Comprehending the Narrative Power of the "Curse of the Bambino"

When the 2003 Red Sox returned from a successful 6-4 road trip for their home opener, the faithful at sold-out Fenway promptly showered the bullpen with boos as a critique of their performance to date.¹ After the Red Sox lost their 1988 opener, the Boston Herald wrote off the season with a back-page headline that screamed, "Wait 'til Next Year!"² Passion for the Red Sox runs deep but carries with it a foreboding of equal depth. To understand this phenomenon requires a careful inquiry into the psyche of the Red Sox fan and the uniquely painful history of following one of baseball's most storied franchises.

The most infamous example of this latent pessimism arises in the "Curse of the Bambino." While the Red Sox's inability to win a World Series may be well-known—they last won the series in 1918—the Curse adds another dimension to this championship-starved legacy.³ Tracing the well-documented legend requires beginning with the young franchise's record as one of baseball's elite teams. Through the first sixteen years of World Series history, the Red Sox had won five titles, in 1903, 1912, 1915, 1916, and 1918. They won the last two on the strength of a lefty pitcher named George Hermann Ruth, a.k.a. "The Babe."

However, after a dismal fifth-place finish in 1919, Red Sox owner—and Broadway producer—Harry Frazee grew impatient with the Babe's insubordination and increasing salary demands.⁴ Strapped for cash to finance his theatrical productions in New York, Frazee called on his old friend Colonel Jake Ruppert—owner of the Yankees—to buy the Babe for $100,000 and proffer a $300,000 loan for the mortgage of Fenway Park. Ruppert took the deal and promptly raised the Babe's salary to $20,000; thus a dynasty was born—but not in Boston. Since Frazee sold the Babe in January1920, the Red Sox have not won a single World Series while the Yankees have won twenty-six. Indeed, an examination of the Red Sox's tragic history since the trade seems to support the existence of a hex (see the appendix to this article).

The Curse's Established Position

The Red Sox history of losing—in both mediocre and tantalizing fashion—has contributed greatly toward magnifying the myth of the Curse, but the attitudes of writers, fans, management, and players have also impacted its propagation. Fans do not just capriciously jeer their team; their devotion to the Red Sox—and the associated legend—directs their behavior. Indeed, the fans' well-documented dedication has become a part of regional folklore. Coastal pilots have described seeing house lights simultaneously turned off as Red Sox games ended. In a legend reminiscent of revolutionary history, church bells rang throughout New England to celebrate the victorious conclusion of game 6 of the 1975 World Series.⁵ Many sportswriters have offered their own testimonials to Red Sox fans' passion. Boston Globe columnist Charlie Pierce refers to the team as "an institution" and likens it to the "the MBTA (Massachusetts Bay Transit Association)'s Green Line or the Museum of Fine Arts." Writer Peter Gammons recalls encountering a semicoherent fan in late 1976 who was still muttering about the questionable decision to lift reliever Jim Willoughby while the Sox nursed a late-inning lead in game 7 of the '75 Series.⁶ In his book The Curse of the Bambino, Dan Shaughnessy summarizes:

Red Sox fans care. That's what makes the Boston baseball saga irresistible and eternal.... In New England, the Red Sox are a way of life. There is never a true off-season and interwoven threads connect the Sox's annual campaign with the dramatically different climates of spring, summer, winter and fall.⁷

While writers remain acutely aware of the fans' singular mix of...