THE CURSE OF THE BAMBINO, PART 10
"IT AIN'T OVER 'TIL IT'S OVER"...

October 28, 1986 ... The Red Sox were composed and professional when they finally left the clubhouse. There were no tears, no fears, just blank faces and empty feelings.

To get from the Sox dressing room to the waiting buses, Boston players had to walk through a long, crowded corridor past the Mets dressing room, or across the playing field. Chartered buses hummed outside the right-field bullpen.

Hundreds of Met family and friends clogged the corridor, but Bruce Hurst made his way. He bumped into a champagne-drenched Ray Knight. "Congratulations, Ray," said the Sox lefty.

The bus engines were running. Sox players stood behind the bullpen and chatted with their wives as club officials filled one of the buses.

Rowdy Met fans could be heard over the noise of the bus engines. There was still plenty of celebrating in and around Shea Stadium between midnight and 1 a.m.

Suddenly, Red Sox players were running away from the bus, around the wall and out into right field. Team physician Arthur Pappas was summoned. Sox traveling secretary Jack Rogers, everybody's favorite in the Boston traveling group, had been hit on the head by a bottle that apparently was tossed from the stands. Sox catcher Rich Gedman was just a few feet behind Rogers when the projectile came out of the stands. Rogers was down and he was bleeding. Pappas and trainer Charlie Moss, along with some paramedics, attended to Rogers as concerned Sox players gathered and tried to pick out the lunatic in the stands.

After a few scary moments, Rogers got to his feet. His head was heavily bandaged, and he rode to LaGuardia Airport in an ambulance that led the Sox caravan. It was one final sick symbol. An ambulance led the Red Sox away from Shea and a brave man with a bandaged head directed the trip home.

It was raining lightly when the Red Sox boarded their chartered Eastern aircraft. Rogers gave everyone a lift by bounding up the stairs of the plane. A stewardess wore an "Eastern Division Champion Boston Red Sox" T-shirt. The flight was quiet, and mercifully brief. It was a predictably sedate gathering with soft conversations between disappointed husbands and encouraging wives.

Some of the Sox wives complained about rough treatment from the Met fans and little help from the police. Marty Barrett's wife, Robin, said she was unable to see the final out because of unruly Met fans. She missed seeing Jesse Orosco strike out her husband to end the 1986 World Series.

Red Sox publicist Dick Bresciani announced that the mayor and the governor wished to honor the team and encouraged all members to gather at the park at 10:30 this morning for a parade. The aircraft touched down just after 2:30 a.m. There was no greeting at Logan. Most of the players boarded buses on the runway and never saw the gate at Eastern.

Police cruisers escorted the entourage through Boston. They didn't have to pay the toll at the Sumner Tunnel. The buses were allowed to roar down Storrow Drive and ran several lights when they switched over to Beacon Street.

A small group of fans (perhaps 100) waited for the team outside Fenway Park. They held signs and cheered as the weary American League champions shuffled across the sidewalk and into the ballpark.

A truck with players' luggage backed into the stadium. When the luggage was sorted, cars started pulling out of the park, past the nocturnal fans, and onto Yawkey Way.

Heroes of the pennant drive and goats of the final World Series losses alike were bathed in applause as warm as the perfect Indian summer day on which this longest-ever Boston baseball season finally ended.

The message resounded from Copley Square to City Hall as the city welcomed the team home from New York not as World Series losers, but as champions of the American League. "We love you, Bosox" and similar expressions of affection were hoisted on signs and shouted out by the crowds all along the two-mile parade route and at City Hall Plaza.

"Hey, Red Sox," read a 20-foot sign at a construction site at Berkeley and Boylston streets. "Thanks for a great 1986 season. We'll see ya again on opening day at Fenway."

The crowd simply treated the players like victors, which many fans believed they were.

The upbeat mood and messages seemed to surprise the players, who were subdued as the cavalcade began, but became relaxed and responsive to the cheers by the time the semitrailer that carried them had gone a few blocks.

By the time the parade reached Arlington Street, pitcher Bruce Hurst, who might have been the Most Valuable Player had the Sox won the Series, was shouting back at the crowd, one finger in the air: "We're No. 1."

First baseman Bill Buckner, who played hurt all year, then committed a key error in the Series, told the crowd at City Hall: "We needed this." The plaza shook with cheering and foot-stomping.

So too said manager John McNamara, target of the harshest postgame second- guessing. "I could not be prouder of a ball club. Through odds and adversity, we overcame all. The World Series was tough . . . The reception you people have given us today is going to make this winter a lot more bearable."

If the fans were still disappointed or angry that the Sox lost the Series, it did not show in today's excitement and expressions of affection.

Mayor Flynn welcomed the team at City Hall, which was draped with two huge, inflated red socks and a large sign declaring "Boston -- the sports capital of the U.S.A. -- Mayor Raymond L. Flynn." Gov. Dukakis was present but remained in the background.

The players' remarks were brief and, though it was difficult to be sure at a distance, seemed packed with emotion.

"Don't let nobody kid ya," said star pitcher Roger Clemens, haltingly, touching his heart, surveying the roaring throng. "Seeing you down here today gets us right here.

And Buckner added what everyone wanted to hear: "We'll be back next year."