09:29 AM EDT on Friday, May 21, 2004

Still, We Believe: The Boston Red Sox Movie, which opens in local theaters today, isn't what we anticipated.

The pre-release hype centered on the unprecedented access filmmakers were given to the 2003 Red Sox. We saw titillating glimpses of behind-the-scenes secrets in the commercials -- Pedro Martinez pretending the Boston clubhouse was a Kentucky Fried Chicken stand when answering the phone; Sox players consoling a weeping Tim Wakefield after Aaron Boone's ALCS-deciding home run off Wakefield in the wee hours of Oct. 16 -- and we expected more.

But there is no more, or not much more. This is a movie about fans more than players.

Which is apt. Because when you come down to it, what makes the Red Sox truly special isn't the skill of their players.

It's the devotion of their fans.

"It's okay. It's not over. It's not over. We have hope. I have faith."

The woman's words and tone were upbeat, but they didn't fit. This was moments after the Yankees had beaten the Red Sox in Game 7 of the ALCS, and it was not okay. It was over. What

hope and faith was there to be had?

Her companion, a man in a Red Sox shirt, was stunned. He looked at the camera and thrust his thumb at her in an Is-she-crazy gesture. "You think there's a game tomorrow?" he asked incredulously.

"I'm talking about next year, baby," she answered. "I'm a true believer."

Those moments -- and not voyeuristic locker-room peeks -- are the essense of Still, We Believe. Director Paul Doyle Jr. told the Journal's Michael Janusonis that, early in the process, he realized the compelling stories belonged to the fans. So rather than focus on the doings of one group of players in one particular season, the movie focuses on a bigger picture.

What it captured was the spirit of a nation. Red Sox Nation.

Diehard fans Erin Nanstad and Jessamy Finet, in shock after the Yankees tied Game 7 of the ALCS with three runs in the eighth inning, sat in front of the television trying to digest what had just transpired.

"Okay," one of them said, steeling herself into thinking positively, "it's a brand new game . . ."

"I liked the game the way it was before!" wailed the other from off camera. "I don't like this new game!"

It's a difficult spirit to describe.

Red Sox fans, for the most part, are not my-team-right-or-wrong types. They can be, ah, difficult. A few scenes with the movie's designated blowhard, "Angry Bill" -- who spends most of his time talking about how the Sox stink and that they'll never win -- tells you that.

This one-dimensional view of Red Sox fandom has taken root in some circles . . . even among some of the players who've worn the Sox uniform over the years. They're always looking for something to complain about, goes the refrain. They're ultra-critical. They wait for failure. They know they're going to blow it. They're -- gasp -- CURSED!

That's one side of it, sure. There's no denying that element exists.

But there are so many others.

There's passion. You see it in all the film's fans, and indeed in most Red Sox fans everywhere.

There's knowledge and sophistication. Even the players uncomfortable with how high up the heat gets turned in these parts admit that the patrons know their stuff.

There's loyalty. Attachment to the Sox is passed down through the generations, almost ingrained into the fans' DNA.

There's joy. One night in the stands at Fenway is proof positive. The constant cheering. The chanting. The full-throated singing of "Sweet Caroline" in the eighth inning. The rhythmic clapping to "Dirty Water" after each victory.

And, in the end, there's love. A month and a half ago, the Journal asked for the fans' reaction to Game 7. Nearly all of them admitted having been flattened by the loss to the Yankees, but nearly all of them ended their letters with an upbeat, "Wait 'til this year!" declaration.

The movie captures all of this. It's not my-team-right-or-wrong; it's my-team-through-thick-and-thin. A life-long connection, rather than a one-night stand.

At film's end, "Angry Bill" is crying over the crushing defeat, and your first thought is, My word, the Sox won him over! He thought they stunk and they convinced him otherwise! He gave them his heart!

And then you realize he -- and most everyone else in Red Sox Nation -- didn't have to be won over.

The Red Sox always had his heart.