Characterizing the Fanbases #4: Boston Red Sox

Welcome to the latest installment of Characterizing the Fanbases! In this series I’m attempting to present the psychology of every MLB fanbase. This series, as you would expect, comes with a disclaimer: These characterizations are based on my own perceptions and opinions, and no offense is intended by them. I freely admit that I’m only one man, and my view is therefore limited. I’m fully aware that many fans will not fit the profile I depict, and that’s to be expected, because it’s impossible to make blanket statements about large groups of people. If you want to contest anything I write here, feel free to leave a thoughtful, civil comment. Otherwise, sit back and have fun reading. Perhaps I might even say something insightful!


Ah, these guys. Their reputation has grown in prominence in the last decade, and I think it’s gone through some transformations as well. It might be good to take this thing step-by-step.

Let’s get one thing out of the way first: As a “traditional” baseball market, Boston is home to some extremely loyal, knowledgeable fans. You can see that tons of them know the history of their team and the game inside and out, so never let it be said that I don’t respect that element of the fanbase. Are we good? OK, then. Let’s move on to some less-flattering things that unfortunately must be noted.

I can’t say I witnessed the evolution of the Red Sox fan firsthand, as I’m only in my early 30’s. From what I’ve read though, Boston wasn’t as baseball-crazy as it is now once upon a time. Indeed, a look at their attendance history shows that back in the day they had trouble drawing when they weren’t winning, just like anybody else. It wasn’t until the “Impossible Dream” season of 1967 and the subsequent years of sustained success that baseball became an all-consuming obsession for the average New Englander.

The Red Sox in those days hadn’t won the World Series since 1918, but their fans had many reasons to be optimistic, as their team was usually a contender, and would surely find its way to a title sooner or later. After losing the 1975 World Series, a huge collapse that cost them a division title in 1978, and mid-season fades in the early ‘80s, their disposition became less cheery. It all crystallized during the 1986 season, the year of the World Series meltdown and Bill Buckner’s error. At that point, it seemed like something greater was working against them, and the media happened upon the idea that maybe they were being punished for selling the great Babe Ruth to their hated rivals, the Yankees, back in 1919. Thus, the “Curse of the Bambino” was born.

Like Cub fans, I don’t know that many Red Sox fans literally believed in the curse, but the idea that it was their destiny to lose still weighed on them mentally. The fact that the Yankees were almost always good only served to remind them that they were stuck in Goliath’s shadow. As most people do when they feel helpless against a greater force, Red Sox fans turned to self-pity and desperate lashing out. They might have been saddled with a long drought, but at least they could rejoice in small successes and Yankee failures.

For a long time it seemed as though they defined themselves in opposition to the Yankees. Their rallying cry became “Yankees suck!” which they’d use even when the Yankees weren’t their opponent. They began to believe that despite the Yankees’ greater success, the Red Sox possessed a special moral superiority that the Yankees could never have. After all, unlike Yankee fans, they’d had their loyalty tested with years of struggle. It didn’t hurt either, that the media romanticized them and their sufferings, despite the fact that there was a team in the very same league that had been waiting a year longer for a championship.

When Theo Epstein took over the GM position before the 2003 season, the fan culture began a gradual change. Epstein was a young man who grew up a Red Sox fan, so he attempted to reach out to the people in the stands more than his predecessors did. While the marketing raised the team’s profile significantly, it also led to the rise of what Red Sox diehards derisively call “pink hats,” or more specifically, fans who go to Fenway and root for the Red Sox because it’s trendy and hip. These new fans brought in more money, but many felt they diluted the fanbase’s integrity in the process.

If you’re reading this, you probably know what happened in 2004: The Red Sox met the Yankees in the ALCS and after being down 3-0 in the series, won four straight to take the pennant and eventually their first World Series title in 86 years. It was a storybook season if ever there was one. All talk about the “Curse of the Bambino” was put to rest, and Red Sox fans rejoiced as few fanbases ever had.

Even though the monkey was off their back, cultural values don’t change overnight. They still carried around an underdog complex and whined about the Yankees’ spending despite their own sky-high payroll. They still tried to convince themselves of their own moral superiority and importance despite the fact that they had nothing keeping them down anymore. No longer was it a defense mechanism, but a media-fueled self-hype buying. They began to act as though the entire sport of baseball revolved around not just the Red Sox, but themselves as well. When they lost, everyone was expected to feel their pain, because they were still nursing many previous years of heartbreak.

(Annoying-but-related anecdote: Back in the days when Facebook was a college-only phenomenon, I was part of a group called “I Hate the New York Yankees.” When Johnny Damon signed with the Yankees, some girl started posting a bunch of comments in the discussion section whining about it and asking how he could betray “us,” as though a collection of Yankee-haters were by default a gathering of Red Sox Nation members. I think a lot of “fans” actually believe the entire sport is some big Yankees-Red Sox dichotomy.)

The World Series title of 2007 seemed to put to bed the old way among Red Sox fans. It pretty much forced them to recognize that a championship could now happen to them more than once every several generations, and with their resources, they had every reason to expect a contender every year. Suddenly, there was nothing to distinguish them from Yankee fans except a belief in their own uniqueness. If I recall correctly, the sponsorship message on Baseball-Reference’s page for the 2007 Red Sox used to say something like “2004 was for all the previous generations of Red Sox fans, but 2007 was for us!” Such a statement only suggests that the current generation of the Boston faithful is a special bunch that deserves a title to call its own, and the one they’d witnessed three years earlier didn’t fully count because they had to share it with a bunch of old and dead people. Sigh... I blame ESPN.

While my instinctual feeling about Red Sox fans is a negative one, I’ll admit that I truly do feel some sympathy for the diehard, non-arrogant Red Sox fans that are out there. Their undoubted frustration with the “pink hats” is something I would probably share, as I know what it’s like to root for a team with trendy followers. With declining fortunes the last few years and no more drought to romanticize, the Red Sox seem to be losing some of the hipness they once possessed, and have become just another team in many ways. I hope it continues, because some humility might allow Red Sox fans to become better-known for their good qualities than their bad ones.

Characterizing the Fanbases #3: Baltimore Orioles

Welcome to the latest installment of Characterizing the Fanbases! In this series I’m attempting to present the psychology of every MLB fanbase. This series, as you would expect, comes with a disclaimer: These characterizations are based on my own perceptions and opinions, and no offense is intended by them. I freely admit that I’m only one man, and my view is therefore limited. I’m fully aware that many fans will not fit the profile I depict, and that’s to be expected, because it’s impossible to make blanket statements about large groups of people. If you want to contest anything I write here, feel free to leave a thoughtful, civil comment. Otherwise, sit back and have fun reading. Perhaps I might even say something insightful!

 
The phrase “East Coast” conjures up images of big cities with sizable media presences. Baltimore, however, is the east coast city with a small-town feel. Back in the day Memorial Stadium was located in the middle of a residential area, with nothing but treetops and houses visible past the top of the upper deck. This setting had the effect of making the Orioles into the fans’ neighbors. Instead of local hired athletes, they were members of the community.

When a new venue was needed, it was inevitable that they’d have to move into the heart of the city, but they couldn’t afford to sacrifice their bond with the people in the seats. Memorial Stadium’s successor, therefore, was beautiful Oriole Park at Camden Yards, built to be a fan’s paradise. It was designed for maximum comfort and aesthetic value, and it served as a living monument to the city’s history and ties to the game. It’s now known as the first “retro” ballpark, and it perfectly suited a team that had such a proud tradition of respectability. The Orioles were too good to play in some dime-a-dozen cookie cutter stadium that reeked of cold corporatism; they deserved something classic, and they got it. It became the standard by which all future ballparks would be measured, and it’s arguable that none of its followers has duplicated its charm.

What makes the Orioles so special? Well, in the days before Peter Angelos they were known for doing things The Oriole Way, a top-to-bottom organizational philosophy that emphasized loyalty, intelligence, fundamentals and class. In the big cities they could crassly throw money around on whatever talent was available, but in Baltimore they cared about maintaining a family atmosphere. They weren’t just out to get good players, coaches and executives, they wanted them to be Orioles at heart.

With the organization running itself like a family, the fans embraced the Orioles as such. Brooks Robinson, for instance, became a Baltimore icon for being a great player on the field and a gentleman off it, and to this day he’s so revered that Oriole fans name their children after him. You’d think he was a relative who made good with the personal connection they feel. The Orioles even allowed Robinson to remain on the active roster for about two years after he was no longer effective simply because he was the kind of guy who’d earned the right to leave on his own terms. The thing is though, Brooks Robinson wasn’t a player who put up huge numbers or gave off a charismatic glow. The only thing that qualifies him as a Hall of Famer is the fact that he was perhaps the greatest fielding third baseman of all time, and he was a good enough hitter that the whole package added up to an elite one. He wasn’t even the greatest player to spend his entire career with the Orioles, but to many he symbolizes everything that the franchise represents. St. Louis has Musial, New York has Gehrig, and Baltimore has Brooksie. He’s clearly not the same caliber of player as those two, but beyond a doubt he’s theirs.

In the 1970’s the team began a tradition (which continues to this day) of playing John Denver’s “Thank God I’m a Country Boy” during the Seventh Inning Stretch. Baltimore wouldn’t be considered rural by any means, but the song itself obliquely manages to embody the fans. It’s not lyrically deep (is any John Denver song?), but if there’s a general message that goes beyond the surface, it’s to take pride in what one has. The singer tells us he’s just a humble farmer, but he wouldn’t trade his lot in life if given the choice. He knows how to find joy in the simple things, and as far as he’s concerned, he’s got everything he could ever dream of between his farm, family and fiddle. It’s quite the parallel to Oriole fans’ pride in their city and love for their local heroes. That’s not to say that Oriole fans don’t wish for things to be better, only that their franchise has traditionally aspired to a higher ideal than racking up the trophies at all costs. Even though The Oriole Way is considered a relic from the past nowadays, the fans would still prefer a team that adhered to its principles.

Characterizing the Fanbases #2: Atlanta Braves

Welcome to the latest installment of Characterizing the Fanbases! In this series I’m attempting to present the psychology of every MLB fanbase. This series, as you would expect, comes with a disclaimer: These characterizations are based on my own perceptions and opinions, and no offense is intended by them. I freely admit that I’m only one man, and my view is therefore limited. I’m fully aware that many fans will not fit the profile I depict, and that’s to be expected, because it’s impossible to make blanket statements about large groups of people. If you want to contest anything I write here, feel free to leave a thoughtful, civil comment. Otherwise, sit back and have fun reading. Perhaps I might even say something insightful!


Atlanta isn't known as a great sports city. The Braves got a big attendance boost in the early '90s with their newfound success, then again in 1997 with the opening of Turner Field. After all the winning though, fans became jaded; it got to where they couldn't even sell out playoff games. I recall empty postseason seats even at the Braves’ high-attendance peak in the '90s, so it wasn't just something that happened after they became an annual first-round exit in the early 2000's.

When I was a teenager and hated the Braves with a passion, I used to justify my hatred by pointing to the playoff games that didn't sell out. It proved that these fans didn't deserve the great team they had, I reasoned. Now that I'm older, I'm a little more sympathetic. For one thing, I realize that the Wild Card round has diluted the excitement of the postseason a bit. I've never been a frequent ballpark attendee, since it's expensive and I haven't always had the desire to make the trip, so I can also understand how every postseason game isn't a must-see once it becomes an annual occurrence. Also, as the American South's team of choice, the disappointing attendance likely fails to account for the wide-ranging group of diehards outside the city of Atlanta.

I think most Brave fans are just average people who enjoy the game but don’t obsess over it. Baseball isn’t an integral part of southern culture, so it’s probably not realistic to expect the degree of rabidity that we see in some of the more “traditional” baseball markets. Thanks to the legendary 1991-2005 run though, they probably have more true blue fans than ever. We may have accused 'em of being a bunch of bandwagon jumpers back in the day, but there are now generations that grew up with the Braves being a perennial power, and they see the team as more than just an occasional diversion.

Characterizing the Fanbases #1: Arizona Diamondbacks

Welcome to the first installment of Characterizing the Fanbases! In this series I’m attempting to present the psychology of every MLB fanbase. This series, as you would expect, comes with a disclaimer: These characterizations are based on my own perceptions and opinions, and no offense is intended by them. I freely admit that I’m only one man, and my view is therefore limited. I’m fully aware that many fans will not fit the profile I depict, and that’s to be expected, because it’s impossible to make blanket statements about large groups of people. If you want to contest anything I write here, feel free to leave a thoughtful, civil comment. Otherwise, sit back and have fun reading. Perhaps I might even say something insightful!


It’s easy to imagine that Diamondback fans are a bunch of somewhat-spoiled diehards. Their team was the quickest expansion franchise to reach the postseason (two years) and win the World Series (four). That World Series they won was an instant classic, an assessment that’s stood the test of time. They’re in their fifteenth season and they’ve already won five division titles. With such great success early on, Arizonans must have caught the baseball bug quickly and even started taking things for granted, right?

Well actually, no. Chase Field's consistently low attendance figures show that they don’t turn out in large numbers. While their attendance was strong early on, after the disastrous 2004 season where they went 51-111 it’s been among the more meager ranks of the National League.

So we know Phoenix isn’t the most baseball-crazy city, but what about individual traits? Off the top of my head I remember "1908" signs being held up during the 2007 NLDS against the Cubs, as well as some controversy about a Phoenix DJ making tasteless prank phone calls to Darryl Kile's widow during the 2002 NLDS, so perhaps there are a few bullyish elements. To be fair though, some shock jock and a few random bozos in the stands probably aren't the best representatives of the fanbase. If that was the best I could do from my own memory, I figured it was time to search the internet and find out what others said.

The general consensus seems to be that many fans in Arizona are either transplants or relatively new to baseball. The transplants remain loyal to their teams in other cities and the newcomers are still in the development stage, as they don’t have several generations’ worth of loyalty to uphold. The way they’re most often described is peaceful and laid-back, perhaps partially owing to the desert heat.

I get the sense that the D-Backs’ fanbase is solidifying. If they can keep winning division titles with regularity they should become a force to be reckoned with. Now that they’ve been around long enough to have homegrown players, the sense that they’re watching their own guys play gives them more of a connection to the men on the field than they had in the early years, when baseball’s main appeal was as a novelty. I’ll be interested to see how their reputation develops in the next decade or so.