Insider Trading

I grew up in a house divided.

Mom was a Red Sox fan.

Dad was a Yankees fan.

There were some heated discussions in our house. Mom held her own. Mom knew baseball.

As a kid she would memorize players' stats, eagerly listening to games on her hand held radio late at night when she was supposed to be asleep in bed.

And while I never memorized stats, we cheered something fierce when our Red Sox clobbered the Yankees in the division championship before going on to win their first World Series in over 80 years.

We rubbed my rabbit's feet. We wore the same socks. We did a certain cheer whenever we had a run. We weren't superstitious per se' but we did what we could to help our team from the comfort of our living room sofa.

And my dad who hated losing almost as much as he hated the Red Sox, watched the World Series upstairs, alone in bed.

When the series ended, and our Red Sox were crowned victorious, mom and I were the first in line at the local sporting goods store. We got David Ortiz jerseys.

Dad was less than enthused.