I tried. I really did.

This space is supposed to be reserved every other Tuesday for my thoughts on Harvard athletics. I thought and thought this weekend about what to write about regarding the Crimson sports scene. First, I thought of saying “I told you so” about the Harvard baseball pitching staff—I wrote last month about how despite early trouble, the veteran staff would settle down fine once the Ivy League schedule began.

Then I thought of writing about how the Harvard lacrosse team’s promising season has been tripped up by a string of heartbreaking losses, but that has been well-documented too. Finally, I thought about writing my column about the continued dominance of the Harvard men’s heavyweight crew team, evidenced strongly this weekend by the fact that the third Crimson boat defeated the second boat from Brown, one of the best rowing schools in the nation.

Every time I considered one of these subjects, my thoughts inevitably turned back to my beloved Boston Red Sox. As my colleague Pablo S. Torre wrote yesterday, spring is a great time of the year; for me, the warmth in the air only means one thing: the Sox are back.

Let me take you back to October 16, 2003. Last fall, I was perched high in the upper deck above home plate, one of 56,279 in attendance at Yankee Stadium to watch the Red Sox take on the Bronx Bombers in Game 7 of the American League Championship Series. My younger brother and I sat there in the eighth inning amidst a sea of mortal enemies and started going nuts as Sox slugger David Ortiz launched a home run into the Bronx night to put the Sox up 5-2 with two innings left. It was one of the greatest moments—if not the pinnacle—of my sports-watching life; we exchanged hugs with the two Sox fans sitting behind us and tried to contain our excitement. The Sox bullpen—led by Mike Timlin and Scott Williamson—was red-hot in the playoffs, and I thought the pen would undoubtedly close down the Yankee threat in the last two innings to put the Sox in the Fall Classic for the first time in seventeen years.

Now we all know what happened next, and God knows it has been well-documented. Grady Little decided to go against all of the statistics and good logic and stuck with the tired Pedro Martinez and wasted a heroic performance from his ace through seven innings by putting him back out there for the eighth.

Let me just state for the record here that I don’t believe in the ‘Curse of the Bambino’—a concept essentially invented by Boston Globe columnist Dan Shaughnessy when he first published his book of the same title about 15 years ago. The Red Sox have not won a World Series since 1918 because of absolutely horrific management. The Sox routinely built their teams with expensive slow-footed power hitters who couldn’t play the field worth a lick. Instead of investing in pitching, speed, or defense, the Sox would routinely sit around and wait for the three-run homer while their pitchers gave up lots of runs. In addition, the Sox were the last team to integrate in major league baseball—a black player never played for the Red Sox until Pumpsie Green finally took the field for Tom Yawkey’s team in 1959.

Similarly, the Sox were unable to triumph over their eternal nemesis Yankee-counterparts last year because their manager simply blew it. Leaving Pedro in too long in Game 7 was hardly his only blunder of the playoffs. For example, with the Sox trailing by just two runs in the sixth inning of Game 6, Little appeared to wave the white flag on the season by inserting the indomitably terrible Todd Jones—despite having a well-rested and talented corps in the rest of the bullpen—into the game. Jones had submitted an embarrassing 7.08 ERA in the regular season, he was on the playoff roster only because Byung-Hyun Kim was injured, and he had not yet appeared in the playoffs. Not surprisingly, he quickly put two men on base, and this idiotic move of Little’s might have ended the season a game early if he wasn’t bailed out by Alan Embree and a number of fearless Red Sox hitters.

Needless to say, I’ve been waiting for the start of the season ever since Little was fired during the week after last year’s season ended. Last Sunday night, Baltimore ace Sidney Ponson was able to stymie the Sox to open the season and Boston began the year 0-1. The Sox came back and took two out of the next three from Baltimore before returning home to Fenway Park on Friday afternoon.

I was faithfully planted in my seat on Friday to see my first Sox game in person since that heartbreaking moment when Aaron Boone launched a moonshot to crush the hopes of Red Sox Nation. Unfortunately, the tired Sox bullpen gave up a 5-4 lead, and Terry Francona’s crew dropped another game to put the Sox under .500 on the year at 2-3.

You might think this disappointing start would dishearten me, but if you do you’ve probably never met a Sox fan before. At home for Easter, I was faithfully in front of the TV on Saturday night to watch Martinez dominate Toronto hitters for 7 2/3 innings, winning his first game since Game 5 of the ALDS against Oakland.

Then something funny happened on Sunday. The Sox game was on, yet the final round of The Masters simultaneously was taking place—wherein my favorite golfer, Phil Mickelson—was trying to win his first Major ever after a career of disappointments and top-three finishes without a win. As I flipped back and forth at every lull in the action of the Sox game or every time a golfer besides Mickelson was being shown, both Mickelson and the Sox faltered early as both Ernie Els and the Blue Jays took early leads.

Yet late in the afternoon, good things started to happen—the Sox crept back in the ninth to tie the score as Mickelson began to make a late charge on the back nine—tying Els at -8 with two holes left to play. As if we were in some kind of a parallel universe, both games mirrored each other; David Ortiz just missed a home run to end it in the ninth inning as Mickelson just missed a number of birdie opportunities early in the round. Then in the bottom of the 12th, Ortiz stepped to the plate and crushed one over the Wall in left field and into the new Green Monster seats. Just a few minutes later, I flipped back to CBS to see Mickelson follow suit by making an improbable birdie putt on the 18th green to claim that elusive Green Jacket.

Green Monster. Green Jacket. You have to admit, it’s a little creepy.

I’ll boldly predict that though the Sox faltered a little bit early this year, like Mickelson, they’ll make a late charge and finish with a similar improbable win in the seventh game of the World Series. The Sox stacked rotation of Martinez, Schilling, and Lowe bring the Sox to the brink, and Ortiz will mirror Mickelson’s late heroics with another Green Monster shot in the end. Everyone thought that Mickelson would never win the big one, and everyone thinks the Sox won’t be able to this year because of injuries, contract squabbles, or whatever else. But you heard it here first.

This is the year.

—Staff writer Robert C. Boutwell can be reached at boutwel@fas.harvard.edu. His column appears on alternate Tuesdays.