What the ‘Curse of the Bambino’ can teach us about living with MG

Every October, on the faces of many New Englanders, particularly Bostonians, you’ll see a look that cannot be seen anywhere else in the country. In my imagination, it’s the same look you would expect on the face of someone who has seen a religious or ghostly apparition, or the awe of a scientist who has cracked a code and unlocked a lifesaving treatment.

Those who grow up in the Boston area inherit the Red Sox the way you inherit a family treasure. It’s something to hold on to through suffering. From 1918 to 2004, the Red Sox didn’t win a World Series. They came close in 1946, 1967, 1975, and 1986. Those were years that broke the hearts of Red Sox fans. The “Impossible Dream” seemed forever out of reach — so close, yet so far away.

To some, the existence of the Loch Ness Monster is credible and real. For Red Sox fans, the “Curse of the Bambino” was the same. It couldn’t be questioned or doubted. In 1920, when the Red Sox sold Babe Ruth, known as “The Bambino,” to the Yankees, a curse descended on the team as punishment.

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These days, I face a different long-odds opponent: myasthenia gravis (MG). And I’ve found that the 2004 Red Sox have a lesson for me.

In the 2004 American League Championship Series, the Red Sox fell behind the Yankees three games to none. No team had ever rallied back from a hole that big.

Then came Game 4. In the ninth inning, down a run, facing Mariano Rivera, Kevin Millar drew a walk. Dave Roberts went in to pinch-run and stole second base. Bill Mueller singled him home, and David Ortiz won it with a walk-off home run in the 12th.

Against the odds, the Red Sox won the American League Championship and went on to sweep the Cardinals and win the World Series. The “Curse of the Bambino” had lifted, and grown men and women — even those who weren’t interested in baseball — wept.

People remember Ortiz’s swings and Curt Schilling’s bloody sock. I remember Roberts’ steal, because it’s the most MG thing that ever happened in baseball. Roberts’ sole job was to get to second base, and he did it.

That’s exactly what living with a chronic illness asks of you. You don’t need to beat the disease today. You just need to get to second base. Take a shower, take your medications, call a friend, write one paragraph of this column — steal the next base and let somebody else bring you home.

“Casey at the Bat” is the most famous baseball poem, which ends with the mighty slugger striking out and a verdict every Red Sox fan knows by heart: “There is no joy in Mudville — mighty Casey has struck out.”

For 86 years, Red Sox fans lived in Mudville. Most of us with MG have spent time there, too. There are days when the eyelids droop, the voice fades, and the plans you made fall through. There is no joy, only strike three.

But here’s what I’ve noticed about Casey: He struck out because he was proud. He let two pitches go by and was certain he’d crush the third. He was swinging for the fences when a single would’ve done the job.

The 2004 Red Sox didn’t win by swinging for the fences. They won with walks, steals, a bloody sock, and a clubhouse that called itself “The Idiots” and refused to take itself too seriously. That’s not a bad model for managing MG.

My great-uncle Peter never missed a Red Sox game. He was already a fan in the victorious 1918 season and remained loyal through every heartbreak that followed.

In his 90s, one of his greatest pleasures was settling in to watch a game on TV. He died before his beloved Red Sox won again and never got his parade. But I don’t think Peter would call that a tragedy. For him, it wasn’t the winning that mattered — it was the loyalty. You showed up for your team because it was yours, win or lose.

MG has taught me the same lesson. Some seasons, you don’t win. But you show up anyway for the people who love you and for yourself.

I remember in Theology 101, we read Hebrews 11:1: “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” Hope isn’t the same as evidence. In October 2004, every piece of evidence said the Red Sox were finished, yet the fans kept watching.

MG research has its own version of this. New therapies arrive every year — the “evidence of things not seen” shows up.

Nowadays, I don’t steal bases. Like Dave Roberts, I take small leads, watch for my chance, and go.

If you find yourself down three games to none against your illness, take heart — you can still come out a winner. It’s happened before. I saw it.

Note: Myasthenia Gravis News is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Myasthenia Gravis News or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to myasthenia gravis.