I know this room, I've walked this floor...

I've discovered that there's an immense difference between a Red Sox fan and a baseball fan who roots for the Red Sox. I happen to be the latter. Basically, a Red Sox fan is someone who only knows a little about the team, and couldn't care less about what happens elsewhere in the league. A baseball fan appreciates good play, even that of a rival. Obviously, this also applies to the Yankees, and probably in more extreme cases. Some examples:

A Red Sox fan wears a green Red Sox cap, and for the ladies, a baby blue Sox cap.

A baseball fan wears an extremely faded, traditional cap that was once blue, but has degraded to a color with no name. (People who know me can recognize my Walter Zenga hat as a good example of this.)

A Red Sox fan could name all nine players on any given day if you spot them Mark Bellhorn.

A baseball fan could name all twenty-five men on the playoff roster, and tell you in what situations they're best used.

A Red Sox fan recognizes three of the five retired Red Sox players' names: Yastrzemski, Williams, and Fisk.

A baseball fan knows that Doerr was the best second baseman who ever lived, and Cronin was one of the last player-managers.

A Red Sox fan thinks the team won the World Series for people like him.

A baseball fan knows that the team did it for the players and fans of old, like Pesky, Petrocelli, Lynn, and all our grandparents who never got to see this happen.

Get the point? Red Sox fans piss me off. At the first sign of trouble, they'll bolt, their green and pink hats stashed in a distant closet until the team can pull themselves out of the slump. Baseball fans wear their hat regardless of the previous night's result.

Short entry, but it got a point across.

Maybe I've been here before...

Trust wanes.

Before now, I'd lost all trust in the Archdiocese in figures higher than the rank of pastor. And now, my distrust is seeping down to even that level.

St. Ann's closed on October 17th. I attended the Closing Mass, and it took a great deal of resolve not to walk out after the Bishop got up and spoke. The following week, I went to St. Cecilia, off of Mass Ave. Fr. Unni had been pastor there for a long time, and it was only natural that this was where we would go after St. Ann's closing. Every effort was made to make the new students feel welcome in the church, and it probably appears to the higher-ups that it worked.

Well, not for me.

I came to Northeastern with my spirit already beaten. Not beaten as in defeated, but beaten as in hurt. I was set to lose my home parish and the one closest to it. The fight, through Voice of the Faithful at least, seemed over. VOTF's goal was the Mass on the Common. Not enough planning was put into what would happen afterward - it was all devoted to the one event. And now we're in that 'afterward', with no organization.

I had heard great things about Fr. Unni before I got here, and I looked forward to attending a Mass with him as the presider. I did so, and I was impressed. Fr. Unni was someone who could connect with my generation. A regular guy with a big green robe on. Attending Mass at St. Ann's became a priority on my Sundays, and it was scheduled such that I would have difficulty missing Mass.

Fast-forward to October tenth. I stayed after Mass long enough to converse briefly with Fr. Unni about why it seemed that St. Ann went quietly when the Archdiocese asked it to. And I'll be honest. Although Fr. Unni was able to word it in such a way that it sounded better than it really was, he told me they didn't fight cause it's not about the building.

No, it's not about the building, it's about the principle. How dare the Archdiocese tell me I can't worship in any given place? How dare they cut a long-formed community in two for reasons they won't substantiate?

I went to one Mass at St. Cecilia. I will not be returning.

I went because I respect Fr. Unni. I felt I owed him that much. He asked us to go to St. Cecilia, and I did. But my hatred for the Archdiocese is deeper than my respect for Fr. Unni. I'm sorry, but I can't go there anymore. I will not be their sheep any longer.

I now attend St. Clement Eucharistic Shrine on Boylston St. Note that I use the word 'attend', and not that I am a parishioner. I will never be a parishioner of another church in this city.

And at home, our priest is rapidly becoming a turncoat. Fr. Ron was assigned to St. George, the parish to which we hoped we'd be assigned should our appeal fail. After this, he decided he no longer supported a vigil at St. Jeremiah.

Fr. Ron, as much as I've respected and followed you since 2001, you are wrong today.

Yes, you won your own small battle. You were placed where you wanted to be placed. But you do not speak for all of us. I will not allow this church to be taken from me like so much else has been. If you want to leave, fine.

It's been incredibly tough believing that a family friend could do a 180 that would make the producers of the Exorcist jealous. But it has happened, and now the fight goes on without Fr. Ron.

I am a refugee. I am not a parishioner of any church in Boston. And I am a parishioner only of a single church in Framingham that is set to close in four weeks. Should a vigil be unsuccessful, I will be a parishioner of no church.

To hell with this Archdiocese. To hell with all the bishops and advisors to the Archbishop. To hell with all the vicars. To hell with Kathleen Heck.

I will stop short of saying to hell with Father Ron and Father Unni. But please, understand that I cannot support these actions by following a priest who refuses to fight.