A tribute to Ike on what would have been his 103rd birthday

There’s probably no better way to salute Ike on what would have been his 103^rd birthday today (Aug. 11, 2021) than to feature this column that was published on Oct. 31, 2004, after the Boston Red Sox won their first World Series title in 86 years.
As I’ve written many times, Ike was the consummate Red Sox fan even though he grew up in Philadelphia. But he bled Red Sox from the time he moved to Boston with his family and wife Sylvia in October of 1953 until his death on March 13, 2003.
Sadly, Ike, like many diehard Red Sox fans of a certain age and era, never got the chance to see the Red Sox win the World Series. That’s why, after the Sox won the championship in 2004, so many sons and daughters of these fans planted Red Sox pennants at graves all over New England.
Thanks for the memories, Ike, and thanks for being a great father to myself and my older sister Sharlene, and a great husband to our Mom, Sylvia.

This column, headlined, “Tears flow for Ike and Bob,” was published in The Sun Chronicle on Oct. 31, 2004.

There is a Jewish prayer said at the start of each festival, or when something has occurred for the first time in a season, or your life, such as a birth or other milestone:
“ Blessed are You O' Lord, our God, sovereign of the universe who has kept us alive, sustained us, and permitted us to celebrate this season.”
I started reciting that prayer in earnest early Wednesday morning (Oct. 27, 2004), tears welling up in my eyes, after the Red Sox had beaten the St. Louis Cardinals 4-1 to go up 3-0 in the 100th World Series, because THAT hadn't happened before in my lifetime.
I continued saying the prayer all day Wednesday — a day when I was more nervous than I had been on my Wedding Day 16 years ago — and I said it during the game, too.
But I said it with special meaning after Keith Foulke threw the ball to first baseman Doug Mientkiewicz to record the last out that enabled the Red Sox to beat the Cardinals 3-0 to win the World Series, thus completing the greatest comeback in professional sports history. That was most appropriate, because THAT hadn't been done in my lifetime, nor in scores of lifetimes over the last 86 years.
Numbness and shock gave way to relief — and tears started flowing again as I realized the Sox had made history. But there was sadness, too, for the countless Red Sox fans who spent their entire lives without seeing what we were fortunate enough to witness before midnight Wednesday. Specifically, there were tears for one Red Sox fan who knew well the anguish that the team had caused over the years: my late father Ike.
Ike was born Aug. 11, 1918, exactly one month before the last Red Sox World Series victory on Sept. 11, 1918. Although raised in Philadelphia, he had become a rabid Sox fan after moving here in the early '50s, and naturally passed his obsession down to his son. My first game at Fenway Park against the Detroit Tigers at the age of 5 in 1957, I was in tears too — due to a vicious thunderstorm. But somehow the experience would prove a metaphor for the team.
Ike and I followed the Sox religiously through the lean years of the '50s and early '60s (remember pitchers Bill Monboquette, Earl Wilson and Dave Morehead, who threw no-hitters and infielders by the name of Ed Bressoud and Chuck Schilling?), and then got caught up in the wonderful Impossible Dream Year of 1967.
That year we got our first taste of what winning felt like, and we appreciated the great players, especially Ike's favorites, Carl Yastrzemski and Tony Conigliaro. We were even there on Friday night, Aug. 18, 1967, when Tony C. was beaned by Jack Hamilton, and we were watching when they won the pennant — and lost the World Series to the Bob Gibson Cardinals.
There was no Red Sox Nation then, and no curses, either. We just knew we couldn't live without the Sox.
In 1975, when I was working in Ontario, Canada, Ike visited me during the World Series and we watched Games 2-5 together. He and my sister actually scored tickets for Game 7, when the Sox also had a 3-0 lead.
That loss was disappointing, but not as crushing for us as what happened early Sunday morning Oct. 26, 1986. We were watching the game together, and were poised to celebrate before the words “one strike away” became the three most dreaded words in Red Sox history.
The '86 team went on to Game 7, but they couldn't get the job done after taking a 3-0 lead. Now, 18 years later to the date, this wonderful, wacky and born-again team of World Series MVP Manny Ramirez, ALCS MVP David Ortiz, closer Keith Foulke, relievers Mike Timlin and Alan Embree, aces Pedro Martinez and Curt Schilling, and, of course, Derek Lowe, got the job done!
They got the job done for Red Sox fans of all ages, but especially for fans such as Ike and another old friend of mine, Bob Gusetti, the former Sun Chronicle entertainment editor and Red Sox fan par excellence. Every baseball season Bob would come into work humming the “ Impossible Dream” song after Sox wins, because he knew it would get me going.
Bob, unfortunately, died too soon, in 1998 in his 60s, and Ike joined him 19 months ago at the age of 84. Yet I know in my heart that Bob and Ike had something to do with this tremendous victory by the Red Sox.
After all, you've gotta believe!