After every cursed collapse, wretched setback and poor managerial decision, and after every time that I almost lost faith, my brother would remind me how much sweeter victory would taste having been through those trying times.
He was right. There is no greater feeling in the world than being a World Series champion. Unbridled joy. Unspeakable euphoria. It didn't come immediately and certainly not easily, but the Red Sox did it.
I've been waiting my whole life for this. Heck, I waited my grandfather's whole life, too. Now I just feel spoiled to have witnessed the pinnacle moment of my life while still a young man. An outsider might find it disturbing to hear me speak of life fulfillment, but I don't care because the Sox are World Series champs.
I was four when I attended my first major league baseball game. I was too young to remember more than a few specific details (such as Don Baylor hitting a grand slam to lead the Sox to victory over the Twins), but I do recall being awestruck with Fenway. As you walk up the ramp and into the park, you are simply overcome by the green of the field and of the walls. The place maintains a buzz, enhanced by the coziness (read: small size) of the park.
That was 17 years ago, the summer after the 1986 World Series debacle against the Mets, epitomized by the ground ball going through the legs of you-know-who. Who knew that salvation would come from a pack of 25 self-proclaimed idiots with crazy hair?
Pedro Martinez, Manny Ramirez and Curt Schilling will certainly be remembered as great baseball players, but are they better than Ted Williams, Jimmie Foxx and Carlton Fisk? The latter three are all Hall of Famers who formerly played with the Red Sox and never won a World Series. What makes this year's Sox team so compelling are gritty veterans like Bill Mueller, Kevin Millar, Mike Timlin, Trot Nixon and Alan Embree, and unheralded, defensive-minded newcomers Orlando Cabrera, Pokey Reese and Doug Mientkiewicz. No matter their payroll, the Red Sox became an everyman's team -- playing their heart out, enjoying their work to its fullest and pulling a great upset.
The impact of this win can be felt throughout New England, as the regional pride of Red Sox Nation is unparalleled. The Sox victory may even resonate in the national polls if Boston's hometown senator can translate some of that momentum into today's election.
But a Red Sox World Series title was important to me on such a personal level -- as if it were a reward for my countless hours of devotion. To win was an adrenaline rush of a sort I cannot explain. I cried with uncontrollable delight as I called my brother, my parents and nearly every friend I've ever made. My brother was in New York City along with 2,000 Sox fans romping through the Village as if it were Kenmore Square receiving the spillover crowds from Fenway itself.
My celebration was calmer only in numbers. Thirty or so of us gathered on the Lawn, but it certainly did not lack intensity. My room serves as an embassy of Red Sox Nation in Charlottesville, and the crowd grew with each passing inning. During the final few outs, friends remarked that my face was the manifestation of sheer determination. I wasn't ready to think about a celebration until it was impossible for the Sox to choke it away. After Keith Foulke flipped the ball to first base for the final out, however, the hushed tones of my room gave way to a raucous roar and the popping of champagne bottles.
The past several days have featured me alternately grinning with childish glee, calling everyone I know and crying at the heartfelt stories of those who didn't live to see this day. The headline of a major Sox fan site read, "If you are reading this now, it happened in your lifetime." How fortunate I feel to have seen it.
I've often argued with my editors about the number and frequency of my columns about the Red Sox. I was always dumbfounded that they didn't understand how prevalent Red Sox Nation is in central Virginia. Limits were eventually put in place, but there was no denying that I had to write this final piece.
Last Wednesday's victory was the culmination of all my previous columns. I won't be writing about the Sox again anytime soon. I'll be too busy smiling.
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