With considerable surprise, some years ago ESPN managed to produce a wonderful documentary retelling the story of the fabled 2004 series between the Red Sox and Yankees, ‘Four Days in October’. In an unintended display of irony, the name given to the documentary is now probably just as appropriate as a description of the viewing habits of many Red Sox fans; although last year they will have been dismayed to have been treated to a measly three.

Not everyone enjoys the benefit of witnessing a mere handful of games in October. For me, April is not only the advent of baseball season; it’s also the beginning of an annual affliction that grossly affects my sleep pattern. See, being a baseball fan in Britain is a rather arduous task. I should probably count myself lucky that I follow a team on the east coast – it’d most likely be a practical impossibility to seriously follow a pacific coast team whilst living in Europe. Nonetheless, my spring, summer, and autumn, will be marred by the insatiable desire to watch a forgettable baseball game each night.

This season is a peculiar season for me. It is the first I have witnessed minus David Ortiz, the man that really ignited my love of baseball. The Red Sox appear to be as good as any team in baseball (yes, it’s April), but I’m experiencing far less enjoyment watching them, even during the nascent stages of the season. Maybe in time, or in employment, I’ll become a ‘Four Days in October’ kind of person, or four nights, should I say. But for now at least, I’ll carry on watching nine hours of baseball each week.

It’s Sunday the 23rd of April, it’s 4am, and the Red Sox have just lost 2-4 at Camden Yards.

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