I’ve thought about it before.
Not to the point where I’ve worried myself out of living my life, but how could I not?
As I’ve done for over five years now, I’ve jumped on the Orange Line countless times, cursing its name to no end all the while, to make my way to the TD Garden. Cramming into the outdated carts, and getting off at North Station, I’ve always wondered if today was the day that I’d be part of the ugly side of history. I wondered if I had seen my family for the last time, wondered if my last words to society were a tweet where I criticized or poked fun at a player or team I was about to cover. It was a darker side of everything, but it’s the reality of this world we live in. You never know what can happen to the world you know at that moment, you never know when it’s “your time” and while you don’t want to spend time thinking about it, it’s there.
I didn’t know the three people that died as a result of today’s bombing of the final leg of the historic Boston Marathon. I didn’t know any of the 140 plus (a number that continues to grow as we approach one in the morning here in Boston) injured, but what I do know about these people is that they’re just like me.
Young or old, they’re me. Big or small, they’re you. Runner or spectator, they’re us.
They went into the city to experience what New Englanders have come to know as a rite of passage. Like a midsummer night’s game at Fenway Park, a playoff hockey game at the TD Garden, or a springtime stroll around the Common, Marathon Monday is without question part of what it means to be from Boston. You think of Patriot’s Day and we think of all 26.2 miles of the Boston Marathon, from its start in Hopkinton, to Heartbreak Hill, and all the way to the finish on Boylston. It’s part of Boston’s fabric, like an inability (or outright refusal) to pronounce your r’s or your penchant for describing things as ‘wicked’ instead of super, incredibly, or anything else your mind can think of at that moment, the Boston Marathon is part of Boston’s stubbornly adorable pride. Growing up in Boston, you know somebody that’s run the marathon, or you have an excellent story about your drunk endeavors and where they took you on Marathon Monday in the year _____.
Most of all though, it’s a showcase of this city’s love for all things sports. As a Red Sox early start allows park-goers to catch the end of the race, and consistent Bruins playoff games on Patriot’s Day will tell you, the marathon isn’t another silly race in this town.
It’s the staple of a mid-April Monday. But as today unfolded, what’s become New England’s unofficial first day of spring turned to a nightmare this city never imagined.
With two explosions, a gorgeous Boston day that began with a Red Sox walkoff win was turned to something out of a horror movie. The Hub’s sidewalks were covered in blood, ambulances and SWAT vehicles rushed into the city, every police officer was called into work, and the entire city of Boston (as far as we knew) was unsafe. As suspicious packages and undetonated bombs were recovered and defused, it was clear that this was an attack on our city. No, on our culture.
But why? For most of us, myself included, it still hasn’t hit. What did we see? Did I really see images of a blood-tattered street? Were windows really blown off the shopfronts of the streets I happily walk with friends and family on a near-daily basis?
It hasn’t processed, and I’m not sure when it all will.
It’s just the thought of it all -- Why? Why the
Boston Marathon?
How could
they (whoever they are) try to take this from
us? How could they attack something so harmless? Something so culturally significant? What did this peaceful gathering of some of the world’s greatest athletes, greatest sports fans, and greatest venues in the world do to anybody?
We’re sad, but this is Boston, so naturally the anger has followed. And goddamn, do we want answers. This is a city that’s best described as the agitated older brother of New York City. We don’t have the glitz and glam of a New York City, Los Angeles, or Miami. We don’t have the star-power of ‘em. We’re a city built on workman attitudes, inferiority complexes, and a love for the underdog mentality. Boston's tough. Boston's built to handle this.
You want to mess with us, our way of life, and what we’re accustomed to?
Watch as we resume life as we know (and love) it, but this time in greater numbers.
Prior to today, heartbreak to us was a highlight of Aaron Boone and the New York Yankees eliminating the Boston Red Sox in 2003, denying the club’s bid to end a then 85-year-old “curse.” Heartbreak was Simon Gagne scoring on a power-play goal in Game 7 of the 2010 Eastern Conference Semifinals. Heartbreak, while undoubtedly more tragic and beyond a simple win or loss this time around, isn’t something we’re not built to withstand. Facing our fears, our struggles, our losses, is not something we’ll shy away from. This city, no matter how minute or miniscule the event, has always rebounded.
This is Boston, and we’re not one to back down from a fight.
And as we rally around our fellow Bostonians like we do our sports teams, through thick and thin, we will show the world that this no different. We won’t be divided. We won’t point fingers. We’ll instead recover the only way we know how -- as one.
To the first responders, thank you. To the marathon runners that continued to run, this time to hospitals around the city in an effort to donate blood to victims, some of whom you raced against just minutes prior, thank you. To the fans in Chicago, Montreal, and all over the hockey and sporting world that observed a moment of silence and kept this city in your thoughts and prayers tonight, thank you. Even if you’re not from the Commonwealth, you’re officially a Bostonian. You’re part of what makes this world so amazing. You’re part of what gives this world hope. You’re part of the movement of people that will make these senseless acts of violence a thing of the past.
For our city, the healing process will begin on Wednesday, when the Bruins return to the Garden ice -- albeit with added security presence -- where a sellout crowd will make its statement to the unknown offenders in our first appearance since an attempted assassination of the joy our love of sports brings.
In Boston, their voices will be heard. At a deafening rate, in fact.
This city will cheer once again, not only for its teams, but its way of life.
I suppose that you can call it another piece of the fabric of our stubborn pride.
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