheered on runners until I could barely talk. I walked the streets, surrounded by the happiest Bostonians that I had ever seen.
The City of Boston may have had great sports victories to drink to, but every year the entire town goes absolutely nuts to not only commemorate Patriot’s Day in a city bursting with Revolutionary history (I should know, I sold pamphlets for the Freedom Trail as a summer job) but also the Marathon that brings the whole city together.
Regardless of how good or bad the Celtics, Patriots, Bruins or Red Sox are doing, every single Bostonian can count on Marathon Monday as a way to gain relief from the constant overcast skies, the crowded and dysfunctional MBTA and the daily threat of snow as the rest of the country celebrates warm weather.
For some, Marathon Monday is the turning of Winter into Spring, the dethawing of the city as a culture. After the Marathon, there are infinitely more skirts, shorts and sandals walking around Boston than before. Marathon Monday is to Boston as Easter is to Christianity.
This may be why many of us consider it to be our second favorite holiday - next to Christmas.
This is the first - and hopefully last - time anyone has ever violated the sanctimonious holiday that is Marathon Monday. I urge all of you, whoever may be reading this, to donate blood to the victims ASAP. To donate money to the establishments and the families in whichever way possible. To help out, for God’s sake, because when you see any tragedy, there are always more people helping than there are committing these crimes against humanity.
Even Mr. Rogers knows that.