c. 2004 Religion News Service

(UNDATED) Ecstatic with their first World Series championship in 86 years, fans of the never-say-die Boston Red Sox are preparing to enshrine this team’s players as bigger-than-life legends who overcame the infamous Curse of the Bambino.

But as the Fenway faithful gear up to pay them homage, the heroes of this Cinderella story have another idea, one that’s giving pause for thought to famously reticent New Englanders. For this achievement, say many Sox players, give God the glory.

“I don’t believe in curses,” said Red Sox pitcher Pedro Martinez in an oft-repeated clubhouse sentiment after a four-game sweep of the St. Louis Cardinals. “I just believe in God, and he was the one who helped us today.”

Such religious testimonies from high-profile athletes are nothing new in American sports, but in Boston they are as rare as Yankee fans. Never before this year has a local professional team shared its faith in God so intentionally and openly with this region where religion is largely regarded as a personal, private matter.

This year, however, was different. Players recruited from the Bible Belt and Latin America not only beat back the ghosts of series past, they described themselves consistently in interviews as players blessed by God _ not cursed by a trade many years ago involving Babe Ruth.

Now that the trophy has arrived and all ears are trained on the city’s biggest stars, adoring fans can’t help but hear what Manny Ramirez, Tim Wakefield, Jason Varitek, Bill Mueller and others have to say about the divine source of their strength. And although few expect to be converted by their words, fans seem willing to learn whatever their beloved team’s tale can teach them about the meaning of life.

“You can’t say God’s on one team and not another. That’s pretty parochial,” said Ralph Nesson, a Massachusetts native and a Reform Jew who now displays a Fenway Park sticker on his pickup truck in Fayetteville, Ark. “Yet here’s a story of a team and all the people who have forever been disappointed … This shows if you pray and hope and try hard, things can go your way.”

In the rocky land first settled by stoic Puritans, tradition runs deep in religion as in baseball. Churchgoers fondly claim the nickname of the “frozen chosen”; they like to think in church, and to keep preachers guessing about how they really feel.

If anything can stir up New Englanders’ passions, though, it’s their beloved Red Sox. And that gives hope to those who pray God might use Sox players in a regional revival.

“If people ever tell me New Englanders aren’t emotional people, I tell them that’s a lie,” said Rev. David Midwood, president of Vision New England, the region’s largest evangelistic organization. His evidence? He was there when the Sox beat the Anaheim Angels in the playoffs this year. After the ninth inning, the crowd exploded with cheers and tears of joy.

“We have a powerful opportunity now to engage our culture in conversation. We can ask, `What do you think of (Red Sox ace pitcher) Curt Schilling? Did you hear what he said the other night about why he could play with an injury that would have incapacitated most people? Did you ever have an encounter with God like that?”’

For Boston’s news media, where the Sox’ faith in God has been a story unexplored, Schilling’s bloody ankle from a stitched up tendon injury has emerged as the quintessential emblem of grit mustered this year to overcome every adversary. But for Schilling, his performance despite the pain was a sign of something bigger.

“I’ve got to say, I became a Christian seven years ago, and I’ve never in my life been touched by God as I was tonight,” Schilling said after dominating the Yankees in game six of the storied American League Championship Series. “I tried to go out and do it myself in game one, and you saw what happened. Tonight was God’s work on the mound.”

Such testimonies do little to inspire Cassie Cassler, 64, of Newburyport, Mass. She proudly wore her Red Sox T-shirt to breakfast Thursday (Oct. 28) at the Fish Tale Diner on the Merrimac River in Salisbury, Mass., 40 miles north of Boston. But when the players start to witness, she loses interest.

“That doesn’t affect me,” Cassler said. “If I want to believe, it’s not going to be because an athlete said something about GodâÂ?¦ It smacks a little bit of proselytizing. This is not supposed to be your platform for proselytizing.”

In the diner, a riverside hut where baseball matters almost as much as fishing, 43-year-old Kim Scheidegger of Newburyport said it’s not coincidence that a faith-filled team was the one that finally broke the alleged curse. The reason: The Sox had always been nagged by a loss of confidence down the stretch, but this team seemed to tap a source that wouldn’t give out.

“Whether other people believe or not, it helps an individual with their self-esteem and confidence to believe they can do it,” said Scheidegger, an observant Roman Catholic. “That’s what religion is all about. You’re a family that comes together. So now it’s not just an individual. It’s a team strength.”

Whether or not faith in God helped bring the championship home and banish the dreaded curse, one thing is certain: New England’s preachers can no longer use the Red Sox as the ultimate example of faith in things unseen. They and their parishioners have, to their own amazement, at last grabbed hold of baseball’s Holy Grail.

“No more can we use the Red Sox as an example of sheer perseverance,” said the Rev. Patrick Gray, assistant priest at The Church of the Advent, an Episcopal church on Beacon Hill in Boston. “So how do we use the Red Sox now that they’ve reached the Promised Land? Well, to say perseverance pays off.”

MO/RB END RNS