“So, what do you love about Baltimore?” Tracy asked.

We were seated outdoors by a fountain at Gertrude’s café in the Art Museum with a flight of mimosas between us – what’s not to love?  “The people in your city are so gracious, so kind, so nice.”   “That’s surprising to you?”  “Yes.  I’m from New England.  It’s cold there.”

The example I shared was after a funeral early in my ministry.  The church had struggled under a bit of conflict so that many people had stomped off. As the new minister, I was hoping to gather the scattered flock.  An elderly woman greeted many in the pew around her so I suspected she belonged, yet I didn’t recognize her.  I reached out my hand to say, “Hello, I’m Rev. Cindy Maybeck.”  Her response was, “I know.”  Nothing else; no name, no greeting, no identifying conversational marks of any kind.  Back home, I sputtered to my Boston-native-born wife, “Why don’t your people introducethemselves for God’s sake?”

The next evening, after my Sunday brunch at Gertrude’s, Elaine and I went to Camden Yards to see the Red Sox play the Baltimore Orioles.  And as luck would have it, I sat next to a couple from New England.  I asked in a friendly way, “Where are you from?”  The gray-haired woman said, “a small town outside of Boston.”  Resisting a warm enthusiastic, “Me too!” I calmly asked “Where?”  “Westwood.” “Oh great; we’re from Worcester.” “That’s 45 minutes away,” she demurred. She did not speak again.

It was a cool evening, so in the 5^thinning she pulled on her Red Sox jacket over her Red Sox t-shirt.  She had fingerless gloves to slip on in the cool of the 8^thinning.  She brought a small bottle of water, contraband I’m sure.  She and her husband, also dressed in matching Red Sox sweatshirt and ball cap did not move, did not eat, did not speak.  Frugal New Englanders, they likely ate supper before the game and stayed away from pricey beers during the game.

It was a pitchers’ duel. When it was clear we were heading into extra innings, the man went to use the restroom and returned to his seat in time to see no score in the 10^th.  As we screamed “Let’s Go Red Sox Let’s Go!” against the counterpoint roar of “Let’s Go O’s”… as we leaped up to stand and yell for the third out of each inning… as we listened to the hecklers mock Craig Kimbrel’s weird 90-degree-angle bent-over wind up… the couple beside me sat silent and still.  They are New Englanders, lifelong Red Sox fans, used to cold weather and failure.

The man spoke only twice during the game.  After the Red Sox scored two runs in the top of the 12^thinning, and the Orioles got ready to bat he said, “They’ll tie it up.”

After the third out and a 2-0 Red Sox victory he said quietly, “Lord, have mercy!”

And that is the rusty heart of a true Red Sox fan.