Jim and Jon, Linked For Life

A break from movies, but it's for a good reason. (I do promise to write my Iron Man review soon.)

On Monday, my father turned 60 years old. On Monday, 23-year-old Red Sox pitcher Jon Lester threw a no-hitter. Both of them are cancer survivors, and every day they personify "survivor" in ways beyond any flowery cliche.

As many of you know, I found the 2007 title season more meaningful than the 2004 version, in part because my father's ups and downs mirrored the team's and Lester's.

http://womanonfilm.blogspot.com/2007/12/why-red-sox-cant-trade-jon-lester.html

Since that mid-December posting, my father's health has continued to improve. It's been 13 months since his diagnosis - hey, there's that number again! - and he really does seem to be "back," and maybe even better than before. He's working full time. He's been on vacation to Portland, OR, with Alan. He and my mother plan to drive to visit all their New York-based children next month. (I suppose the last part really ought to be the indication he's doing well - he won't leave the driving to Peter Pan, Greyhound, Amtrak, or anyone else.) Sure, he can't eat everything just yet, and his taste buds are still fried. Then again, one doesn't really need to eat beef and barbecue.

Meanwhile, the Red Sox didn't trade Lester, or Jacoby Ellsbury or Clay Buchholz, for that matter. (Thanks, Theo!) Our young lefty's season has been erratic so far - too many walks, too many pitches per start - but he did appear to be maturing more with each start. The team also seemed to play with greater streakiness than before. It's been a fun but frustrating year.

Then we hit Monday. Actually, first we hit Sunday.

My cousin Cathy invited us with her to use her brother's season tickets. Our seats were amazing, 13 rows back in a field-box seat at the edge of the outfield grass. This time, we could get there early. My father could eat a sandwich and roam the park for hard lemonade for my mother. She could sing along with "Sweet Caroline." We could stay for the whole game. And this time, the team cooperated and won. What a great turnaround from our September experience, which itself was more than we thought it would be.

That would be the greatest Red Sox birthday present for my father - right?

As I was returning home Monday night, I saw on my phone that Lester had held the Kansas City Royals hitless for seven innings. I wanted to call my parents, but I knew the superstition. (Don't talk about a no-hitter while it's in progress.) When ESPN began broadcasting the ninth inning, I began praying aloud. It was my father's birthday - would fate be kind enough to grant this gift?

YEEEEAAAHHHH! I waited 30 seconds after the game ended - where was my parents' call? Answer: They were watching House and had no idea what was happening. People!

Lester has said he doesn't want to be recognized for his medical charts anymore, that he'd rather be seen for what he does on the mound. I believe my father feels similarly (minus the baseball reference). Of course we can respect that, but at the same time, there's nothing wrong with embracing feel-great stories in cynical times.

P.S. Dad, your buddy pitched a no-no 21 months after his doctors delivered devastating health news. Twenty-one months since your cancer diagnosis would be January 2009. Hey: Walt Disney World has a series of races then. Maybe you should sign up for the 5K. There's still room. ... :)