WALKING THROUGH FENWAY PARK before Game 4 of the American League Championship Series, one got a notion of what life might have been like in the Dark Ages, for the Boston fans in attendance displayed many benighted tendencies. There was, for instance, fanaticism in the air, a desire to see the Red Sox win at all costs. There were tribal passions and tribal hatreds--the hated tribe being the New York Yankees. There were fans that believed in the ghost of Babe Ruth, and fans that feared divine curses. One even saw necromancy, as many looked to heaven for signs that Boston would win. But more than anything else, one saw simple native pride, for Boston fans are as loyal as the dogs called Saint Bernards.

I am trying to give a sense of the zealousness of the Boston faithful. Many instances of their zeal occur to me, from the two days I spent in Boston watching Games 3 and 4. While the players were stretching out before Game 4, for instance, a man sitting one row in front of me tapped me on the shoulder.

"Hey," he said crossly. "My wife told me to take care of you."

"Huh?" I responded.

He nodded at me with his malevolent red face. "You a Yankee fan?"

I was wearing a red shirt, very big, very gaudy, with the words BOSTON RED SOX printed on its face. I pointed to the shirt and asked, "Does this say 'Derek Jeter'?"

He glanced at his wife, then looked back at

"You guys look like Yankee fans," the husband continued. "You look Italian."

It was true. The four of us--my father, my brother Luciano, our friend Dino, and myself--must have appeared more like hit men from "The Sopranos" than typical Red Sox fans; we are from New Haven, a city with a large population of Italian-American Yankees fans. Yet the four of us are contrarians and Yankees haters.

After explaining this to the man, he became our friend, of course. By virtue of wearing a Red Sox shirt, you could have become friends with every man or woman in the stadium. If you went to the men's room not five minutes later and switched into a Yankees shirt, though, 35,000 fanatics would have instantly hated you quite as much as they hated the thought of death or taxes. That is what Fenway Park was like during the American League Championship Series.

WE TRAVELED TO BOSTON for Games 3 and 4 of the ALCS, but we did not get inside Fenway for Game 3. Few scalpers could be found on Yawkey Way that day, though dozens of sad fans like ourselves shifted about, calling, "Two needed here!" or carrying signs with rueful messages, like "Here from Maine, need 1 ticket!" Everyone wanted to be in Fenway for Game 3, even the scalpers. The one or two scalpers we did meet were selling tickets for $600 and up.