Jessica Belmosto

I’ll never forget going to Fenway Park as a little girl. I’d hold my dad’s hand while he carried my younger brother on his hip through the sea of Red Sox jerseys. We’d get the ice cream that came in the helmet and it’d end up all over my face and Manny Ramirez jersey.  We’d sit in the bleachers or grandstand and cheer for the home team. Baseball became my first love. I didn’t understand much of the game then but god, I am forever thankful for it.

Growing up with a single dad was pretty awesome. Sure he didn’t always buy me the cutest clothes but I know he tried. I’d come home from school, play a round or two of Wii golf and turn on ESPN. I would do homework and watch highlights from out of market games. We’d root for the underdogs and talk about taking a trip to see Wrigley Field. I didn’t spend my nights watching Hannah Montana. I watched Pedro do his thing. My dad taught me everything I know about baseball. He’d quiz me on stats or ask me about the bullpen. It became habitual. I loved having something to bond over.  Our family vacations were something else. I remember unwrapping tickets to an away game on Christmas morning. We counted down the days. Waking up and packing the car and leaving before the sunrise was actually better than Christmas!

There were plenty of things I learned growing up. No elbows on the table, always say please and thank you, be respectful to those around you, and never EVER talk about the ’86 World Series. The one thing we hated more than the Curse of The Bambino was the New York Yankees. I was raised believing that New York was the scum of the earth. Nothing good came out of that state…. The no good, pinstripe wearing Yankees were NOT to be talked about in the house. Back in the early 2000’s the rivalry was alive as ever. The legendary Tek-Arod fight was on my father’s thirty-eighth birthday! Who could ask for a better gift?

There wasn’t anything traditional about my upbringing. I faced adversity and dealt with shit I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy. I ended up in a hospital for an entire summer. Somehow this hospital ended up getting tickets to Red Sox games every so often. I was invited to one. Not only was I seeing the Boston Red Sox but I was meeting the knuckleball king, Tim Wakefield. I was sweating when I found out. I loved watching Wake pitch. It blew my mind that he was pitching in the major leagues and couldn’t throw more than 70mph. I’ll never forget that day. It was the day after Manny was traded. It was a bit somber at the park. We were in a room with Tim and a few staff members. I was in awe. As we were leaving, Johnny Pesky was walking in. I stopped and talked to him. My dad loved him. My dad idolized him. It was such a life-changing moment. I got to speak with Mr. Pesky. I started crying afterward. I’m still not sure if it was because I was homesick or I’d met a legend.

I had two passions growing up. Writing and sports. I never thought about combining the two. There was always a voice in the back of my head saying “You won’t be taken seriously” or “Remember when your dad said she’s only on ESPN so feminists don’t get angry?” It wasn’t until 2017, literally this year- I knew I wanted to get into sports. Why should I let misogyny get in the way of my passion? So what if I’m not taken seriously? If I can put out great work and live my dream, so be it. Regardless of what field I go into, there’s always going to be some sort of risk…. You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.

Being a Red Sox fan meant a lot of different things. Of course, we had the curse. There was always this fear that I would never see the Red Sox win a World Series. I was spoiled. Not only did I get to see the 2004 team win it all, I got to see it again in 2007 and 2013. I remember sobbing when they won in 2013. It was an incredible victory for not only the team but the city. We got to ride out those highs and stick out the lows. Saying goodbye to Nomar, Pedro retiring, Papi saying his goodbyes. Oh, and Bobby Valentine. Just like any team we faced our hardships. I don’t miss the days of screaming at my television for Terry Francona to make a pitching change. I really wish that I never had to see John Farrell in the dugout after we got swept by the Indians. Good riddance.

I don’t know why it’s hard for men to grasp the concept of women actually liking sports. I can’t even count how many times I was mocked for enjoying baseball and hockey. Sure, the players might be good looking but that’s not why I watch the game. If you think I’m spending my time and money on these teams to impress a boy, you need a reality check. Girls can enjoy sports. Girls can work in sports. Hell, girls should be able to do anything men judging them.

I never knew that the road trips or trips to Fenway would lead me here. I thought that loving sports was part of growing up. My heart belonged the Red Sox. It still does and I don’t ever see that changing. Now I have podcasts, blogs, and friends who all have the same passion. Down the line, I’d love to work with the team or even land somewhere in the Boston media market  I might’ve missed out on a Jonas Brother’s phase but I didn’t miss the Red Sox win the World Series for the first time in eighty-six years.