The Faith of Red Sox Nation: How Did You Help Break the Curse in 2004?
Email your ritual (100 words or less) to news@compassvermont.com by July 20, 2025.
In the fall of 2004, Vermont’s Green Mountains turned crimson with Red Sox fever.
For 86 years, the “Curse of the Bambino”—born when Babe Ruth was sold to the Yankees in 1919—had haunted Boston’s baseball faithful, and Vermonters, just a stone’s throw from Fenway, felt every heartbreak as keenly as their Massachusetts neighbors.
When the Red Sox mounted their miracle comeback against the Yankees in the ALCS and swept the St. Louis Cardinals to win the World Series, it wasn’t just David Ortiz’s bat or Curt Schilling’s bloody sock that carried them. It was the rituals of fans across New England, including right here in Vermont, who believed their daily devotions could tip the scales of fate.
Picture Burlington’s Church Street in October 2004: flannel-clad locals in Red Sox caps, whispering about Dave Roberts’ stolen base like it was a holy relic. In Montpelier, bars overflowed with fans who refused to change seats during games, convinced a shift would jinx Johnny Damon’s next at-bat. From St. Albans to Brattleboro, Vermonters turned superstition into strategy, each with their own private playbook to help Boston break the curse.
Take Sarah from Barre, who shared her story with Boston media. Every game day, she drove to her grandfather’s grave in Graniteville, recounting the Sox’s progress and reminding him of the 1967 “Impossible Dream” season he’d cherished. “I felt like he was watching with me,” she said. “I told him, ‘This is the year, Gramps.’ And it was.”
Then there’s Ethan Caldwell of Middlebury, who wore one red sock and one blue sock—never washed—for the entire postseason, even through chilly Vermont autumn nights. “My roommates complained, but I wasn’t risking it,” he laughed while talking to the Boston Globe. “After Game 4 against the Yankees, I knew it was working.”
Across New England, fans went to wild lengths. In Boston, Some fans clung to lucky beads, refusing to remove them until the final out. A Stowe bartender told a Boston reporter he served the same Heady Topper to the same group of fans at the same table for every playoff game, believing a single deviation would doom the Sox.
A Rutland woman cut her morning waffles into 87 pieces, one for every year the Sox did not prevails, and one last one to finally “devour the curse.”
These weren’t just quirks—they were acts of faith, born from decades of near-misses and a belief that, as the saying went, “the only way out is through.” When Keith Foulke fielded that final grounder on October 27, 2004, Vermont erupted alongside Boston. Bars in Bennington roared, and in Waterbury, fans spilled into the streets, some crying for relatives who never saw the curse broken. The victory was more than a championship; it was a communal exorcism.
Now, 21 years later, we want to hear from you, Vermont’s Red Sox faithful.
What was your ritual in 2004? Did you wear a lucky hat, pray at a makeshift Fenway shrine, or refuse to shave until the Sox won? Maybe you still have that unwashed jersey tucked away. Share your story, and we’ll feature the best in a follow-up piece celebrating the quirks and heart of Red Sox Nation’s Vermont chapter.Submit Your 2004 Red Sox Ritual.
Tell Us About Your 2004 Red Sox Ritual
Email your ritual (100 words or less) to news@compassvermont.com by July 20, 2025.
We’ll share the most memorable in our next issue and online. Let’s relive the magic of 2004 together—because in Vermont, we know what it means to believe.
And please, subscribe to Compass Vermont if you haven’t already. You don’t have to pay a penny if you don’t want to. We enjoy lots of company!
Sources: WBUR News, The Boston Globe
