This is what Red Sox baseball should feel like

An old, familiar feeling has gripped New England. 

Carried upon the faintest fall wind, and captured in the knowing smiles of reinvigorated denizens, an aura has returned. 

A current. A buzz. A vibe.

The Red Sox are good again. Like, really good, again. Like, how the Red Sox should always be, again. And equipoise has been restored from Bangor, Maine to Manchester, Connecticut.

Even though Drake Maye just imploded inexplicably in the Patriots’ season-opening Super Bowl rematch with Seattle, Sox talk is grist for The Hub mill.

Even though the Celtics recently traded Jaylen Brown and the Bruins are slowly thawing, radios from Narraganset, Rhode Island to Burlington, Vermont are still trained on a spellbinding ballclub in the Fens.

Even as a new year dawns at Harvard and Yale, MIT and Dartmouth, Brown and Amherst, a region has rediscovered its favourite team.

In bars and at office water-coolers, chatter has turned to autumn, when the leaves change colour and The Olde Towne Team plays on.

This is what Red Sox baseball should feel like. It has been too long.

At one point earlier this year, such a sentimental reunion seemed impossible. For two-and-a-half months, the Red Sox were a basket case, meandering in the same numbing irrelevance that has characterised so much of their post-Mookie malaise.

In April, following a 10-17 start, Boston fired Alex Cora – one of baseball’s most revered managers – and five of his coaches. That the axe fell following a 17-1 win, with Fenway Sports Group executives reportedly dipping in and out of meetings to take calls about Liverpool soccer, felt perversely fitting – a symbolic encapsulation of the team’s myopic, garbled philosophy and its oblivious botching of optics. (1)

That sad, forlorn narrative looked set to continue when embattled chief baseball officer Craig Breslow replaced the mutilated coaching staff with a bunch of minor league lifers. Chad Tracy, up from Triple-A Worcester, became the de facto manager, while Chad Epperson – a cowboy-hat-wearing, 54-year-old Double-A skipper – embraced his one shot as an MLB third base coach by waving anyone and everyone home, regardless of the situation.

All the hallmarks of a disaster were in place, and through 24 June, the 32-46 Red Sox – bottom of the AL East, 15.5 games behind the Yankees, with the American League’s worst record, fresh off a series loss to the Rockies – seemed more likely to log their first 100-loss season since 1965 than book a trip to October.

From 25 June, however, everything changed. Out of nowhere, the Sox embarked on a scintillating 32-5 tear through summer – winning at an absurd .864 clip, sweeping the Yankees and Dodgers, and stimulating a dormant fanbase that yearned for such an olive branch.

Boston became the first team in MLB history to win at least 27 games in a 30-game span while entering that span 10 or more games under .500. (2) Similarly, the Sox went from 14 games under .500 to 14 games over .500 in just 62 days – the second-fastest such turnaround ever. Rarely has such a bad team become so good, so quick. The ride has been dizzying.

All told, since 25 June, the Red Sox are 48-21. Yes, they have cooled somewhat from the sizzling peak of midsummer, but that epochal stretch contains three different five-game winning streaks, a nine-gamer, and a 15-gamer which tied the franchise record from 1946.

Ultimately, for almost three months, a team that was inept to start the season has won nearly 70% of its games. Currently 80-67, and a cinch for a Wildcard berth, the Red Sox have totally transformed their fortunes in-season. And that hardly ever happens in baseball.

Oddly, the resurgence can be traced – and perhaps partly attributed – to Scotland. Well, to the Tartan Army that follows its national soccer team, at least. During the summer World Cup, Scotland was based in Boston with several games staged at nearby Foxborough. On 14 June, the Red Sox organised Scottish Heritage Night, coinciding with the vibrant influx, and thousands of rowdy soccer fans piled into Fenway. More, they re-energised the old provincial heirloom, chanting incessantly and rekindling a bygone fervour. Word spread, and hordes of enthused Scots made Fenway a pilgrimage spot on their travels, drinking the place dry and lighting a flame under the hometown team. Sox president Sam Kennedy even wrote a letter of thanks to the Scottish Football Association, expressing the team’s gratitude for the much-needed jolt to its atmosphere.

To that end, Fenway morphed into a whiskey-scented cauldron. Each dramatic win, and each relentless streak, kept the turnstiles clicking. In April, America’s Most Beloved Ballpark drew just 28,660 for a miserable game against Milwaukee. Since 25 June, though, every home contest has attracted at least 32,000. More than 38,000 crammed in for a July date with Baltimore – Fenway’s largest regular season congregation for a decade. And even John Henry has been seen mixing with fans who had soured on his ownership. In fact, Fenway Sports Group recently sold 38% of Liverpool, perhaps inspired to refocus on the Red Sox, the original jewel in its sporting crown. (3)

Overall, the resurgence has been remarkable. Most importantly, though, the murmur returned. The susurrus of expectation. The visceral sense that, even when they are down by two or three runs, a single baserunner will shift momentum, and the Sox will launch another gutsy comeback capped by Dirty Water bouncing through the night. 

To that point, this Red Sox team never knows when it is beaten, and it can win in many different ways. Since 25 June, the team ranks second in ERA and runs scored, fourth in slugging, fifth in on-base percentage, sixth in batting average and seventh in home runs. They are a real, well-rounded team of intense baseball rats who find ways to scratch and claw to victory. They are dynamic ballplayers who do a lot of things above average. They are true Boston Dirt Dogs, slathered – somewhat inadvertently – with the DNA common to every vintage Sox team.

Take Wilyer Abreu, a phenomenal outfielder and underrated force at the plate.

Take Nick Sogard, the toolsy infielder turned line drive machine.

Take Caleb Durbin, the heart-and-soul grinder who has embodied the team’s transformation, first crossing the Mendoza Line on 10 June and now hitting .248 with 12 dingers and 17 stolen bases.

Take Mickey Gasper, the moustachioed lunchpail catcher from Merrimack, New Hampshire who has randomly torched the ball in his age-30 season.

Take the role players and accent pieces – from Anthony Seigler, a classic Red Sox glue guy, and Eli White, a sneaky good fourth outfielder, to Andruw Monasterio, the plug-and-play shortstop, and Isiah Kiner-Falefa, the selfless veteran. Even Jahmai Jones has carved a fine niche with this team, while other stellar contributors – such as Romy González – currently do not fit on the major league roster.

In that regard, the 2026 Red Sox can be seen as a bunch of quadruple-A backups and platoon replacements who have congealed – against all odds – to create an ideal team. Sure, there is a sprinkling of stardust, with Ceddanne Rafaela and Willson Contreras having excellent years. And yes, the pitching staff has been boosted by Sonny Gray turning back the clock and Payton Tolle emerging as a young, lovable ace. Ultimately, however, this ballclub is far greater than the sum of its parts, and it plays an irrepressible brand of baseball.

Remarkably, indeed, the Sox have produced most of this magic carpet ride without Garrett Crochet, their $170 million ace nursing a shoulder injury; without Roman Anthony, the face of their next great core, similarly sidelined throughout the summer; without Marcelo Mayer, another supposed cornerstone, traded to San Francisco; without Trevor Story, ostensibly the starting shortstop, plagued by persistent niggles; and without Curtis Mead, their main trade deadline addition, an IL victim during his Sox debut.

When apportioning credit for this team and its unprecedented revival, then, Breslow must be praised. Hired only when everybody else – including the fellas who plough snow on the Mass Turnpike – rejected the job, Breslow has certainly been bold, and his redemption lurks in the autumnal ether, awaiting champagne confirmation. To fire Cora, empower Tracy, trade Mayer, and manipulate a complicated roster into playoff shape, from the troughs of despair, is seriously impressive. Breslow proved he has the oomph to operate in the Boston fishbowl, which was all but ready to drown him.

Tracy, too, deserves admiration. For a guy who never played or coached in the majors, suddenly thrust into the complex modern MLB dugout – abuzz with ABS challenges, instant replay reviews and enormous egos – to effect such a dramatic change in fortunes is incredible. Tracy sets an even-keeled tone that is a refreshing break from Cora’s intensity, which became too self-centred late in his reign. The ‘interim’ tag should be ripped from his title before October – a fitting reward and a timely vote of confidence.

The actual players should also be heralded. So many of them have been unsung and overlooked throughout their careers, only to finally get and grasp their chance – the right chance, in the right moment – with Boston this year. This run does have a lightning-in-a-bottle, 2013-type feel, and a lot of the overperformance may be unsustainable. Reversion to the mean seems inevitable at some point, with so many guys overshooting their baselines, but the game is played for rings. None of that will matter if a fifth title in 23 years is brought to Boston in a few weeks. Banners fly forever, and there would be no greater epitome of baseball’s wild unpredictability.

Obviously, if the duck boats are to be dusted off for a wintry jaunt down the Charles, a lot will have keep going right for this destiny-flecked group. Of course, we cannot predict the future. Baseball is an untameable beast governed by lady luck. Scanning for October weaknesses, though, the Boston rotation may come up short, and the lineup may lack one pure power bat. Rafaela and Contreras also need to successfully return from short IL stints. However, Anthony and Story have been reintegrated, and Crochet could be a stealth weapon. The Yankees almost certainly await in the wildcard round, probably in the Bronx, and they pose a formidable, balanced threat. But you feel it with a good Red Sox team. Fate seems to power Boston ballclubs periodically. That ineffable kismet has enveloped these Red Sox, and in a weak American League, few teams have stronger claims to supremacy.

Nevertheless, whether these unlikely Red Sox win it all or not is – to a certain extent – beside the point. This moment is not necessarily about the winning or the domination, but rather the fact that people care again. The Sox have returned to the pinnacle of local attention, and that just feels right. Baseball still matters to New Englanders on the cusp of fall, and there’s a certain beauty in that equilibrium. It should never be any other way.

Sources

1. Section 10 podcast. [Online]

2. Langs, Sarah. MLB.com. [Online] August 8, 2026. https://www.mlb.com/news/red-sox-on-historic-27-3-hot-streak.

3. Roan, Dan and Patel, Aadam. BBC. [Online] August 20, 2026. https://www.bbc.co.uk/sport/football/articles/c4g31egre74o.