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David Ortiz: A Requiem Of A Legend

It’s hard to be writing this today. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. We were supposed to have longer. 165 games wasn’t enough time. David Ortiz, the reality of your goodbye simply can’t set in just yet. We refuse to believe it’s real. Not because we think there’s actually a snowball’s chance in hell that you’ll pull a Brett Favre on us; it’s just easier that way. Nobody has every had an impact on a sport, a team, a fucking city more than you have. We just can’t stomach it. The face of the game we love, the reassurance of simply your presence within the dugout. What do we do without it? We say goodbye today, but the burden of the truth might not actually set in until next April, when your beaming presence is no longer there.

I wasn’t quite ready to write this story yet. I kept pushing it off, thinking there really would be more time. Even as I tuned my broken TBS stream to the game last night as the Boston Red Sox trailed the Cleveland Indians 2-0 in the ALDS, I didn’t even comprehend the chance that it’d all come to an abrupt end. This goodbye letter will be raw, disheveled at times, and downright from the bottom of the heart. Because only a play of David Ortiz’ stature can truly evoke that. I’ve seen countless players come and go in my short life as a sports fan, but this is really the first that has me deeply saddened. For the first time in a season dampened with an unexpected and disappointing conclusion, I don’t already have a countdown to the days of next year. Instead, I wish I could go in the opposite direction. Experience all the joyous moments you’ve provided. The glorious comebacks, the towerings home runs, all the Big Papi moments that defined your career. I just want to cocoon within those fleeting memories. Hold onto them for dear life, knowing that the end actually is nigh.

Born in the embattled state of Connecticut, my baseball allegiances could have swung one of three ways. Thankfully, my grandfather, the wise and empowering man that he was, saw to it to be a Red Sox fan, even in the heart of Yankee country. To choose to openly root for a team that had previously gone a whopping 86 years between a World Series win wasn’t always the easiest. The Red Sox had a knack of regularly tempting you with glory, only to take you to your knees. Thieving away every ounce of happiness established within a season.

Thankfully, for myself and many younger generations of Red Sox fans, our perspective on the team is a little bit more bright. Three World Series in the span of 10 years was no fluke. Aside from a very Red Sox moment in the ALCS of 2003, we’ve even been spared the disheartening moments of those of generations past: Buckner, Bucky Dent, Joe Morgan, the list of “cursed” moments was almost endless. Through the fluctuations and tribulations that is professional sports, there’s always been the remaining factor, the control of the experiment if you would: David Ortiz.

The man who stared proverbial death in the eye in 2004 and brushed it aside. The man who routinely came through in the most crucial of moments. He was always there. We know our time with our sports legends are minimal in the grand scheme of life, but sometimes we don’t cherish things until they’re gone. That’s not to say we didn’t cherish David Ortiz. Far from that, in fact. His name echoed through the halls of Fenway Park 81 games (give or take a day off) a year. His jersey paraded around in overwhelming numbers. A bridge even coined in his namesake. Ortiz was loved, and will continue to be for the rest of time. Until this expansive universe and world forgets all about the Red Sox (which let’s be real, that’s not gonna happen), David Ortiz will be a pillar of greatness, happiness, and a reminder of a time when thing were alright. What we might have not appreciated, at times, was our waning moments together. Did anybody for a minute sit down to think in 2013 that it’d be the final image of Ortiz celebrating a World Series? It lurked in the deepest crevasses of our minds, but did not rear its ugly head. Only last night as our time together was literally expiring in front of our eyes did it begin to make its move, sinking into us, consuming us.

If we had it our ways, things would have gone down a whole lot differently. The Red Sox would have stormed their way to another World Series, and sent Big Papi out with as farewell decked in diamonds and affection. But that’s not how sports, or life, works out. Sometimes, your end comes walked in the bottom 9th as you painfully watch your team fight tooth and nail for another night, another game, yet still fall short. It’s not always the Hollywood moments we so dearly wish everyday life was full of. Sometimes, we just have to settle for good enough.

The most important Red Sox player for an entire generation, if not of all time bids his adieu. What does the future hold? Nobody knows. And that’s what’s terrifying. Our control is no longer there. The experiment takes a new turn, and with it, so do we. This will not be the final day we see of David Ortiz. No, far from it. His number will don the right field deck of Fenway next year, and there’s a good chance we’ll have a celebration for the day the Hall of Fame comes calling. We’ll wait a few years to prolong the final goodbyes and eventually build a statue, letting all those who enter its storied halls know just whose house Fenway was. But the David Ortiz, the man, the myth, the legend, or simply Big Papi as we know him, will be no more. It’ll come with some adjustments, but anytime things go awry, we can always look back to when you made things all better. When we’re feeling blue we can curl up on the couch and watch “Four Days In October” and relive our favorite moments together on YouTube.

It’s not easy, but after 14 years together, it all comes to an end. Change is scary, but as assured as taxes and death. We cannot run away from it, but we can shed a tear. You’ve done so much for us, and aside from treat you like the baseball man of legend that you will become, I’m not sure we showed you just how much you actually meant. We’re not sure we ever knew. But now we both know.

Thank you, David Ortiz, for all you’ve done for this city, baseball team, and fans. You were one a kind.

Tyler Arnold

I am the founder, co-owner, and editor-in-chief of The Runner Sports. I've been an avid sports fan since I was a young boy and have turned that love into a profession. I will watch, comment, and break down anything I can get my hands on, from football to white water rafting in the Olympics. Your visit means a lot to me, so thank you for your readership.

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