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Sox and the city
A new documentary offers us a glimpse into the heart of Boston’s beleaguered fans
BY CHRIS WRIGHT


The night of October 16, 2003, the Fenway area looked like a war zone. A battalion of helmeted riot police fanned out along Brookline Avenue, billy clubs at the ready, as crowds formed grumbling knots along the street. For a while it seemed there might be real trouble brewing, but in the end there was nothing — no one had the energy. Instead, people slumped against walls or flopped down amid the clutter of discarded Cowboy Up! paraphernalia, their faces sagging from the effects of booze and defeat.

Similar scenes of Red Sox anguish are captured in the documentary Still, We Believe, which opens in Boston on May 7. The movie, the work of filmmakers Paul Doyle and Robert Potter, chronicles the Red Sox’ 2003 season, largely from the perspective of eight extremely dedicated fans. Of course, it goes without saying that Still, We Believe does not have a happy ending — at least, not for people from Boston. "[I]t appears we’ll have a chance to see documentary footage of a guy in a fetal position on a sidewalk outside a bar, sobbing," wrote a reporter for the New York tabloid Newsday. "Seldom does any reality programming glisten with such promise."

Yes, well, for Sox fans, so did last year. This one was ours. You could feel it. We’ve had Our Years before, many of them, but 2003 felt different. Indeed, when the team found itself up 5-2 against the Yankees in the eighth inning of the final game of the American League Championship Series, the shaky belief of Red Sox Nation started to resolve into something like certainty. "I thought we were all set," says Erin Nanstad, one of the fans featured in the film, sipping a beer at the Cask ’n Flagon across from Fenway Park. "I thought we had it all wrapped up."

But then the Sox went on to do what the Sox do best — they blew it. Grady "Gump" Little failed to utilize his bullpen. Starter Pedro Martinez gave up the tying runs. Then, in the 11th inning, the ball clattered off the bat of Yankee third baseman Aaron Boone and, before it had even landed in the left-field seats, Sox fans were cast once more into baseball purgatory. As Boston firefighter Steve Craven says in the film, "No one loses like the Red Sox."

It’s telling that this documentary has the qualifier "still" in its title. With good reason, belief does not come easy to Red Sox fans. Nanstad, a blond, 33-year-old office worker who says she’s "always optimistic," is something of an exception to this rule. Even Nanstad, however, lost her exuberance after the game-seven defeat against the Yankees. "It took me two whole weeks just to feel a little bit better," she says. "It was like depression."

What a score for the filmmakers, though. You couldn’t have scripted a better portrayal of the tribulations faced by Sox devotees, who for the past 86 years have had to watch, over and over, as their team comes this close to securing a coveted World Series title. Indeed, if New Yorkers were delighted by the tragicomic events of the 2003 season, the filmmakers must have been praising the baseball gods. "Oh, no doubt," says director Paul Doyle. "I like to think we could have made a good film no matter what, but we’re not [too] full of ourselves to realize that we got very lucky."

Doyle, aware that the subjects of Still, We Believe are also its audience, is quick to point out that he developed a soft spot for his stars during the course of making the film. "Red Sox fans are unique," he says. "Which is not to say that other fans don’t go through heartache, but there’s something different here. Being a Red Sox fan says more about you than what kind of jerseys you have in your dresser. It’s something more emotional and personal. The kinds of reactions you got to game seven were as strong as if they had a death in the family. That’s heartfelt, that’s real."

But such appreciation can go only so far. As sympathetic as Doyle was toward the people he met in Boston — a sympathy that is reflected in this tender, often funny film — the artist in him couldn’t help but be hand-clappingly delighted with the footage he gleaned from their misery. "We were rooting for the team," he says, "but after it happened, I think we had the right story to tell. The perfect scenario from our standpoint is that we have what we have, the team wins it this year, and we captured for all eternity the last of a species — the Red Sox fan who has not won a championship."

Today, sitting at a table at the Cask ’n Flagon, Erin Nanstad seems to have recovered from her baseball-born depression. "We’re here a lot," she says, grinning and gesturing at the woman beside her, the equally cheery, equally blond Jessamy Finet. In the film, Nanstad and Finet, who’s 29, form a kind of double act — which is what they’re like in real life, too. The two women, both residents of East Boston, have known each other since childhood. But their shared love of the Sox has led to the kind of seamless familiarity one usually associates with couples who have been married for 50 years.

Nanstad: "She’s extremely superstitious."

Finet: "We always cross our fingers at the games. When we high-five, we high-five with crossed fingers."

Nanstad: "I had to uncross my fingers to go to the ladies’ room at Yankee Stadium. All of a sudden I hear a cheer — the Yankees hit a home run. She knew."

Finet: "When she comes out, I go, ‘Did you uncross your fingers?’ She was like, ‘Oooh, uh.’ I was like, ‘Damn!’"

Like all good documentaries, Still, We Believe goes beyond its ostensible subject. It’s more than a film about baseball, or about baseball fans. With a cast of characters who represent the entire range of human dispositions — from the sanguine to the choleric — the film provides us with an insight into the psychology of faith. How does the cynic respond to triumph? The idealist to terrible defeat? In Still, We Believe, we find out. This, Doyle insists, was a deliberate move on the filmmakers’ part. "There’s a stereotype of the Red Sox fan," he says. "But within that species are the subspecies of the optimist and the heavy pessimist, and the variations within. We saw that and used the different characters for different reasons. "

It’s safe to say that Nanstad and Finet represent the brighter end of the emotional spectrum. At the other is 46-year-old sales manager Paul Costine — a/k/a "Angry Bill" — who is, to put it mildly, a bit of a grump. Toward the end of the film, we see the pale, portly Costine watching game seven. Throughout the game, Costine alternately sits and stands, pacing around his living room, sweating and wincing. At one point, he develops a nosebleed. "If they won, I wouldn’t know what to do," he says to the camera. "I watch to see how they’re going to blow it."

As the Sox inch closer to victory, however, even Costine’s pessimism begins to ebb. "I can’t believe it; I think they’re going to win," he says, padding from foot to foot. "My whole life has turned around in about a half an hour." Knowing what you know about game seven, this proves to be an excruciating moment. Sure enough, Grady walks to the mound. Pedro shakes his head. The Yankees tie it up. It’s as if some malevolent force has been biding its time, waiting for the most cynical fan in Boston to let hope enter his heart before delivering the final blow. "If they lose this, there’ll be people jumping off the Tobin Bridge," Costine says, looking genuinely ill. "They’ll be blowing their brains out."

Costine lends credence to the idea that comedy is built on the ruins of happiness. His miserable outbursts are easily the funniest moments of the film — and the most awful. The night the Sox lost to the Yankees, Costine stayed up until dawn, still pacing and sweating, dabbing that bloody nose of his. "I started to believe, and they crushed my feelings and took the life right out of me," he says now. "I was in the hospital for four days, and I’m sure they had something to do with it. I think they have a lot to do with my health issues. Last year, this was a major deal to me." Costine insists, though, that he won’t get caught again. "I seriously don’t think they’ll win in my lifetime," he says. "I have to guard against too much optimism, because I don’t want to end up in some nut ward. I am not going to let the Red Sox drive me out of this area. I refuse."

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Issue Date: May 7 - 13, 2004
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