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...the greatest day of my life

CLOUD NINE - I got dizzy. I started hyperventilating. I held someone's hand, I don't know who. I held my breath in passionate desperation. I blacked out. I wet myself. Twice. I broke the world record for most hugs in a one-minute span. I collapsed. I got choked up and couldn't talk for several minutes. I went numb. When I came to, I stood out in the rain for 30 minutes talking to my friends and family, and I hardly even felt the raindrops.

"Adam," I said, "the Red Sox just won the World Series."

"Mom! Dad!" I said. "The Red Sox just won the World Series."

"Complete stranger!" I said. "The Red Sox just won the World Series."

I had to keep telling myself that, because I'm still not completely certain that it actually happened. The Red Sox won the World Series. I screamed and I leapt and I walked around in an aimless and euphoric stupor, not having any clue what in the world I was supposed to do, or say, or think, or feel.

And then I cried.

The Red Sox just won the World Series. Finally, we can eighty-six the memories of '86, and of the 86 years since 1918. In fact, the year 1918 means absolutely nothing anymore. It no longer has any significance - it's just another year. Soaking it in after game four, I felt like I was in one of those DirecTV commercials. I felt like breaking out in song for no reason whatsoever. To tell you the truth, I feel rather inadequate compared to all those who have waited 40, 60, 80 years for this to happen. Or the people who lived long, productive lives - who lived even past the life expectancy - and still never lived long enough to see the Boston Red Sox hoist that most beautiful of all trophies, the World Series championship trophy.

For years, my main goal has been to not die before my Sox won it all. And now it's happened . . .(I think). And it's hard to know how to react . . .except to make a complete and utter fool of myself. Hours and hours later, I still haven't slept, of course. Heck, I'm not sure if I've even blinked. Seven years ago, then-Marlin Edgar Renteria ended the World Series with a game-winning single to beat Manny Ramirez and the Indians. Last night, it was Renteria again putting an end to the Fall Classic, this time bouncing out to Keith Foulke to clinch Boston's title, as the once-waived Ramirez took home MVP honors.

Needless to say, it was very emotional. I just wanted to hug the Red Sox. I love them, every one. I love Ricky Gutierrez, and Dave McCarty, and Lenny DiNardo, and Mark Malaska, and Adam Hyzdu, and every other no-name who donned the Boston duds this year. This wasn't just the most surreal experience of my life - this is one of those "Where Were You When..." moments. When I inevitably get Alzheimer's, I will still remember this day, and every vivid detail. If you think this all sounds stupid, well, you're obviously not a Red Sox fan.

Back in July, with the Sox mired in their confusing summer standstill, my buddy Adam summed up perfectly the Sox' performance up to that point, saying depressingly, "The Red Sox lead the Major Leagues in Stupid." The season looked like a disaster. The magic was gone. Something was wrong--everything was wrong.

We were all expecting the worst to happen. Because it always has. This franchise epitomized Murphy's Law. But not anymore. Call Theo Epstein a genius, call Nomar a cancer, call God a just god--whatever the reason, as it turned out, everything that happened, from the offseason all the way through October, went in our favor. Manny Ramirez was almost traded to the Rangers, and now he's the World Series - and very possibly American League - Most Valuable Player. Our would-be shortstop, Tinker Bell . . .er, I mean, Alex Rodriguez, couldn't carry Gary Sheffield or Hideki Matsui's jock in New York. Then there was the blockbuster trade of a star player which helped us win a championship, rather than one who haunted us for 86 years. The biggest choke-job in baseball history was pulled by the Yankees. All of it. It went our way this time. The ALCS was the kind of series we never win. I should have known this team was special--my mom even remembered players' names this year, and we're talking about a woman who generally doesn't get my name right.

We survived Curt Schilling's shredded ankle tendon. We survived the SI jinx. We survived the Yanks' $200 million payroll, and the Nomar controversy, and the terrible karma of future game-show host Ben Affleck. We even survived the lead singer of Creed singing "God Bless America." (I mean, I was sure that was going to be a bad omen.)

The Red Sox just won the World Series. What does this mean? Well, for starters, it means that none of you will have to read me whining and complaining about the Red Sox for a long, long time. It means Dan Shaughnessy may have to up and find a new job . . .or just retire. It means the Red Sox have won more World Series titles this century than the Yankees (remember, the century officially started in 2001). It means the entire complexion of the Boston population has changed . . .the baggage is gone. It means ESPN should immediately update its list of the "100 Greatest Moments" of the last 25 years. It means Aaron Boone's 15 minutes are up, at long last.

"All I remember after last year's loss to the Yankees was the look on the people's faces," David Ortiz said after last night's game four. "I saw a lot of people crying, and I kept that in my heart. So, now that we've got to this point, I hope that all those people that we saw crying, will be laughing and enjoying this, because they deserve it. They cried with us."

Man, I love this team.

The Red Sox just won the World Series, people. Bring on the hellfire and brimstone.

Copyright © 2004 by Chris Bellamy

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