Echoes of ‘Sweet Caroline’: Red Sox Fans Turn Kirk Vigil Into Anthem of Defiant Unity
By Jordan Hale, MLB and Culture Desk, The Athletic Boston, MA – September 19, 2025
The flames danced like fireflies in the gathering dusk of Boston Common, each one a tiny rebellion against the encroaching chill of autumn and the heavier weight of national grief. Thursday’s vigil for Charlie Kirk, the brash conservative provocateur cut down in a hail of bullets outside his Utah home, was supposed to be a quiet affair: candles, prayers, a few speeches from fellow travelers in the fight against what Kirk called “woke tyranny.” Instead, it swelled into a roaring chorus of “Sweet Caroline,” the Red Sox’s unofficial hymn, belted out by thousands as if Fenway Park had somehow transplanted itself to the heart of the city. From the ashes of a 0-3 ALCS meltdown two decades ago, Boston’s faithful found a new script – not for baseball glory, but for stitching together a frayed republic, one off-key verse at a time.
Kirk’s assassination last week, the work of a lone gunman with a manifesto laced in leftist rage, hit like a curveball no one saw coming. At 31, the Turning Point USA founder had built an empire on college campuses, railing against everything from critical race theory to border policies, his sharp tongue earning him enemies as fervent as his followers. Boston, with its revolutionary DNA and liberal leanings, wasn’t the most obvious host for his send-off. Yet there they were: 4,000 strong by organizer estimates, spilling across the grass from the Park Street T stop to the edge of the Frog Pond. Families clutched photos of Kirk mid-rant; college kids in MAGA hats linked arms with grizzled construction workers nursing thermoses of something stronger than coffee. The air hummed with murmurs of “He was our voice,” punctuated by the snap of lighter flicks igniting wicks.
Tensions flared early. A phalanx of counter-demonstrators, organized via Reddit threads and emblazoned with signs reading “Kirk’s Hate Kills,” surged against metal barriers, their megaphone blasts of “Fascists out” clashing with the vigil’s pleas for civility. Boston police, helmets gleaming under portable lights, formed a human wall, but the standoff crackled like static before a storm. By 8 p.m., with scuffles erupting near the Soldiers and Sailors Monument, authorities pulled the plug, herding the crowd toward Arlington Street amid shouts of “Censorship!” Brian Foley, the 28-year-old event lead from the local GOP youth wing, gripped his bullhorn like a bat in the ninth. “This isn’t Massachusetts if you can’t grieve without guards,” he fumed to reporters, his face flushed redder than a Sox cap.
That’s when the tide turned – or rather, when the Red Sox nation decided to swing for the fences. Woven through the throng were die-hards in threadbare ’04 jerseys, their presence sparked by viral posts urging a “Fenway takeover” for Kirk. “Charlie fought from behind, just like us in ’04,” explained Sarah O’Malley, a 34-year-old nurse from South Boston, her voice hoarse from leading the first strains of the anthem. It started small: a cluster near the bandstand, buoyed by a phone speaker blasting the Neil Diamond classic. Then it spread, a wave of “Bum bum bum” rolling across the Common, drowning out the jeers. Strangers hugged; tears mixed with laughter as lyrics evoked memories of David Ortiz’s moonwalk after that Game 4 grand slam, the one that flipped the script on the Yankees and exorcised 86 years of torment.
The symbolism hit like Ortiz’s clutch homer: Kirk as the conservative movement’s Big Papi, a larger-than-life slugger who could turn deficits into dominance. “He was down 0-3 against the establishment, but damn if he didn’t rally,” said Tom Hargrove, a 60-year-old retired cop and season-ticket holder, draping a Red Sox pennant over a Kirk memorial photo. The gesture went viral, clips of the sing-along racking up millions on TikTok and X, where #KirkComeback trended alongside #SweetCaroline4Charlie. Pundits pounced from both sides. Conservative firebrands like Ben Shapiro hailed it as “Boston’s Tea Party 2.0,” a grassroots gut-punch to division. Liberals decried the “co-opting of tragedy,” with The Boston Globe’s op-ed page lighting up over baseball’s “toxic entanglement” in politics.
For the Red Sox, officially silent amid a playoff push – they’re clinging to the third wild-card spot with a rubber game against Baltimore looming – the vigil’s fervor feels like an unofficial pep rally. Players like Rafael Devers, the third baseman who’s mashed 28 homers this year, reposted fan videos with fist emojis, while clubhouse vets whispered about Kirk’s pre-’04 parallels to their own underdog lore. “Boston doesn’t quit,” Devers told reporters post-game Friday, a nod subtle enough to dodge the commissioner’s glare. Critics worry it’s a slippery slope: Will Fenway start screening Turning Point ads between innings? Yet for those who belted out the chorus under the Common’s oaks, it’s simpler. Sports isn’t escape here; it’s arsenal. The ’04 comeback taught them that curses – be they Bambino’s hex or modern malice – break when the crowd wills it.
As the last echoes faded and cleanup crews swept wax from the paths, the question hung: Who steps up as conservatism’s Ortiz? A fresh-faced activist channeling Kirk’s fire? A Fenway alum bridging the aisles? Or Kirk himself, immortalized in song and story? The vigil ended abruptly, but its melody lingers, a reminder that in Beantown, unity isn’t whispered – it’s shouted, off-key and unapologetic. From 0-3 disasters to candlelit stands, Boston’s playbook remains the same: Rally late, swing big, and let the bums reach for more.
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