Transplanted Life
Thursday, October 28, 2004
No champagne hangovers today
It's not that kind of win. Last week, when the Sox got that crazy win over the Yankees, there was the need to unclench, cut loose, to steady our freakin' nerves. The ALCS wore us out even if the last game was, well, not quite a laugher, but one where the Red Sox took command and just didn't let the Yankees into it. The World Series has been something different; it's been the Red Sox on a mission. The first game, okay, that was kind of crazy, and the Cardinals actually tied it up at one point. Then Bellhorn comes through and there's no looking back, after that, it's like each game the Sox dominate the Cards a little bit more, until finally, yesterday, I'm feeling confident while watching the game. Even when the Sox were only up by one or three and Derek Lowe is still on the mound.

I mean, Derek Lowe! The guy's had some great games, but I can't help but look toward the offseason and think, man, how cool would it be if the Yankees saw this postseason success and decided to pay him $10M a year for five years only to discover he can suck quite badly, especially when the shortstop doesn't have the range everyone thinks he does.

But I digress. About the sixth inning, it started dawning on us that this was it - something we'd been waiting our entire lives for (for some of us, two lifetimes, even if neither is particularly long), that our parents and/or grandparents may not have gotten to see, and we were watching it. And, oh yeah, there's a very good possibility that we were never, ever, ever going to have to see that Bucky Dent/Bill Buckner/Aaron Boone footage again - nice try with the attempt to make us afraid, Fox, but we were past that by then - and if we do, well, it's not scary any more, is it? It just becomes like the challenges a character faces in the middle pages of a book, or like the mortifying things that happen to you as a teenager or recent-whatever-I-am: Awful at the time, but what you need to grow. I don't know that we needed to grow quite so much, but, hey, that's in the past.

I don't know when the goosebumps or pins and needles started, but as soon as Foulke made that soft toss to first, they melted away, and then we were yelling and screaming and high-fiving and screaming some more (and it's kind of fun to be a girl at those points because we scream better than guys) and hugging and kissing in expected and unexpected combinations because we all had so much happiness to share. Any other situation and Kurt kissing me might have been inappropriate (and if he'd actually kissed my lips, maybe it still would have been), but last night it was no more so that Wei hugging me.

We must have amused Jim something fierce, since he's a Mets fan and pretty much all his glee was exhausted when the Yankees got knocked out a week ago, and when you consider half the people at the party weren't from around here, you might think some were posers, but there's been something about this team that grabs you - even if you're not from around here, but just came to Boston for college or something, you get overwhelmed by the commitment of the people around you and even seduced by the idea of how cool it would be to be a part of the biggest group hug in history when they finally did win.

Wow. Just, wow. The really funny/cool thing - I think everyone at work today is wearing some sort of Red Sox apparel, having decided to do it independently, because we're all psyched.

Anyway - walking on air the rest of the week, parade Saturday... I'm sure my life will become melodramatic against sometime soon, but right now, everything seems perfect.

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