A friend brought to my attention that the upcoming baseball season will mark the fifth year since the Red Sox won the 2004 World Series and broke the “Curse of the Bambino.” It was a bit of a shock to my system to know that half a decade has almost gone, and as I reflected back on that season, the most vivid memory I have is still the night the Sox beat the Yankees to win the American League pennant and the chaos afterwards.

I was living in a brownstone on the other side of Beacon Street from Fenway and, after the final out, I was sprinting to get to the stadium. By the time I got to Yawkey Way, the street was already clogged. I hung out with some people waving Dominican flags and playing drums before the sea of people began pushing us toward Kenmore Square.

I got to a ticket gate at the corner of Lansdowne Street (since replaced by the bar Game On) that people had climbed and were chanting “Yankees Suck.” For reasons still unclear to me, I thought it would be a good idea to scale the structure as well. So I got a boost from someone and was suddenly 10 feet above the crowd on a roof that had probably been there since Tom Yawkey was still alive.

It took about five seconds of standing on the roof of that ticket gate for every ounce of euphoria to be replaced by sheer terror. It was the first time I could really see the true scope of the scene, and it looked like I was in the eye of a hurricane that just kept getting bigger. Meanwhile, more people were climbing onto the roof of the gate, which, it suddenly occurred to me, was not made to hold 20 grown men. And no one seemed to want to help me down.

I cut up my arm and hand getting myself off the roof, lowered my head and forced my way to Kenmore Square, as there was no way I could get back home the way I came. I finally got back to my basement, made sure all my windows were locked and then watched on Fox 25 as someone smashed the signs of the Citizens and Fleet banks and the police started shooting tear gas canisters. I assumed at the time that most of the rioters were drunk BU jocks from New Jersey and Long Island who just wanted to smash things and not true Red Sox fans who were just happy to see their team in the World Series. But mostly, I was just grateful that I had escaped before things turned nasty.

When I heard later that someone died that night, I was surprised it was just one person. We were not even a year removed from a Northeastern student’s brother getting run over after the Patriots won the Super Bowl, and after being down in that insanity, the news didn’t come as a big shock. The shock set in later, as the story of how Victoria Snelgrove was killed by a tear gas canister after an innocent night out and a picture of her dying on the street was splashed across the front page of the Boston Herald.

Opening Day is now less than a month away, and before the Sox trot out Pokey Reese, Billy Mueller or any other of the old hands from 2004 to throw out the first pitch, I think they should consider giving the honor to Rick and Diane Snelgrove. The Red Sox obviously bear no blame for what happened, but they are a classy organization and it would be a classy thing to do. The team also has prided itself on  community and charity work through the Jimmy Fund and other organizations, and it would be a nice shot in the arm for the Victoria Snelgrove Foundation, which has built playgrounds in towns across the South Shore, set up scholarships and is probably hurting for donations in this economy. But also, I think they deserve the standing ovation more than anyone.

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