First... a quick bit of shamelessness. Last week, with the World Series in full "schwing," we received a substantial increase in readership volume, and plenty of nice e-mails from the Nation [and to "Helga" from North Attleboro... your marraige proposal is being given all serious consideration]. Thanks to everyone who took the time to write us. With the national spotlight on the Sox, we also got some nice media coverage... which, for once, didn't include the line "last seen crossing the state lines in a beat-up Reliant Wagon and brandishing two shotguns." Thanks to the folks at Boston Magazine for mentioning Surviving Grady in their November 2004 "Sox Files" column. Thanks also to Ian Donnis of The Boston Phoenix for quoting our man Denton in his The Sporting Life column in this week's issue. And "merci" to Cynthia Simison of The Republican for the site name-dropping. Now on to today's regularly scheduled post.

The Nation's love affair with the 2004 Sox reached climax this morning, with over 3 million people turning out for the victory parade, or "Rolling Rally" as Hizzoner Menino dubbed it. Now all that's left is to sweep up the confetti, mop up the vomit, and start counting down the days until pitchers and catchers report to spring training.

Only... I'm not sure I can make it.

Last night, I commemorated the one week anniversary of Game One of the 2004 World Series by... watching a videotape of Game One of the 2004 World Series. The whole bloody thing. Commercials and all. And let me tell you, Tim McCarver is even more annoying the second time around.

Fox announcers notwithstanding, it still gave me chills. This was the only game that truly seemed a game... one that saw the Cards battle back at every turn, promising us a run for our money that, alas, never truly materialized. Of course, the Sox were so locked in that even some shoddy defense wasn't going to derail the train. After their Lazarus act in the ALCS, the Sox could taste the chum, and they wanted this. We all wanted this. Badly.

And now, after sucking us in for the single wildest baseball season in Boston Red Sox history, they're gone.

Poof. Just like that.

Flipping through the channels the past couple nights, I sought the soothing intonements of Remy and Orsillo to no avail. The store's closed up. Not to open for another six months. Leaving me with only a head full of memories and a stack of carefully labelled videotapes.

But I'm a weak man. A junkie, scrambling for a fix. I want a 24-hour web cam giving me video access to David Ortiz' kitchen. I want "Red Sox: The Sitcom" with Mark Bellhorn, Bronson Arroyo and Gabe Kapler as roomies and Curtis Leskanic as the wacky neighbor. I want dramatic reenactments of classic games by Tim Wakefield at my local library [with or without puppets; I'm not picky].

Folks, we made it through 160 games punctuated by a postseason of nail-your-balls-to-a-tree exhileration. We lived and died a million times in three packed weeks, and now it's gone. Over. Finis.

I feel like a bum gazing wistfully at an empty bottle. Actually, I am a bum gazing wistfully at an empty bottle. And there's nothing left.

But I can't wait to buy the DVD.

So today is the big parade. The route has been changed to include a jaunt around the Charles River, so check the latest updates and map here. Also, if you happen to take some photos, send them along and we'll happily post them here. [Provided, you know, there's no nudity. Those photos can be e-mailed to our "personal" account.]

Also, from the "Mark Your Calendars" Department, Jesus Damon will be a guest on The Late Show with David Letterman on Monday at 11:30pm. Dave had Schill on last week to read the Top Ten list, and his Red Sox love is in overdrive it would seem.

The Red Sox love is in overdrive today. I'll be spending the day re-viewing my tapes of the ALCS. Yes, I know.. it's a life some can only dream of. In the meantime, we encourage you to check out the post below for a sampling of the notes and e-mails we recieved from the Nation after the Sox sealed the deal on Wednesday night.

And let the love flow.

After Wednesday night's dramatics, we received an overwhelming number of e-mails and comments from members of Red Sox Nation scattered all across the country and around the globe. Rather than keep them buried in the commnets box, we wanted to bring 'em to the forefront. So here they are, verbatim, in all their glory. Thanks to everyone who dropped us a line. You've made us even prouder to be a part of the Nation.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

I love this site.......I love this team.......and I love this feeling. My 84 year old grandfather went outside tonight when they got the last out and rang the bell in his backyard... that says it all for me
-- Aaron


Can't breathe. World Series.
-- Jennifer


The Red Sox won the WORLD SERIES!!!.... I was on the phone with my dad during the final out. He woke me and my brother up in 1986 to watch the final outs, and although there was an 18 year delay, I'm glad I finally got to share it with him. Thank you for your blog Red. You've made this year that much more enjoyable. THE RED SOX WON THE WORLD SERIES.
-- Geoff in OC


Oh, and now I'm saying it: WE SURVIVED GRADY!
-- Steve Brady


This IS Bliss.
-- Coco


Hell yes. HELL YES.
-- mandy


For my grandfather who died six years ago and never saw the Red Sox win a world series but sat faithfully to watch every game in his favorite chair drinking Miller High Life in his parlor in Lowell, Ma. We did it.
-- Steve


I love it. I love everything and everyone.
-- Amy


I can't believe it. The Red Sox. Just won. The World Series.
-- Runan61


called my 90 year old grandfather...felt good for us ALL!!!
-- Sean McAteer


I am flying up tomorrow for the parade on Friday. I can't beleive this is happening. I am spent but so happy right now. This is the best day of my life.
-- Matthew


where i was: sitting in the front window of my house in san francisco, watching the eclipse and listening to the incomparable jon miller call the game on the radio, 1050 AM. when the final out went down, my boyfriend and i high-fived each other and jumped around the living room. i heard some hoots and hollers from down the street, where a few bars are. i knew there were some outposts of RSN here. congrats to you all, i know this is better than christmas AND your birthday.
-- tasha


WE F-----G WON THE WORLD SERIES!

WE BECAME THE FIRST TEAM IN WORLD SERIES HISTORY TO NEVER TRAIL - NOT EVEN FOR ONE INNING!

I LOVE TODAY!
-- Annette


When the Red Sox won the World Series (sounds nice doesn't it?)...

When the Red Sox won the World Series I was in my little flat in Beijing, China, watching a Japanese broadcast, talking on the phone to my husband in Illinois AND my parents in Massachusetts. A truly international experience.

And then I screamed out my window that the Red Sox were world series champs and got a lot of strange looks from the locals...
-- Heather


Austin, TX here. I watched the game with a bunch of friends then called my bro back in Beantown.

All I can say is Go Sox!!!!!!!!! Do you know how freaking enjoyable every game will be next year? When the "Defending World Champion Red Sox" take the field? And they show video of Curt's Sock instead of Buckner? And Papi's shot instead of Dent's? And we start yelling "YEAR TWO THOU-SAND" at every Yankees game? And we'll have Theo running the ship -- whose reaction upon winning this was, "Let's win another!" I freaking love this team!

Hoping to find a cheap priceline ticket to fly up for the parade!!! See you there!!!
-- flip


survivor of '67, '75. '78 , '86, '03... how sweet it is!
-- DG


Bay State Road was a war zone. I had to hide out in the AEPi MIT Frat on the corner of Sherborn and BSR. I watched the game from 48 Buswell in South Campus of BU. Been a Sox fan since I was six years old. Greatest night of my life.
-- Stev


SOX WIN!
-- Colin


Hi Red. Like I said before, I've been reading this blog for months. I love this team. I love Red Sox Nation. I love you. All the way out here in Seattle. SOX WIN! Love you.
-- bumpkin


I went and sat in my friends lucky chair. I watched Pats beat Oakland, 2 super bowl victories, game 6 and 7 against the Yankees and the clincher tonight. A Boston team has never lost when I sat in that chair. I've lived in LA since 1984 but my heart has always bled for Boston Sports team. This Victory is the sweetest and we'll probably never see anything like it in our lives. Thanks for your site. I enjoy your writing. The piece on Curts Balls was the best. WE"RE WORLD CHAMPS! God Bless. Peter Barker, Los Angeles
-- Peter Barker


Sox b!tch slap the Yankees and win the World F%$#@%&G Series all in one year!!

this is bliss.

From a West Roxbury native who pretended to be Yaz in the school yard it means alot.

Thanks for your great site and Congrats to All
-- Bob


If you all were here right now, I'd give you giant hugs even though I don't know you guys, because that is what Boston was like all night tonight. Share the love, baby.

This is the greatest. I love everything.
-- Paul


I can't believe this is happening. So this is what it feels like to win...

HOLY CRAP WE WON THE WORLD SERIES!!!

If I could sleep right now, I bet it would be my best night's sleep since exactly 18 years ago.
-- Caitriona


i've been reading this blog for awhile-all i can say is that i'm only 18,but have been a sox fan for my whole young life. i am so happy right now and i can't believe how this must feel for some people who have been waiting for this night their whole lives. nevermind kerry and bush, THEO FOR PREZ '04!!!!! thank you red sox for such an amazing season with the most amazing postseason run i have ever seen...thank you members of RSN for always "keeping the faith" and never giving up. hell, i could get used to this "world champ boston red sox" stuff. goodnite to RSN as i am delirious with happiness but tired as all hell. GO SOX!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
-- Greg Richardson


Washingtom, DC, sitting next to Red's boss - She forgives you for all the work you haven't done!!!
-- Joe B


At work, in upstate NY. But watched every out. I think I jumped up and down and screamed (but it was okay, everyone know I was gonna)

I think I can forgive Buckner. I think I can watch replays of Dent and Boone. Even Clemens doesn't bother me tonight.

For me, my dad (a Yankees fan who let me go my own way and even let me eat chicken every day before little league just like Wade Boggs did), my mom (late to the party, but took me to Boston many times in the 80s and 90s) and my best friend who called me after the third out crying tears of joy... this is the best EVER.

We'll all wake up tomorrow and it won't be a dream, but I don't want to go to sleep...
-- TK


Perfect

Great season, great night. Thank you Theo - you said it right. Let's do this again next year.

Thanks to you guys for a GREAT job all year long.
-- Damien


Watched the Sox win from Harvard Sq in Cambridge and been crying and laughing and clapping and yelling since then. People were driving down Mass Ave. honking and slowing down to high five people like me out in the street! And calling friends and relatives who have endured with me.

I'm still dumbstruck that this happened. How could they win, without even a hint of concern for superstition or whatever? A SWEEP!

My God! Thank you Sox, thank you RSN, thank you Surviving Grady! For, without you all, I'm sure I would not have survived, would not have made it through the season or the MFY, would surely never have had as much fun as I did, without this site and all of your amazing enthusiasm! Thank you!!!!!!
-- Sam


Washington, DC. the Rhino Bar. Best Red Sox bar in DC. 500 people crammed into a little space. Dancing. Screaming. Yelling. Cheering. Miracles do happen! What an amazing season. What an amazing three post season series. So many coincidences. The Sun, moon and stars all agreed that October 27, 2004 the Red Sox would win the World Series!

THE RED SOX WON THE WORLD SERIES!!! THE RED SOX WON THE WORLD SERIES!!!

May 28+ statues be erected around Fenway park of the best baseball team and managers to ever grace the sport.
-- Joseph


Let's do it again!
-- Joe


this new identity fits quite nicely, thanks.

if anything, i love the red sox MORE.
-- beth


I've read the blog most of the year, but I haven't said a word. But since you asked so nicely…

Watched the game out here in western MA with a few friends. Pretty much collapsed in tears when it was over. I still can't believe it.

It's been a great year. Thanks for writing. Let's do it again next year.
-- John


I cannot even begin to describe my state of mind right now, unless 'spattered all over the floor' is a valid state of mind.

Blog entry explains all. No more thinky-think for the BFIM tonight. Today. This early morning. Brain-bits go away when peanut man throw ball at happy cute first base standing man. Sleep now, dreams of cylinders made from lots of little flags. Yes.
-- Boston Fan in Michigan


This might be better than sex.
-- Lone Boston fan in Yankee Land


The Boston Red Sox are 2004 World Series Champions! That sure sounds nice!

The best thing I've heard about it is that when they have the home opener at Fenway next April 11th to raise the banner at Fenway Park the Yankee's will be there to watch it!
-- Bill P


Red Sox fan in Pennsylvania! Grew up a Sox fan and have waited for this for 25 years! Have family roots in Mass and thanks Dad!! We did! We believed! We still Believe!

Keep your Sox on!
-- Kyle


Awesome!! What can you say!

All around New England (like here in Orono, ME) we are partying like 1918(although I doubt they partied like this then)!!!!!!!
-- Jake


sox fan in central ma.

they made it look easy.
-- tones


Wow-- an electronic high-five to every other elated soul in Red Sox Nation. Derek Lowe is Da Man. The odd man out in the postseason roster, and he wins the clincher in the ALDS, ALCS, and World Series. Like John Smoltz, the guy was written off as a psychological liability, a nervous wreck in the big time, yet he's the one who rescues us from disaster in Game of the ALCS, sends the Yankees home early in Game 7, and clinches it in the WS. And Foulkie baby-- the guy has icewater in his veins. In Game 1 against the Cardinals, if he doesn't overcome Manny's errors to blank the Cards like that-- when they'd loaded the bases with one out in the top of the eighth-- this whole series, and history, takes a markedly different course. And Schilling. And Pedro. And Manny and David and of course, Varitek and Mueller and Bellhorn. Can't stop naming the contributors-- this is a true championship team.

Also a hats off to Galen Carr, Dave Jauss and Jerry DiPoto on the Sox scouting staff. These guys are unsung heroes, and as Dave Gammons over at ESPN noted (http://sports.espn.go.com/mlb/gammons/story?id=1910209), these were the guys who put together the master strategy against the Cardinals' lineup, the gameplan that Varitek, Lowe, Pedro, Curt, Foulke, Embree, and Timlin were able to edit as needed. This victory helps to ratify that already historic comeback against the Yankees in the ALCS.
-- Wes Ulm


wow...words cannot even describe this feeling of being champion. say it with me THE BOSTON RED SOX WON THE WORLD SERIES. WOW. its unbelieveable. words cant describe it
-- dan


Thanks, Red and Denton. This site has helped keep me sane over the last half season.

Thanks, Theo. Thanks, Tito. And all the idiots--25 MVPs. What a *team*.

Unbelievable.

Finally.

-- Rick


What a beautiful thing! Been laughing and crying ever since 10.40 CDT last night. Bill Reynolds's piece in the Prov. Journal today made me cry like a baby - sums it up perfectly. Go read it and cry too. Thank you guys, and thank you Sox. I was at game 3, sad I missed game 4, but overjoyed nevertheless.
-- James


Syracuse NY...Lifelong fan in enemy territory, originally from Worcestor. My Dad passed the faith on to me. He's been gone 15 years, but I know he saw this. I have in turn passed the faith on to my 9 year old son cautiously as I'm sure all will understand. He welcomed it along with all of the baggage. Took him to Fenway in August, he hasn't stopped smiling since. I am exhausted, both physically and emotionally. But I am seriously considering a 10 hour road trip for the parade. I want my son to remember this season forever, remember the connection it gave him to a grandfather he never met and pass it on to his own children someday. God Bless The Boston Red Sox and All who love them.
-- Tim


Greetings from Saint John, New Brunswick, Canada - the home base of Boston Red Sox fans in Atlantic Canada (we're about 5 hours north of Boston by car). Great site - I checked the post-game commentary after every playoff game and thoroughly enjoyed it. Watched game 4 last night at Rookies Pub & Billiards on Union St. in Uptown Saint John with quite possibly the most hardcore Sox fans in all of the Great White North; The post-game show was great and it was only until they started playing Etta James' "At Last" right at the end did a few tears start to flow. I only wish I could be down pahtying in Boston, getting wicked retahded off some Sam Adams with the rest of my Red Sox Nation brethren this weekend. Rest assured, the Red Sox fans of Saint John will be there in spirit.
-- Paul Barnes


There are no words. This blog got me through the good, bad, and ugly this season. Thank you. Thank the SOX. Thank God.
-- Nan


All is light...sweetness and light!

Much love to the Nation!

J-

PS: When do pitchers and catchers report?
-- Jeff K


WE DID IT!!!!

"Let there be joy in baseball again, like in the days when Babe Ruth chased an enemy sportswriter down the streets of Boston and ended up getting drunk with him on the waterfront and came back the next day munching on hotdogs & boomed homeruns to the glory of God." - Jack Kerouac, 1959

Someday I would like to look in the stars and say, ‘Damn, we did it’.- Ted Williams

TED WE DID IT!!! HAPPY DAYS ARE HERE AGAIN!!!!!!
-- Chris P.


Red Sox win the World Series. I love the sound of that. Once the final out was recorded I called every Sox fan I know and we screamed and yelled into the phone. 86 years finally swept away. NO ONE and I mean NO ONE can chant 1918 to any Sox fans. This team throughout the entire season and post season, it's never over till it's over. This team deserves it. I love this team. You won't find a better bunch of "Idiots" than this team. Hell of year. Let this sink in. Let's all enjoy this one Red Sox Nation.

"After 86 years the Boston Red Sox are World Champions!!"
-- Otto


I was at home in Wethersfield CT with my wife. Unfortunately, my 3 year old daughter was fast asleep down the hall so I couldn’t scream like i needed to.

Holy ****! This is amazing.

I work in southwestern CT where the MFY fans greatly outnumber sox fans. I cant even begin to describe how great a feeling it is to have Yankee fans walk up to me all morning to shake my hand and say congratulations. As we speak, one of them just tossed me a BabyRuth candy bar!! Ha! LOL!

Holy ****! This is amazing.

My wife's 95 year old grandmother has been a life long sox fan. Up until this past spring she has been in great health. Last year, she was so pi**ed when they lost. Unfortunately, she had a stroke earlier this year. She is doing remarkably well, but her cognizence of the moment comes and goes. I plan on visiting her on a daily basis and reminding her that the SOX JUST WON THE SERIES!!! I hope she can at least enjoy this for a few moments.

Holy ****! This is amazing.

Thank you Red Sox. Thank you SG. Thank you Boston. (Pats, Both Uconn hoops teams, and the Sox all in one year, AWESOME!)

BOSTON RED SOX 2004 WORLD SERIES CHAMPIONS!
-- jammer


I want to hug every Sox fan I see within ten thousand miles. Opening Day is going to be one huge group hug.

Can't believe I stayed home for last night... but I was DEAD tired from the previous four games... I could barely drive myself home, let alone stay out all night anywhere.

Anyone else get the feeling that just like our other team with hearts of champions, the Patriots, the Old Towne Team ain't quite done yet?
-- Steve


THANK GOD! LOVE OUR SOX! That team's got MOXIE!!
-- Jason in DC


So, did anybody feel all depressed and robbed of their identity last night after the game?

Me neither! It feels SOOOOOO freaking good. Like Schilling said...for Teddy, Yaz, Pudge, Looie, Spaceman, etc...they led us to dream. And now the Idiots have brought us the rest of the way!!

Incidentally, was in my locker/apartment in Inwood, NYC last night when the final outs came. Wanted to go to a bar earlier in the game but couldn't stand to walk away from the screen for a second. Surrounded by wife and in-laws, who aren't really baseball people, but I got a call from my dad, from two of my huge Red Sox fan buddies from downtown, called a guy from my hometown in TX, and just drowned in all the pure, unadulterated joy. Unbelievable. But we still all believed!!

I hope all the Red Sox fans who have been following the team for years and years without fail, who knew the team before I was even into baseball, really, really enjoy this, because this is really for them, and they so deserve it. The Red Sox have the most faithful fans in baseball, and nobody deserves better than what we've gotten to see in the last couple weeks!
-- Gaj.


2004 WORLD CHAMPION RED SOX!!!

Still hard to fathom isn't it? I'm not sure it's quite sunk in yet. But I watched the game in a big bar in downtown Nashua and when it ended everyone was just screaming and giving high fives to eachother. All the fire trucks from the local firehouse just drove down Main St. with all their lights on, the firemen all yelling. It was surreal. As I walked home there was this big guy coming the other way and even though we didn't know eachother at all we just shook hands and hugged and said "we did it" and went on our way. I hope I can get into Boston on Saturday. It's going to be UNBELIEVABLE!!!

P.S. Yankees suck
-- Tim


It's a bit late in the day, but I'll chip in with my two penn'th: I was sat in my darkened living-room in the suburbs of Paris, hunched over my PC at 5:40am, in the virtual company of the members of the Survivng Grady message board. I'm not quite a card-carrying member of Red Sox Nation, but I love this ballclub and its passionate fans, and it was sweet to share those moments of magic with them. When Foulke lobbed the ball to first, I did the crazy pumped-fist dance thing (in silence) and then headed off to work with a silly grin on my face. What a day. What a team.
-- Iain


Where was I? In my living room with my red-headed wife and my 10 year old son. My wife had never followed baseball until last year. She endured my anguish after Game 7 in the Bronx. This year she cut out the red sock pairs logo and hung them in the living room window before the Series started. When Foulke got the grounder and threw out Renteria, she cried...

I've never been to New England. The farthest north I've ever traveled is DC. So how did I become a Red Sox fan? It was passed to me through my dad and my papaw (as we say down here). In the 1940's there were no Atlanta Braves. Southerners didn't have a regional baseball team to root for.

My papaw was an independent Baptist preacher in the mountains of western North Carolina. He lived the austere life his parishoners expected of him. In fact, when my dad played football and baseball in high school, my papaw sat in his car in a gravel lot beside the field and watch...had he been seen in the stands during those games it would've sparked rumors around town. Preachers were not to corrupt themselves with worldly events. My dad didn't fully understand this, and their relationship was somehwat strained.

The one thing they shared in common was listening to baseball games on their battery-powered radio. They lived in one of the remotest parts of the mountains, adjacent to the Great Smokies and Joyce Kilmer National Forest. Radio reception was poor due to the rugged terrain; the only station on which they could pick up baseball games was a Mutual Broadcasting System frequency somewhere up the East coast. They fell in love with the Boston Red Sox * the Dom DiMaggio/Johnny Pesky/Ted Williams Red Sox. And being Southerners, hillbillies, they intuitively hated the New York Yankees. If nothing else the Red Sox were the anti-Yankees.

The Sox were their secret passion, their diversion from the spartan existence of a poor community. Papaw was born in 1918. He never owned a TV, never saw the Red Sox play visually. But he loved to hear their games on the airwaves. He died a relatvely young man, a heart attack victim after preaching a sermon in Harriman, TN, July 1967. I was six years old, sitting in my dad's lap, watching him grieve silently as the Red Sox lost the Series to the Cards in the fall of that year. We were disappointed, albeit proud, when the Sox lost to the Big Red Machine in '75. I can't even remember Bucky Dent. I was in grad school in '86, and distinctly remember talking to dad on the phone after that fateful game 6. "We'll win it tomorrow" I said.
Last Wednesday, the 20th, was my 43rd birthday. What a present the Sox
delivered. Last night was even sweeter. I haven't talked to my dad yet. At 65 he still works * in broadcasting, no less * and he gets up very early in the morning. But I look forward to catching up with him today. And my 5 year old son * he said, "for Halloween all I want to be is a Red Sox baseball man!" I'm glad his little heart won't be broken this morning.

I can understand that this is largely a New England thing. I do hope, however, that New Englanders will remember that Red Sox Nation includes all kinds of unusual fans in the most unlikely of places. I'm just sorry Papaw wasn't around to see and hear all of this.
-- Chuck


Best. Feeling. Ever.

I was there in '75. Was there in '86.
Thank the Lord I was there tonight...

To my shrink: You're fired!
-- Pietro


It's a beautiful time to be a fan of Boston sports.

It hasn't fully sunk in. I don't know how long it'll take.

All the comebacks, the things that could have happened to derail this team but never happened, the chemistry, the fans, the owners, the scouts, the manager... all of it together got the Red Sox their first World Series in 86 years.

It really was destiny this year.

Red and Denton - great job on the site. This quickly became my favorite fan site for a lot of reasons.

It's going to be a long, but blissful, postseason. See you on the other side.
-- Tom


This was for my grandfather, who took me to opening day in 1946, and for my father, who took me to see Ted Williams many times, and who was there for Ted's last homer. Wherever they are, they're smiling.

Thank you for your blog.

Halleluliah!
-- John G.


Thanks so much for the website!! Made me laugh, made me cry. They won the freakin' World Series. We won! I find myself skipping down the halls today and not even realizing it. I have a big goofy grin on my face, and periodically I start to tear up. I am so happy!! Bring it on 2005!!
-- Kristen


I cannot fucking believe it but my prediction was right we will see on the green monster next year:


2004 WORLD CHAMPIONS
BOSTON RED SOX

That just looks unbelievable
-- Bus


thank you red sox.
thank you bartender.
thank you hubby, for making me a sox fan.
thank you friends, for being there for me.
and thank you surviving grady!! you guys made an already good season even better! keep it up!
i love everyone and everything.
-- sarah


This is unbelieveable.....SOX World Champs????

I hope that somebody had the TV on up in heaven for my DAD........

OH, BTW, F—k you Tim McCarver!
-- makkie04


This is disgustingly great.
-- Mike Page


Where was I when the world stopped turning? Torn between the DC Bar Scene and the Getting Drunk at Home Scene, I eventually decided to go back to my parents’ house and watch with my dad and sister. The 3 of us have spent many a night together ever since the advent of MLB radio (growing up without cable is tough) listening to the Sox. I was away at college last year for game 7 and I will never forget the sorrowful e-mail my dad wrote me the next day, urging me to “focus on other things” and “take some time off.” In any case it seemed fitting that we all share the moment together – not to mention my mom provided me with 5 glasses of expensive champagne immediately upon the final pitch.

The Cardinals never knew what hit ‘em. The World never knew what hit ‘em. The 2004 Sox are the most lovable, thrilling, amazing, inspired, tenacious, unconventionally but devastatingly attractive, group of guys anyone could assemble, and Theo Epstein is a genius for doing just that. From Manny Ramirez to KEITH FOULKE THE GREATEST MAN ALIVE to David McCarty (my favorite forgotten hero), every single player who took the field all season was 100% in. I’m amazingly thrilled with this outcome, so happy for all of sox nation, and really grateful to Red, Denton, and everyone else who made this website so awesome. As if ANYTHING could make a Red Sox World Series victory even sweeter... somehow you guys pulled it off. Thanks and congrats. (ps- "Jason Varitek, shortstop." Priceless.)
-- lizzie


April 11, 2005.
Opening Day.
Fenway Park.
We hoist the World Series Banner.
And then we play the Yankees.
Be there.
Be VERY there.
-- spd rdr


"I don't believe in curses, I think you make your own destination."-- World Series MVP Manny Ramirez

great site!
-- alden


Un-Freaking believable!!!!!! I'm counting down the days till Spring 2005 when we get to display out WS flag right in front of the NY Yankee's faces!!!!!! Eat that Steinbrenner!!!!!!
-- Krista


This is still not completely sinking in. We won?

I'm sure it will finally hit me in January sometime.
-- Sean


I spent all of last night smiling and crying. This season, the ups and downs, the tests of our courage and the constant reminders to "keep the faith"... it's been so fucking worth it.
-- Tatiana


OH GOOD GOD! I can not believe it! The Boston Red Sox are WORLD CHAMPIONS!! This makes up for the heartache of '86 when I watched the ball go thru Buckner's legs and the not so much of a victory parade go by my high school with Calvin Schiraldi actually smiling and waving (what for? You lost!) We won it all!! God, I love this team!
-- Michelle


I feel that tiredness only marathoners and fans of World Series winners must feel. Last night Wilshire Boulevard in Santa Monica, CA had screaming Red Sox Fans on every corner--TV trucks, police, people honking horns and waving from cars, several "yankees sux!" chants and sloppy, deliriously happy RSN citizens in jubilant celebration. Now I'm back at work, and no one understands why I have huge bags under my eyes and a silly smile on my face. At least I have y'all to share this unbelievable moment in history...
Keep up the amazing work--you guys ROCK.
-- Ariel


Holy crap.
-- Larry Young


...watching in a bar in central square... called my father up in the bottom of the ninth and said "so far, so good, huh?"-- to which he replied "not over yet. not after '86".

then after the game, getting doused in champagne by the bartenders. people passing bottles around; one swig for the red sox, another one for me, then pass the bottle along. jumping on a stool and just yelling along with the crowd.

we also charged out into the street, running screaming into the (slow) traffic on mass. ave, high-fiving cars as they drove by. nearly every car had two or three hands stuck out the passenger side, just going down the line of people outside the bar.

walked over to harvard square, got free hotdogs & coffee outside cardullo's, more watching of the postgame show on the TV outside their window... replays of bucky f'ing dent, bill f'ing buckner, and aaron f'ing boone. meanwhile, what looks like the harvard marching band is playing non-stop, perched on the wall by the harvard square T stop, to an assembled throng.

i woke up this morning only moderately hungover; just enough to not be able to order breakfast coherently. i didn't mind at all that the guy behind the counter couldn't take my order, either. he kept asking me every minute "so... what'd you want?". i finally told him i really didn't care what i ate-- i'd have whatever he could make for me. turns out he'd also been up until 4 celebrating, but his shift started at 6am. i think we just looked at each other and grinned stupidly for about 30 seconds. i got an omelette

it's a good day today.
-- rook


HIS....TOR.....YYY

Didn't just win....
0-3 to 4-3. RECORD, 1st in Baseball
8 wins in a row in playoffs. RECORD.
Never lost lead in series. T-RECORD.
Led in every first inning. RECORD.
What'd I miss?

FORGET LAST 86YRS, MADE OUR OWN
HIS....TOR....YYY
-- Jeff


What am I suppose to do now? I ran around all night like an idiot on campus here, and then I got hugged by a streaker and even that didn't bother me. I don't know if I've ever been this happy. What am I suppose to do tonight at eight? There aren't anymore games to watch, and so I guess I'll do all that homework I've been skiping and I know it was worth it.
-- Tom Gordon


First of all, I love this website!!!! Second, last night. I'm in college way out in California. I've taken over our dorm room with Red Sox articles on the walls. Last night, when they got that last out, all I could do was put my hands over my face and cry. Then, I managed to get my hands to stop trembling enough to call my dad back home in CT. We simply screamed, over and over. I ran outside and called my friends back East, and celebrated with the five or six other people going nuts on my campus. And as I blissfully screamed on the phone with my best friend, who's in Boston, I looked up and saw an incredible lunar eclipse. The Boston Red Sox won the World Series. Magic.
-- Kat


It's been several hours now, and I'm sure now that I wasn't dreaming! I hated not being in Boston for this experience, but truly it still feels good out here in Colorado!

I talked to my dad last night and he was as giddy as a 5 year old about it. He just wished that his dad could have been here to see it too!

Bring on next year and lets screw the Yanks again! We're the Champs, but we still hate you!
-- Maura


I'm so jealous of all of you in New England! I'm a transplant from the capital of Red Sox Nation to the US capital, and people here can't understand how MIND BLOWING this win is!! I had to watch the game alone last night (better than with my yankee-loving friends!) but it didn't stop me from cheering my head off when Foulke got that last out.

Ignore the Yankees fans who say we need 19 more wins to rival them. That was then, and this is now: the Sox have proved that they are not only better than the Yanks, they're the Best Team in Baseball!

Not only are these guys great players, but they're inspiring. After Game 3 of the ALCS, McCarver said that if they didn't plan on winning the next 4 games, they might as well not show up on Sunday. I had just about given up on them for this season when they proved everyone wrong and defied the odds. Years from now, when I have kids and I'm teaching them never to stop trying, I'm going to make them watch a highlight film of this post season.
-- Jeanne


I can't wait for the ESPN Classic moments, and the DVD, and the books, and hearing people say that the 2004 Boston Red Sox are the only team to ever overcome a 3-0 deficit, and how they are the only team to win 8 straight playoff games.

We rewrote history this week.
-- Tom


want to know something strange?

1986 we blew that game.. 86 years we haven’t won a championship now we win and it feels amazing
-- John


Does anyone remember the old Batman TV show,the one that had Frank Gorshin as the Riddler? Remember how he would kinda wiggle his fingers and do that manic laugh?

I'm doing that.
-- CousinSteve


For a more recent reference, I pulled a C. Montgomery Burns.

"Excellent."
-- Tom


It was my 40th birthday yesterday and I had tickets for Game 6 that I didn't want to have to use.

Watched the game at home wearing the "lucky" gear and unshaven beard I had worn every game since ALCS #4. DLowe was nails and I was strangely calm and confident through the entire game. Quite a change for me as in game 6 of the LCS I had to walk the dog 4 times to keep my heart rate below 200.

Game 6 in 1986 was the 2nd worst moment of my life but now it's over and the hurt, longing and frustration are gone.

Replaced by what?

Hope, joy and the expectation of spring when the balls are rolled out onto the green grass in Florida. WITH THE BOSTON RED SOX AS THE DEFENDING WORLD SERIES CHAMPIONS.
-- John Moore


... At home, watching in excited anticipation.. and we won.. OH, MY GOD we just won the world series!!! Y'know what'll be even better? The ring ceremony happens in front of New York (if my rumor mill is correct.. oh, I love my hometown, I love the fans, I love the team.. I'm still speechless, and euphoric... but now i need to f*n sleep.... (crash)
-- restless angel


I was born in Boston, but moved to San Diego when I was four. I'm only 16, so I (luckily) never had to go through the heartache of Buckner or Bucky F'ing Dent, but it would still kill me to see those replays. Last year was my first year as a die-hard member of RSN, so I do know what heartache feels like. After game 7 of the ALCS last year, I cried myself to sleep. This year, I sat in my family room with my mother - just like last year - and watched my beloved Sox record the last out to win their first World Series in 86 years. I jumped up and just began to cry. That was one of the best moments of my life.

My dad's a huge Sox fan, too. A pessimistic one, though, and it's tough to watch an important game with him without getting frustrated. Unfortunately, he couldn't see the game because he was on a flight back home. He got back a few hours after they won, and as he said to me, "When I left this Earth there was a curse, and when I came back down, it was gone."

We toasted the Sox with some champagne, then watched the final 3 innings of the game with my dad. Our celebration didn't end until about 2:30 in the morning, so I ended up not going to my first two classes this morning.

2004 World Series Champions: The Boston Red Sox!

I LOVE IT!
-- Anita


We ordered the a bottle of the best champagne the bar had to offer right after the final out.

And I stood in the middle of bar with tears streaming down my face, guzzling champagne.

World Series Champions.
-- Jennifer


So my dad is in Arizona playing baseball right now in the men’s senior baseball league world series. who else is playing there? Bill Lee. So when my dad called to talk to me after the game, he put The Spaceman on the phone. Lee was not particularly coherent, as would be expected, and started rambling about how awesome this win was. he said "you're only 17 so you don't understand the significance of this. but there are people around that saw us win both times. but they're about 100 years old." and i said "and not really all there" and he said "yeah but this is awesome!" and kept rambling some more.

wow. i can't believe we won.
-- Jen


WHOOO! I didn't even go home last night! I live in Toronto...so I didn't get to quite parade the streets of Boston like others... but went to a bar and watched the game... then went back to a friend's house and just literally stayed up the entire night laughing and enjoying the moment with my with my FEW fellow friends who are baseball fans...

Then off to work I went... and I just got home now... sooo i'm getting my first taste of Internet post-Championship Fever.

I'm lovin this!
--Canuckitude


holy. freakin'. cow.

so everyone has these stories, but but adorable little 80 year old gram, up in vermont, watches every game and has for the past 60-odd years. i think if she had the choice, she would have married ted williams instead of my dear old gramps. i call this woman at midnight last night after they won and she was still awake...she took her "nighttime" pill later so she would be able to stay up. how freakin cute is she??

anyway, i was in my evil finance class til 10pm last night, getting text messages from EVERYONE every time something happened in the game. raced home afterward and watched everything else unfold with my roommie...

this is so awesome...less than 24 hours later and i still don't think it has really set in for everyone how amazing this is.

they did it. we did it. YAY BOSTON!
-- bex


I moved home from LA (where I was forced to suffer through MLBTV webcasts) at the begining of September, since that day I was in place to watch every single game from then 'till now. All year long I had this nagging feeling that if I didn't move home, they Sox were going to the Series. I figured that I'd rater be home and see them lose than be on the wrong coast and watch them win. Luckily I don't have to worry about that now.

I watched at my brother’s new house, on a 72 inch HD TV with his insane surround sound set up. We made home made french fries and beer battered onion rings, we screamed, the TV was up so loud it shook light bulbs out of the sockets due to the base. When we won, everyone was screaming and passing around the bottle of Knobb Creek (which was our champagne). I went to work today on 3 hours of drunken sleep, unable to speak due to the alcohol and screaming. It's amazing. Simply amazing.

I found your blog while I was still in California, almost a year ago. I've checked it every single day and you've never disappointed me. Thanks for a fantastic season and I look forward to the '05 rants.
-- Stephen (back in Mass from SoC)


Long had a soft spot for the Sox, but this is the first year I've followed game 1 through 176 (heckuva year to start, eh!)

Great blog, guys. Congrats, Red Sox Nation. Take a moment to reflect on the Yankee Century past as you greet the dawn of Red Sox Millennium.
-- Jimb


For dad. Thanks.
-- jg


Thoughts from Busch... section 252 row 10 seat 11...

Damon hits one out... Lowe is on... Trot sure has a lovely swing... Keith tosses to first...

The next day... the sun came out in St Louis. I round a corner heading to get some coffee to wake my head up and see that USA today headline "Sox Reverse Curse" It was a beautiful thing.
-- nick

The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America is ruled by it like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game, is a part of our past, Ray. It reminds us of all that once was good, and that could be again. Oh, people will come, Ray. People will most definitely come.

-James Earl Jones as Terence Mann

The Red Sox are the 2004 World Series Champions. It's been 24 hours and I've said or thought those words a million times since Foulke snared the final out in the ninth, but it still doesn't make sense to me. I've waited so long and now that it's here, I don't know how I'm supposed to feel. Don't get me wrong, I know I'm loving it, hell, I'm probably still in shock, but it still feels so...different? Am I crazy?

Baseball is so much more than a sport or a game, it is a tradition. It is a bond formed between fathers and sons and daughters that lasts a lifetime. It starts with the first game of catch, buying the first glove, the first tee ball game. It is going to the first Red Sox game together. I honestly don't remember my first walk up the ramp, seeing the gem that is Fenway Park for the first time, seeing the Green Monster. But I do know the awestruck expression on each of my daughters' faces when I took them up that ramp for the first time. And that, I will never forget.

The love of baseball is passed down from generation to generation like a sacred family heirloom. It runs through the fabric of our lives, growing stronger as we grow. And at some point, at least for those of us lucky enough to be Red Sox fans, it becomes a passion. We shed the burden of winter each year and are filled with hopes and dreams when we hear that pitchers and catchers are reporting to spring training. We live and die each night with the players on the field during the dog days of summer. When the days begin to shorten and the nights grow cooler, we cling to whatever or whoever we can, telling ourselves that this might be the year. And finally, this is the year.

And when it really started to look like these guys had that something special (for me it was winning Game 5 of the ALCS) that could get it done, who did we turn to? For most people, it was their dad. The man that planted the seed in our hearts that has grown into the love for America's favorite past-time. Go back and read yesterday's comments. Nearly all of them mention calling their dad, or wishing their dad was still around to experience this. The stories were beautiful, thank you all for sharing them with us.

What we witnessed over the past two weeks was historical. But if history has taught us anything, this could very well be a once-in-a-lifetime experience. So enjoy it. Savor it. Squeeze every bit of pleasure that you can out of it. And share it. This is not some guilty pleasure to be coveted in your heart or mind. It is a gift. It is ours to share. I get as much pleasure seeing what this means to others as I did watching it unfold myself. So many people waited a lot longer than I did, suffered a lot more disappointments than I did, and I am so happy to see them get a World Series.

If you haven't already done it, drive over to your dad's. If he lives far away, call him. Talk about the team, the series, what it means to him. I would if I could. My dad listened to every game on the radio when I was a kid. I know that wherever we go when we leave this place, whether it's heaven or a cornfield in Iowa, he listened to this series and he is smiling.

Hey Dad, wanna have a catch?

Foulke snaring the final out. Minty raising his hands in victory. Leskanic dropping to the ground and making "snow angels." Dave Roberts on Timlin's shoulders. Curt pouring beer over Johnny Pesky.

Tonight capped the single most incredible season of our lifetimes. We are dizzy, drunk, hoarse and crazed. And we won't be sleeping tonight. So talk to us, Red Sox Nation.

If you read this blog but never left a comment, do so tonight. Let us know who you are, where you are, and what you were doing when the ghosts were vanquished and the Red Sox won the World Series.

The Red Sox won the World Series.

It sounds better every time I say it.

And to my Dad, who took me to my first game at Fenway when I was 8, officially baptizing me into Red Sox Nation, I say thank you, thank you, thank you. Now we know what it feels like.

The St. Louis Cardinals are on life support, and the Boston Red Sox are standing on their air hose. Tomorrow, Derek Lowe will try to pull the plug. In doing so, the Red Sox will have finally vanquished all of their demons, and the Nation will be free at last of it's long-standing misery.

The hopes of St. Louis began wilting early in Game 3. Manny-power provided the Sox a 1-0 first-inning lead on a no-doubt homer. Relentless hitting up and down the starting line-up would add three runs in the fourth and fifth. The Cardinals had chances in the first and third to get to Pedro. But horrific baserunning and heads-up defense picked Pedro up, helping him escape the third. Then he took over.

Martinez was on cruise control for the next four innings. Four perfect innings where he struck out five, including Edmonds and Sanders to end the seventh. It was vintage Pedro. Seven innings, three hits, two walks and six K's. In what may have been his last outing as a member of the Red Sox, he silenced his critics, regained the respect he deserves, and carried his team one step closer to glory. Lights freakin' out.

The shots of the St. Louis fans are becoming disturbing. They are wearing hangdog looks, holding their heads in their hands. They are desperately turning their hats inside-out and clinging to their "curse" signs. They are waiting for the ghost of the Babe with the same pathetic anticipation as Charlie Brown waiting for the Great Pumpkin. They are wringing their hands and looking around with glazed-over eyes devoid of hope. The scenes are disturbing because these actions are always by people wearing Red Sox shirts and hats. And these are the same looks I saw in the mirror last year at this time. And I have to keep reminding myself that it's not happening to us this time.

It is not time to get poignant yet. There is a long winter coming and plenty of time for that. There is still work to be done. Nine innings. Twenty-seven outs. This is not the time to get soft. The Sox smell blood and must finish what they started so long ago. For Theo and the front office, it started the day after Game 7 of the 2003 ALCS. For others it was Spring Training and for some it was mid-season. But our time is coming, make no mistake about that. It may be as soon as 24 hours from now.

Good morning, beautiful! Lovely dress.

Okay, you're probably wondering what's been going on with me lately. Falling asleep in meetings. Missing deadlines. Perpetual five o'clock shadow. The distinct smell of whiskey on my breath. Hair askew, tie mangled. Drooling on The Patterson File. Not making lewd comments when Felicia from accounting strolls by.

I'm off my game. And it's painfully obvious to all of you.

Well, I just want you to know that it's not my fault. I place the blame squarely on the shoulders of Major League Baseball and, more specifically, the Red Sox.

As you well know, our boys are in the playoffs. And they're doing quite well. So well, in fact, they've made it all the way to the World Series, that most elusive butterfly that's finally flitting within distance of our oversized net.

As a result, I haven't had a full night's sleep this month. Not since this roller coaster began with the ALDS, which now seems an eternity ago.

But I want to assure you that it will all be over soon.

This week, the Red Sox are either going to win or lose the World Series. If they win, coffee and donuts are on me for the rest of the year. I'll man the grill at the company cookout. I'll mow the goddam office park lawn on the weekends. Your car? Consider it waxed and buffed for the rest of your days, my friend. President's 80-year-old secretary needs a little cozying-up-to on those lonely Saturday nights? Er, I know a guy.

If they lose, well... that's where it could get rough. Remember last year around this time, when I dropped that unexpected cockpunching on Tico, the copy machine repairman, because he said something about Aaron Boone? You'll probably see some simliar "antics."

You just have to understand. It's been a stressful time for me. No one lives and dies with this team like I do, and everyone at the office know this. So I'm the guy they come to, every day, to ask about the games, to gauge my reactions, to hear about my game-viewing rituals [my new thing, no joke, is running toward the TV as a pitch is uncorked], and to learn what time the riot police eventually showed up at my door.

It may seem strange to you, but I'm standing on the precipice of something I never thought I'd witness in my lifetime [besides, you know, that Hall & Oates reunion I'd been praying for]. It is bigger than anything. Ever. And it demands my full and complete concentration.

That means not just watching the games, but also the pre-game. The post-game. The websites. The blogs. The newspaper articles. The radio talk shows. Kicking off my day with a nutritious bowl of "Mike Timlin: The Cereal." It is every hour on the hour, and I just can't let things like work interfere with the mojo.

So today, just so you know, when we meet to discuss next year's ad budget, I'll be thinking of Pedro, wondering how he's going to perform tonight on the biggest stage of his life.

Tomorrow, when we proof the new marketing collateral, I'll be dreaming of parade routes and the image of Curt Schilling hoisting a World Series trophy over his head in City Hall Plaza.

And next week, during management training, I'll either be the happiest fella in the auditorium, or a homicidal shell of a man, plotting to take out the CEO because he wears his goatee just like that Suppan prick.

But let's just pray it doesn't come to that.

Affectionately yours,

Red

P.S.: Regarding the recent inquiry into who spray painted "Arroyo Rocks Your Balls Off" on the walls of the first floor conference room? Wasn't me.

The Red Sox are going to win the World Series.

There. I said it out loud. And I am not afraid. I know we were in the same position in '86, being up two games, but this, my friends, is not 1986. This is a team whose whole is so much more than the sum of its parts. These guys want to win. As much for their teammates (also known as friends) as they want it for themselves. Remember the Wakefield/Varitek exchange after the passed ball? No anger, no frustration, just support. Same thing last night. The Varitek/Mueller foul ball. No problem, they messed up, it's over. So Schilling gets the guy two pitches later.

And yes, I did bow in respect when I uttered the name of Curt Schilling. I can't think of any accolades that have not already been showered upon the man, no adjectives to describe his performance that haven't been used to the point of being cliche. With complete disregard for everything, particularly his own body, he has helped lead this team to where they are. He expects perfection from himself and those around him, while inspiring them to greatness. He has singlehandedly shattered the myth of the "fragile baseball player". He is beyond compare.

Tomorrow, Pedro Martinez pitches in what may very well be his final start as a member of the Red Sox. Expect greatness. This team must go for the kill. Shatter any illusion of "pulling a Red Sox" the Cardinals might be clinging to. Step on their throats until they are figuratively dead.

And this Red Sox team can do it. They have taken a 2-0 series lead while playing bad baseball. Four errors in each of the games from a team that was built with an eye towards improving defense. They have gotten away with at least one baserunning mistake. To me, this is good news, in hindsight of course. Eliminate the extra outs, keep runners off base, and the wins will come easier. It is hard to imagine we can keep the Cards big hitters quiet, but the damage is easily minimized by keeping everyone else off base.

Tim McCarver quotables from last night


"Usually guys who walk to first, run home".

"Schilling is doing in one season..."...insert 30-second pause..."what some players take...15...or 16 years...to accomplish".

Friggin' brilliant.

And this just in - Joe Buck was voted as having the "most punchable face" in broadcasting.

Congratulations.

And so we survived Game One of the World Series. The freakin' World Series.

Just when you thought you'd be sleeping again.

But I'm willing to sacrifice some precious Zs to see the Sox take home a World Series trophy. Hell, Boston's already become the Dawn of the Dead. Is any tangible work getting done in offices across the Financial District? Is anyone scheduling early morning meetings next week? If your boss is, treat 'em to a little something I like to call "The Piss Frisbee." That'll teach 'em. [E-mail me for full instructions.]

Beyond the lack of sleep, there'll also be those aches and pains. Last night, the Red Sox reminded us all to keep the Maalox I.V. handy. If Game One is any indicator, we've got another tough week ahead of us.

This one started brilliantly with a Papi three-run dinger in the first inning, but got U-to-the-G-to-the-LY fast, thanks to an ineffective Wakefield, a couple Manny errors and a torrent of hits from the relentless Cardinal bats. The Manny errors were particularly horrific -- plays he has to make if we're gonna go the distance here. The fact that he'd done a bit of "grandstanding" on his previous at bat, pointing his finger toward the dugout as he launched a single to left field [which seemed to steam the Great McCarver], didn't make these flubs go down any easier.

But in the end, this band of self-proclaimed "idiots" came through again, with Robo-Bellhorn hitting his third home run in as many consecutive postseason games, and dizzying us all up with thoughts of the Sox actually winning this thing.

Also, good things happen when Johnny Damon gets on base, and he continued the revival kicked off in Game 7 of the ALCS, getting two hits, scoring a run and knocking one in. So to the future Mrs. Damon, I say: Whatever yer doing, keep it up.

On a serious note, it was a game that could have slipped away so many times. And previous Red Sox teams may have let it go. But ours in a tenacious bunch, and in a series in which homefield advantage is critical, they found a way to win. Again.

The Cardinals are a tough offensive bunch--Larry Walker is as menacing a hitter I've seen at the plate since Gary Sheffield--so this is going to be one of those chew-yer-nails-down-to-yer-feet kinda series. But after the ALCS, we're already primed to expect nothing short of aliens bursting from John Henry's chest. And we may just get that before we're done.

So here we go. Five straight postseason wins. Pujols and Rolen held to an 0-for-8 showing. Keith Foulke flipped to "autopilot" mode. And we scratch and survive and we have Curt Schilling tonight against Matt Morris, and the possibility of going to St. Louis up two games to none. Which, considering the Card's near-invicibility at home this year and during the playoffs, is exactly how you want to go to St. Louis.

Okay, we won the first two games in 1986 and lost the Series [and thanks to Butch "These Are Happy Times" Stearns for pointing that out immediately following the game]. And we lost the first three games of the ALCS and ended up winning the freakin' thing. So you take from last night's win what you will.

Me? I think any game in which we grab seven runs in the first three innings is a game we have to pocket, so I'm quite thrilled to take that 1-0 edge, thank you very much.

So it's more pacing and stomach aches and missed dinners and blurred vision and missed deadlines and five o'clock shadows and Red Bull taken intravenously.

And we won't stop. 'Cause we can't stop.

Oh, and the "Most Perceptive Journalist Alive" Award goes to the guy who noted during the postgame interview with Bellhorn: "Mark, you seem like a pretty laid back guy..."

Cue Pulitzer music here.

See you tonight.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Notes from Red Sox TV Nation

Actual Dialogue From the Fox 25 Pre-Game:
Cute Blonde Reporter in Monster Seats [to a father and son]: Hey, you guys are in the Monster Seats. Did you catch any balls yet?

Son: We saw like ten get hit up here but we only caught two.

Cute Blonde Reporter [turning to father]: You got two balls? Cough 'em up. Let's see 'em.

Red [at home, watching game on his couch]: Christ, I wish I'd been taping that.


Red Sox This Week on UPN-38 Revisits ALCS
Notable for a good game-by-game overview, a superior musical montage of the post-Game 7 celebration and a quick but funny bit with Keith Foulke taking the American League Championship trophy through security at LaGuardia Airport. This is one to roll tape on while you watch Game 2, and it airs again tonight at 10:30pm [at least it's supposed to be the same episode... you never know with that pesky UPN 38.]

And now... sleep.

Thw World Series begins tonight at Fenway Park.

Say it again, just to make sure it sinks in.

The Red Sox. Are in the World Series. Which begins tonight. At Fenway Park.

Their house. Our house. Tonight.

And with the World Series, comes all the majestic pomp and circumstance.

For example, I love the fact that when I woke up this morning at 4:07am, there was a Red Sox special on ESPN Classic. I love that as we speak, the streets around Fenway are packed with national media trucks. I love the buzz in the air and the smell of burning leaves and the fact that the convenience store down the street now offers five different styles of Red Sox World Series jerseys.

Most of all, I love this team.

See you at 7:30pm.

Remember when the Sox were last in the World Series and suddenly you had Roger Clemens singing that "You're not fully clean/unless you're Zest-fully clean" in a TV soap ad? Actually, his voice was dubbed, but the horrific scars it left on my young psyche will never be repaired.

One of the things about being on the Big Stage in October is that our boys are going to be all over the media over the next week, so we'd better buckle down and prepare for that Johnny Damon Norelco ad and Gabe Kapler for Heinzman Kosher Franks.

The deluge officially began last night, with Curt Schilling appearing on The Late Show with david Letterman to deliver the Top Ten list:

Top Ten Secrets To The Boston Red Sox Comeback

10. Unlike the first three games, we didn't leave early to beat the traffic.

9. We put flu virus in Jeter's gatorade.

8. Let's just say Pete Rose made some phone calls for us.

7. We asked Pokey Reese to be a little less pokey.

6. It's not like we haven't won a big game before--it's just been 86 years.

5. Honestly, I think we were tired of hearing about the Patriots.

4. The messages of encouragement Martha sent on prison napkins.

3. We pretended the baseball was Letterman's head.

2. What'd you expect--we have a guy who looks like Jesus!

1. We got Babe Ruth's ghost a hooker and now everything's cool.

Watch the video, complete with Schill in a Celtics jersey, at the Late Show site.

It's amazing how quickly things can change. One minute, we were soaring above the stratosphere, mocking A-Rod and blowing cigar smoke in the face of Babe Ruth. The next, we've got mobs setting fires and trying to bust up Kenmore Square and a dead college student.

I don't do well with the heavy stuff. Give me a Sox score and a keyboard and I can come up with a coupla reasonably humorous lines. But something like this... as Beth notes today in her outstanding blog entry... it just casts a pall over everything.

I felt it necessary to say something. But all I could conjure is this: The death of Victoria Snellgrove was absolutely, positively senseless, and the thoughts and prayers of every member of Red Sox Nation are with her family this morning.

Victoria's death, and the madness that ensued after the ALCS win, has sucked all the good vibes out of this storybook fable, all I can do is scratch my head and ask, "why?"

When Game 7 of the 2003 ALCS began, I was in New Jersey on business. I sat in a crowded hotel bar with my boss, chewing a burger and sipping a beer and watching the Sox build a 4-0 lead. Surrounded by enemy agents, I kept to myself, silently applauded home runs by Nixon and Miller and shuffled off to my room when the late innings arrived. There, with the TV providing the only light in the room, I paced and moaned and rubbed my brow as I watched the lead evaporate and the unthinkable unravel.

We all know how this one ended. And I, like you, carried it with me for a long, long time. It ate at me as I sat at my desk at work. Churled in my gut as I waded in traffic, listening to sports radio. Haunted me even as the signings of Keith Foulke and Curt Schilling were announced that winter.

If someone had told me back then the way things would unfold in 2004, I would not have believed them.

Does it even make sense? Dude, we were toast. Done. But we came back. And we treated the Yankees to a whipping never before seen in the history of Major League Baseball.

It is too much to digest. A World Series game at Fenway this Saturday night? OC and Minty and Johnny and Curt and Miller and Pedro and Manny on the national stage? With a chance to bury this alleged curse once and for all?

It makes no sense, and yet it's the only thing that does make sense. I dunno. I'm going to bed. I haven't slept in a week. And now I've got a few days off to charge up for Game One.

Today, we'll leave the talking to you. Leave us a comment. Tell us where you were when that final out was recorded. Tell us how you felt. Tell us who you'd like to see us taking on in the World Series. We know you're out there. Talk to us.

In closing, I'm man enough to admit that I was wrong when, four short days ago, I counted them out. Good thing they displayed more faith than me.

See the guy in the photo above? He has balls of steel.

Really.

They are steel.

The children he purports to have are not his spawn. Because his body does not create the chemicals necessary to produce offspring.

Because, as I mentioned, his balls are composed of steel.

Curt's testicles = steel. Like, the metal.

Sure, they're heavy and cause a bit of chaffing. Also, trouser shopping can be adventurous. But they serve him well.

Like in last night's ALCS Game Six. My man had his ankle taped up and shot to high hell with pain relievers and wedged inside a magic boot concocted by the good folks at Reebok. There was rain in the air, wet grass all around, and 55,000 people bearing down on him.

But then the balls took over, and he shut the Yankees down.

The absolute fantastic-ness of this event is impossible to overstate. Two days ago, he was a gimp. A horrific footnote [pardon the pun] to the 2004 season. A million dollar horse that went tits-up when we needed him most.

But then the balls took over. And he was literally a one-legged guy at an ass-kicking contest. And his cleat did find ample ass to strike. And he turned in a one-run-over-seven-innings performance with blood soaking through his socks and sweat coating his back.

It was simply the gutsiest thing MLB has witnessed all year.

On the flipside, we had A-Rod resorting to schoolboy tactics, blatantly knocking the ball from Arroyo's glove on a close play at first, then whining incessantly when he was called out for it.

Maybe God's finally paying attention. Maybe he sees what's up.

Suddenly, the impossible is possible. The economy will rebound. My boss will give me that raise and fit me for the company hovercraft. Angelina Jolie will return my calls. I will get a tan.

My head is spinning and my feet can't touch the ground and we know that this is a different team, because the old team would have given up a three-run jack to former Sox Tony Clark, who represented the winning run at the plate when Keith Foulke whiffed him and made sure we'd be up all night.

I can't sleep. Christ, I can barely breathe. There are blog entries to write. Blog entries to read. Message boards to lurk. Rem-Dawg post-game shows to watch.

And then there's my man Larry Young, who keeps it real on the west coast, whom I e-mailed what seemed a short eternity ago with one simple message: "When the Sox win it all, I'm flying to Cali and kissing you full on the lips."

Tonight, as the Sox romped on the field at the Stadium and the riot police held their ground, he sent his reply: "When do I pick you up at the airport?"

I dare not think it. I dare not speak it. But there's something magical going on. Maybe, just maybe, the ghosts of October can be vanquished once and for all.

And we owe it all to a set of metal onions.

Bless me, Big Papi, for I have sinned.
After the game 3 nightmare, I stopped believing.
I did NOT stop hoping.
I did NOT stop rooting.
But it's true, I did not believe the Red Sox could come back from a 3-0 deficit against the Yankees in the ALCS. Thanks once again to the bat of David Ortiz, and a countless cast of teammates, they are halfway there. And yes, they're livin' on a prayer.

Bringing a whole new meaning to the old cliche, "it's not a sprint, it's a marathon" the Sox outlasted the Yankees in a game that threatened to break the 6-hour mark. Benches and bullpens alike were emptied, not to brawl, but to survive. In the end, Terry Francona put Joe Torre in checkmate, forcing a game 6 back in the Bronx. A game that Curt Schilling will likely pitch. Whatever brash display of arrogance Yankees fans will muster around the water cooler tomorrow, never has a 3-2 lead in a series been so tenuous.

It is impossible to list all of the heroes in tonight's game, but there are a few that must be named. Keith Foulke, coming back after a 50-pitch outing last night, comes out of the pen looking for all the world like Dennis Eckersley. Minus the mullet and 70's porn-star mustache, of course. Tim Wakefield. Three shutout innings despite three passed balls by Varitek in one of them. Bronson Arroyo, shrugging off a disastrous outing just 48 hours ago, pitched a perfect inning with two strikeouts. The bullpen as a whole; 8 innings, 5 hits, 3 walks and 10 strikeouts. Oh, and zero runs. And let's not forget Pedro Martinez, who was perhaps one opposite field slap by Jeter away from winning this game hours ago.

All that being said, this is David Ortiz's team. After being rung up by the third-base umpire when he clearly didn't go around, called out trying to steal second when even the Yankee bootlicking announcers agreed his hand beat the tag, he still came up with the two-out hit in the 14th to end the madness. And Big Papi Nation rejoices.

Put on an extra pot of coffee tomorrow afternoon, 'cause we get to do this all over again. When Curt Schilling hobbles out to the mound in Yankee stadium, a custom-made Nike high-top holding the inner workings out his right ankle together, expect silence. What could the 55,000 ex-cons and mafia-wannabees possibly chant? And the hopes of Boston rest on the technology of footwear and the hearts of their players. My pick for hero of the game tomorrow: Johnny Damon.

But my hand was made strong
By the hand of the almighty.
We forward in this generation
Triumphantly.
Won't you help to sing
These songs of freedom? -
cause all I ever have:
Redemption songs;
Redemption songs.

From Dirt Dogs:

"They're a walking disaster. They act like they're tough, how they care so much about winning, but it's all a front. They're just a bunch of characters." - Gary Sheffield on the Red Sox.

The motto for this year's Red Sox team? What a Difference a Day Makes.

In yesterday's post, I wrote them off for dead, refusing to watch our boys go down to the Yanks again. Today, I am enjoying a side of crow with my wheat toast. And I'm willing to do it three more times if that's what it takes.

Last night, just when everything seemed lost, Dave Roberts, Minty and Mueller combined to pull another one out of Mo Rivera's ass -- something which has, oddly, become our speciality of late. Call me crazy, but as much as I'm willing to acknowledge Rivera's status as the single most dominating closer of all time, I never truly discount the Sox when I hear those chords of "Enter Sandman" these days. And last night, we did it again, tying the game in the ninth before Ortizzle bought us all another day of Boston baseball with a towering two-run homer off Quantrill in the twelfth.

So now we get Pedro vs. Moose. Then, perhaps, Schilling (complete with robo-ankle) vs. Leiber. Are we crazy? Are we dreaming? Who knows. Who cares. Take it one day at a time and enjoy the ride. We're already playing with house money. Maybe this will be the year after all.

I'm done.

Call me a fair weather fan. Call me a bandwagon jumper. Call me anything you want.

This was a postseason that began with so much promise. We were rolling. The Yankees, or so everyone thought, were reeling. This was supposed to be our chance to rewrite the 2003 ALCS. As it turned out, we couldn't even rescript the 1999 ALCS, in which we won only one game.

Just when we thought a return to Fenway would right the ship, get the offense rolling, and sound the guns, we were soundly flattened. Outscored, outplayed, outquaffed, and outclassed. By the fifth inning, we knew it was over. And it stung, didn't it?

So tonight, when Game Four begins, I'll be in bed. Or at the mall. Or drinking in the corner of the shed. Because I can't bear to see Sheffield and Matsui doing the Highland Fling on the Fenway grass. Or Joe Torre hugging Mariano Rivera on our pitcher's mound. Or Kenny Lofton jumping madly, pumping his fist in the air as he charges the field. Or Jeter and A-Rod awash in champagne and making out in the corner of the visitor's clubhouse.

The Yankees are going to the World Series. And we are lying down to ease their passage over us.

Mathematically, anything can happen. We know that this is true. Trust me, I'd kiss Zim full on the lips if I thought it would bring our boys a pennant. But last night's whipping made it painfully apparent that we might not have what it takes. Would I love to see it? Hells yeah! But is it likely. It pains me to say this... but I don't think it is.

I don't like being the voice of doom. I want to be the guy who stands up and rallies the troops and shows up at Fenway to lead the Nation's chorus. I'm sure there are a number of better written blogs out there that will soothe your broken spirits, nurse you back to fighting weight, and dust off your seat on the bandwagon.

But we provide no such service here. I won't be watching Game Four. Because I just can't watch them beat us. Again.

Some day, the Red Sox really are gonna win it all. And it'll be good vibes and sunshine and talking apes and free ice cream and Mayor Menino handing out crisp one dollar bills in City Hall Plaza.

I dream about it every night. How it's gonna feel to watch the other team scurry madly as the Sox unload torrents of beat-down and ass-whoop. The otherwordly insanity when that final out is recorded and we've pocketed it all.

It's gonna be awesome.

But until then... torment.

Please note, I encourage readers to print & save this rant, so that when and if the Sox do perform the unthinkable and stun the world with the single most implausible comeback in the history of baseball, you can call me on it. I am almost begging to be served a steaming plate of crow.

...except out hopes, which are pinned to the chest of Bronson Arroyo. Tonight represents the single most important game of 2004. An absolute must win for the Sox. Momentum can swing. Things can change. Glory can be re-captured. And it all hinges on tonight.

And for those of you attending the game, Dirt Dogs has your chants:

Kevin Brown Chant: ROID RAGE... ROID RAGE... ROID RAGE...
Gary Sheffield Chant: BAL CO... BAL CO... BAL CO...

I'm fondly reminded of the "Just Say No" chant that greeted Darryl Strawberry in 1999's ALCS. Good. Stuff.

Don't call me after 7:30pm. I'll be in "church."

One of Surviving Grady's faithful followers spreading the word.

When I was in Baltimore for the last weekend of the regular season, I saw a few of the players prior to the first game on Saturday. A couple of them were wearing shirts that said "The Time Is Now". Never were those words more true than tonight.

The question mark is not Bronson Arroyo. He has delivered in every pressure situation he has been put in so far this season. There is no reason to doubt him tonight. The last time he faced the Yankees was September 17th in Yankee Stadium, where he gave up 2 ER on 4 hits in 6 innings. He is home gnawing on roofing nails and washing them down with battery acid in preparation for tonight. All eyes will be on the hitters. Johnny Damon and company must jump on Brown early and often. Put the game out of reach and decimate the bullpen for the rest of the series.

The x-factor will be the crowd. Kevin Brown is not Pedro Martinez. He can be rattled, and it is up to the fans to make that happen. I was at the playoff game against Cleveland when the crowd chanted "Jaaarrr-etttt" incessantly whenever Wright was on the field. He folded. The fans should have been given the win that night. If you are going to the game tonight, and you can still speak tomorrow without feeling like you're gargling shards of glass, you didn't do your job.

Personally, I am in my buckskin kilt, war-paint from head to toe and wearing a full head dress and have been doing the Cheyenne Rain Dance since dawn. I want Pedro back on regular rest for game 5. The next time I see Derek Lowe I want it to be in a different uniform, preferably one with a "BK" on the apron as he prepares a flame-broiled burger for me.

In the immortal words of Mayor Menino, Thank you all for coming.

Ever been so mad, so possessed by otherworldy anger that you just wanted to roll on up to the nearest fruit stand, one of those nice, quiet places frequented by old folks and guys wearing straw hats, and simply set fire to it? How about punching a priest square in the nuts (careful... some of them enjoy this)? Kicking a guy in a bunny suit?

Dudes and dudettes, I'm all about the anger right now. And all I can do is type. With two bloody fingers at a time. Talk about a buzzkill.

Tonight's game... do we really want to talk about it? Do we really want to mention the ALCS at all? Somehow the joy has been surgically extracted from Mudville, and everything we loved about this team and all the good vibes we were busy basking in and knitting sweaters with have become cold torrents of rain and disaster and just like that, the Red Sox are down 0-2.

Can't blame Pedro for this one. Not vintage Petey, but a respectable three runs over six innings. He left his blood, sweat and tears on the mound, with 50,000 plus crying for his head.

No, this one falls on the shoulders of the offense.

Our offense has officially left the building. At the worst possible time, no less. And let's be men and women enough to admit that Matsui's fielding was as big a factor in that Game 1 outburst as any of our bats.

Over the first two games, the three hitters at the top of our order [Damon, Bellhorn and Manny] are a combined 3 for 24. Yeah, you read that right. Damon, the worst offender, is hitless in 8 at bats. Bell and Manny have one hit apiece.

Millar is 1 for 7, and has looked positively sickening at the plate, swinging at a few pitches that I swear weren't even in the same dimension.

So now there are five games left in the ALCS. We will need to win four of them. Feel good about our chances? The folks we'll be counting on to help us earn those wins are named Wakefield, Arroyo and [quite possibly] Lowe. Now how do you feel?

Also, we've likely lost Schilling for the rest of the ride.

Suddenly, it's starting to look more like the 1999 ALCS than the 2003 version.

So we're thisclose to watching the Yankees step over us, yet again, on their way to a date with the Cards or the Astros in the World Series. The eternal bridesmaids are we, clearing out our lockers and looking curiously toward a 2005 edition of the home town team that will likely not include Pedro or Lowe. This is our best shot at that elusive brass ring... and we're dropping the ball.

The only silver lining? We do have home field mojo. But we're gonna need every last blessed ounce of it this weekend. Lest we watch Rivera, Sheffield and A-Rod celebrate in our house.

Also, hitting? We'll need to do some of that.

It isn't over yet, my friends.

But doesn't it feel like it is?

There is just too much to say for me to try to fit it into the comments on Red's fine post, so I decided to bring you all of the anger and hostility in the form of a late-morning second post. If you haven't taken in Red's late-night contribution, please scroll down and do so.

OK, it's official. For at least the next week, I am living on Tylenol, Pepto and coffee, lots of coffee. I may write a book about it, call it The South End Diet, and be done with baseball. Or not. So, where does one begin to talk about last night's game? Let's start with Schilling. The "ace". The "workhorse". The "warrior". He was brought to the team with one goal, to bring Boston a championship. Last night he failed miserably. By the third time he was shown wincing as he bent to tie his cleat, I wanted to reach through the TV and put a double-knot in it for him. Please, Curt, you're better than that.

In the third inning, it came completely clear just how inept Francona is. OK, it was pretty clear all season. But if there were any doubters, I think he erased any faith they may have had in him. First, he tries his best to hold to his 7-run minimum for a starter when Schilling had nothing. No velocity. No location. Nothing. Anybody, with the exception of Grady, would have yanked Schilling after the bases-clearing triple and tried to stop the bleeding. Not Tito. Leave him in to finish the inning, that 6th run won't matter, right?

Now we go to the 4th. The starter gets shelled early, we all know the plan. Bring in Lowe. Ahh, that's not Lowe, that looks like Leskanic, and that looks like Myers warming up? So, are we going to play righty-lefty match-ups for the next 6 innings? Terry, I don't think it will work. But it was too late, Francona was on the bench in the dugout, rocking back and forth and mumbling "five minutes to Wopner". Mendoza pitches the 5th and Mussina is still cruising with a perfect game. Here come the Yankees in the 6th...against Wakefield?!? Isn't he our game 4 starter? Five pitches later Lofton is in his homerun trot. Instead of a Tim Wakefield with the fire of redemption burning in his eyes to start game 4, now we have another pitcher wondering about his effectiveness.

By now, I'm seriously rooting for someone, anyone, to break up the perfect game. Everything to me is ugly, in particular the mutant facial hair of Ortiz and Millar. I've also chewed three fingers on my left hand down to the second knuckle, thrown up in my mouth twice, and came within one Aaron Boone replay of becoming a mass-murderer. Then, things change. The bats come alive and Mussina looks more like he should be playing banjo in Deliverance than pitching in Yankee stadium. Ortiz comes within a foot or two of tying the game, while simultaneously making Matsui look like a complete ass-monkey trying to catch the ball. Unfortunately, the 2003 playoff version of Mike Timlin is nowhere to be found and the Yankees quickly get two back. Rivera bends but doesn't break in the 9th, and we are down 1-0 in the series.

Based on the first 6 innings, the loss was not nearly as devastating and demoralizing as it could have been. In fact, I believe the Sox (at least our bats) have some momentum going into tonight's game. As always, I love our chances with Pedro on the mound. He is a fierce competitor with a lot to prove to everyone, including himself. I expect big things and that we will come back to Fenway with the series tied and "Brandon" Arroyo ready for game 3.

A few miscellaneous rants about last night:

- Why were Buck and McCarver talking about Jeter's eyes? That was creepy.
- I expected to use words like "somber" or "focused" to describe Rivers, but he looked freakin' JOVIAL.
- Jeter walking around in the dugout smiling for no reason other than that the camera was on him was one of the times I threw up in my mouth.
- To elaborate on Jeter, every move, every facial expression, every adjustment of his glove is scripted to fit his "calm demeanor" aura. He is a fraud.

To end on a positive not (and to explain the picture), Matsui will be the goat that results in the Yankees losing at least one game in Fenway. He can hit, but he looks like a 3-legged giraffe trying to shag a fly.

And Pedro is still the ace of this team - you'll believe tonight.

It was over in the second inning. Our warrior, our top gun was on the hill. And he couldn't get it done. Had nuthin'. Looked awful. Before we'd polished off our first beer, it was 6-0 and looking impossible.

And then Wakefield, who stymied the Yanks in last year's ALCS until its final, bitter moments, surrendered the last few nails for the coffin. Two more runs, and an eight run deficit, and suddenly you were wondering what it would feel like to get a full night's sleep.

Only it wasn't over. Because the Sox made it interesting. Very interesting. And when Ortizzle's ball popped out of the glove of Matsui -- who is our worst enemy at the plate and our best friend in the outfield -- and the gap was closed to one run, you were born again, looking for snacks, and slapping on the rally cap.

But it really was over. Because Mo Rivera, who is almost untouchable in the regular season and inhuman in the playoffs, came and in got Mr. Cowboy Up himself to pop out weakly to quell the uprising with the tying run just ninety antagonizing feet away.

The last inning... you watched it, but you knew what was coming. Because you saw what Timlin did in the last game of the ALDS. And when it was over, you put away the chocolate cake, returned the beer to the fridge, and started dreaming of tomorrow's game, in which Pedro will have a chance to show the world who is whose daddy.

On any other night, I'd question why Wakefield was even in the game. Myself, I think the world of the guy. But I don't want to see him on the mound for the rest of this Series. Unless we're up by, say, six runs. Might this have been a job for Lowe?

All in all, it was a tough loss, but one in which we all walk away knowing just how resilient these Sox really are. Perhaps it helped us get in the Yanks' heads a bit, gaining us a little more street cred. But in a series in which the first team to collect four goes on the World Series, I would have felt better banking a win.

Understand this: The ALCS will not be easy listening. It is not prime time, family fare designed to inspire dinner table conversation. It is blood and stale beer and grinding teeth and at least one punch-out. In my house, anyway.

As I've mentioned many times before, I'm the guy no one wants to watch the game with. Because I jump. Because I shout. Because I let fly the language that makes mothers cry and young girls squeal. Because, particularly during the playoffs, I become a violent, cantankerous bastard who wants all the pretzels and will drink all the booze, thanks very much, because liquor is the fuel that propels my rage. And my neighbors understand that a Red Sox/Yankees playoff game is the equivalent of an urgent message form the Emergency Broadcast System. It is "get in the shelter because it's all shit mad fury and frozen waffles" time. I don't even know what that means, but my neighbors do. And they pop their iodine tablets and scurry into the darkness at the first sound of McCarver's voice.

It is going to hurt, because these games always do. You will lose your breath. You will stammer. You will experience every flavor of euphoria, then take a metal cleat to the shins.

You will laugh. You will cry. You will jump off the sofa in exhileration. You will curl up in the corner of the room, withered and helpless and stinking of Jaegermeister. You will have the Schilling and the Manny jerseys at the ready, slipping from one into the other during key moments, as if it actually means something.

You will pray for Nixon's balls (the ones he hits, not, like, his testicles) to find their way over the wall, not simply slap against it. You will pray that Air Panama shuts down, locking Mariano in country. You will pray that there will be a World Series game in Boston, because you just sunk $4,325 for a ticket on Ebay.

And you take comfort in the fact that you will not be alone.

Also, some of you have already done this, but we invite your predictions in today's comments thread. Don't be afraid. Take a chance, white boy.

...and we'll reconvene tomorrow.

How to Watch the ALCS [a handy guide]
1. Tune into FOX
2. Press "mute" on your remote to spare yourself the inane blabbering of Tim McCarver and crew
3. Switch channel during prerequisite thirty-four showings of Aaron Boone's home run
4. Switch channel during prerequisite fifty-seven showings of "the Buckner"
5. Laugh loudly and enjoy the inevitable replays of the "Tek feeds A-Rod some glove" clip
5. Activate invisible electric barrier that protects your TV screen from kicks, flying beer bottles and bare asses.
6. Keep a blank tape in the VCR [or roll TiVo] because you know, at some point in this series, someone's going down. Also, if the Sox do end up winning, don't you want the complete set of games captured for posterity and repeated viewings until your final breath? I know I do.

Places Other Than Ball Parks Where I've Heard the "Yankees Suck" Chant
1. A wedding reception in New Haven, CT
2. D'Angelos Sub Shop on Washington Street in Hingham
3. The KISS/Poison Concert at The Tweeter Center in Mansfield (7/2004)
4. The 3:07 Green Line D Train, Brookline Hills stop

How the 2004 ALCS is Going to End [five possible possibilities, all alcohol-inspired]
1. Roberts steals home in Game 6 at Fenway; world explodes
2. Bellhorn rips 13th inning home run in Game 4 at fenway to complete Sox sweep; world explodes
3. Just as OC is about to field an easy ground ball for the third out of the 9th inning of Game 7, Mothra attacks Yankee Stadium, rendering game null and void (under MLB's little known "Monster Island" clause]
4. We win, and suddenly it's non-stop Christmas, with confetti and pretty girls and free beer everywhere you turn. Ortiz and Manny do the Letterman show. Francona gives Grady a wedgie during City Hall Plaza celebration.
5. We lose, and the acid slowly burns our stomachs from the inside out. McCarver notes that "the Curse" is still in effect. OC is seen crying as NY fans dance in the aisles. I eat a live pigeon to make good on a bet with my cousin Luther from Hackensack, New Jersey.

News Alert:
Steve over at Boston Dirt Dogs is rightfully rankled over a shirt being sold through MLB that co-opts Pedro's "Call the Yankees my daddy" line to a woefully lame effect. In the interest of fair play, however, the Big Dog has convinced MLB to agree to produce an anti-Yanks shirt as well. Hop over to Dirt Dogs to cast your vote for best slogan.

Somehow you knew. No matter how the dice fell. No matter how the big wheel turned. No matter how many times you curiously contemplated an Angels-Twins ALCS. You knew it was going to come down to this. And it has. And if this year's show packs even a quarter of the angst and excitement of last year's, I'll have to up my meds very, very quickly.

And from his lush digs in Florida, The Zim has but one request for us all:

"Keep it real."

And so we shall. Starting Tuesday night, Chimpy.

My throat is red raw. My hair is on the floor. One of the living room windows has been punched out. There's a half-eaten turkey sub in the fridge and the other half is churning in my stomach. The neighbors have locked their windows. There are six beer bottles lying in the back yard, right where I flung them. I'm talking to myself again and thrusting my fists into the air for no apparent reason. My knuckles are bruised. My head is still spinning. And the ALCS doesn't even start until next week.

My name is Red. And I'm a Sox fan. Hi.

The game that looked like it was going to remind us just how cruel October can be morphed into a lesson on just how resilient the 2004 Red Sox are. Now, for the first time in four days, I'm going to sleep. For at least eight straight hours.

And I would recommend that you, my comrades, bank those precious Zs while you can.

Because next week, we will all be restless.

Hey dudes.

As you know, this afternoon's game against the Anaheim Angels could well be the first time we've celebrated a playoff series clincher on Fenway grass since 1986. Or so they tell me. I was two. Anyway, we've got Bronson going today, so we really like our chances. And that's why they've asked me to come here and talk to all of you.

You know, there's only one thing that scares us more than Curt Leskanic on a wheat beer bender, and that's, you guessed it, drunk college kids. In fact, the city of Boston is so concerned about how all of you are going to act if the Red Sox do dispatch the Angels this weekend, they've essentially laid down the law, and decreed that anyone seen drinking from an open container, wearing a Pokey jersey and shouting "whoop whoop" with their fist in the air like they don't care will be shot at once.

Guys, we're all excited about the Red Sox, and even more enticed at the prospect of facing the Yankees in a sequel to last year's popular and highly profitable ALCS. But the success of our hometown team is not an excuse to indulge in the worst kind of chicanery. Especially when you consider that if anyone does step out of line, we'll all have to endure a public apology from Mayor Menino to the good people of Anaheim, reminiscent of the 1999 debacle in which His Honor laid down for all of NYC after a couple Fenway fans tossed plastic bottles on the field and at least one disparaging remark about Don Mattingly's moustache was heard.

If you feel the need to engage in civil disobedience, there are many other, more creative and much safer ways to do so. For example, you could repeatedly crank call the local Pizzeria Uno and launch into a diatribe about a sub-par order of "Chicken Thumbs." Or jump the T turnstiles without paying the toll. Or, and this is my favorite, strap a couple subwoofers to the hood of your car and drive around the Fens blasting the Huey Lewis and the News CD Fore! If they give you hell, treat 'em to some other classics from the Lewis oeuvre, such as Small World or Sports.

Ladies, of course, are encouraged to remove their shirts as an act of defiance. If they feel uncomfortable doing this in public, they can visit my private suite overlooking the first base line, where I'll be entertaining the cast of Benson and performing with my band, Trauser. There will be booze and, of course, women for everyone. As many as you want. As you can see, Mr. Millar has already placed his order.


So let's all just chill out, have a dog and a brew, and enjoy the game without burning the city to the ground. Cool? Remember, jail isn't funny. Unless it's someone else who goes there.

Good day, and we'll see you at 4:10.

Scores of bleary-eyed Red Sox fans are stumbling to the coffee-maker, tired but happy. Last night (this morning?) the Red Sox took an enormous 2-0 series lead behind a near-vintage Pedro outing. The best number two starter in the game went seven strong, giving up three runs while striking out six. All aspects of his game - velocity, control, location, and of recent concern, his psyche, were all in top form.

Pedro left no doubt in his post-game comments that he was not thrilled with all of the speculation of late.

"I was the No. 1 today, and that's all that matters,"

"I don't care what the experts have to say, they were talking trash. Every time they give me the ball, I'm special."

Is this what compelled him to return the Pedro of old? I tend to doubt it. Aside from being one of the most gifted pitchers in the game, Pedro has proven himself to be a shrewd negotiator and extremely intelligent player. Getting "inside his head" is impossible. Do not be surprised at what takes place if and when Pedro takes the hill in the Bronx next week. Amid the sea of "We're your daddy" and other such t-shirts and the blaring of Time of the Season (What's your name?, Who's your daddy?) on the loudspeakers, I wouldn't be surprised to see a knowing grin on Pedro's face, and total domination of the Yankee hitters.

Friday afternoon baseball at Fenway. Bronson Arroyo with a chance to clinch a spot in the ALCS.

I love it when a plan comes together...

Home runs. Defensive gems. Errors. Ankle-grabbing. At least one questionable move by Francona (why use Timlin with such a hefty lead?). Last night's victory in Game One of the ALDS had all this and more. And it was smashing enough to send Red Sox Nation to bed with the type of dizzy glow we usually associate with too much Jeagermeister (but minus the hallucinating. Cool!)

Now all eyes turn to Petey, as they have so many times in the past. We need you, l'il guy, to rise up like a phoenix and vanquish the bad vibes and "who's your daddy" jokes that have made the last month seem like brunch in purgatory. Although we, of any people, should know that going up 2-0 in a 5 game series doesn't guarantee you'll ever get that third "w", one thing we do know is that coming home with such an advantage will transform Fenway Park into a raucous madhouse this weekend. And I want that. I want the madness! I want the raucous! I want the crazy-go-nuts and let's-barnstorm-Pizzeria-Uno-in-Kenmore-Square stuff. But most of all, I want to see a playoff victory celebration on our turf, even if it is just the first stage of three critical battles. And, big fan of irony that I am, I'd like to point out that the last time such a celebration took place at Friendly Fenway was after the 1986 ALCS. And guess who we defeated then?

We take nothing for granted, we who have been schooled far too many times to change our stripes. But the vibe is there, and it's growing. And it's pretty damn spectacular.

So where should the Red Sox start their World Series victory parade? That's the question Jayson Stark asks in his insightful and engaging column over at espn.com, in which he explains why the Red Sox are, by default, the team that's going to win it all.

On any other morning, I'd tell him to shut up. Don't jinx it.

But today, it's all making sense.

Standing in the shadows of Camden Yards is a statue of none other than Babe Ruth. For those of you who haven't had the fifty-cent tour of Oriole Park, the Babe was born in Baltimore and center field roughly represents the spot where his house once stood. While watching the tune-up games from a beautiful suite above left field this weekend, it struck me just how easy it would be for Sox fans to believe this is all tied in to "The Curse". I mean, Baltimore could easily be pointed to as the team that kept us from winning over 100 games and taking the division, right? So, to believers, it would be logical to assume the curse reached down I-95 to the other house that Ruth built. Yet even with all of this evidence, somehow I resist.

"I don't believe in spooks"
"I don't believe in spooks"

The Red Sox need 11 wins to secure the prize that has eluded them since 1918, now is not the time to look back. All the cliches will be used and reused, all the past failures revisited, and the Yankee organization will be tongue-bathed by every national broadcaster and reported who can get camera time. At 4:09 today, the chess game begins. It is a group of guys, of baseball players, looking to do what their predecessors have not been able to. Win three series in October. Every pitch, every out, every swing now becomes magnified. There is no more "big picture" to consider, it is here.

To a man, Francona and Sveum included, it is go time. War. The objective today is to win today's game, not plan for tomorrow or save arms. Whatever means necessary must be employed to capture the all-important game 1. Game 2 is a million miles away right now. No looking back and no looking ahead. One game. Schilling versus Washburn. Win this game with no regard for the feelings (physical or psychological) of whoever is left out, overlooked, pinch-hit for or yanked for defensive purposes. Then focus on Pedro, who will make believers out of everyone tomorrow.

As I re-read this post, it really doesn't make a lot of sense. But I don't care. In a few short hours I will be watching the beginning of something people have waited a lifetime for. A generation has lived and died since the last time. How can I be expected to put that feeling into words that other people will understand? For the fans who want this as badly as I do, you know what I mean. I'll be lucky if I remember to put pants on before I go get coffee this morning. I will see or hear nothing that is not Sox-related until the final out is recorded.

I know this team and they will not let me down.

Less than 7 hours until the magic begins.

Baseball in October means everything.

It means wearing gloves to the games and finding warmth in a flask of Jameson's and the communal vibe of the bleachers. It means pacing and punching walls and rubbing my temples and shouting at the television. It means hearing the inevitable cries of "Didya see the game?" whenever I walk into my office building [Of course I saw the game, muthafugga. What, would I watch all year and suddenly lose interest during these critical, life-affirming tournaments?] It means wearing the Schilling jersey Tuesday afternoon, because you have to rep your set. It means calling my father after every inning to compare notes. It means showing up at my parents' place for at least one of the games, and turning their TV around so that it faces into the larger dining room area and setting up chairs so that we can pack in like buffoons and live and die on every pitch. It means high-fiving strangers in the street and seeing Red Sox T-shirt vendors on every corner and letting out that gutteral wail when the last out is recorded and the boys get one game closer. It means entire evenings in front of the TV, because after the Sox we've got to see the Yanks, not to mention Roger pitching in yet another playoff series. It means intensified intensity; the culmination of a citywide love affair that typically begins right after Thanksgiving, when the hot stove is lit and all thoughts are on green grass and Florida skies. It means viewing the Buckner clip again and again and again. It means drink after drink and the torment of losses and I'll-never-let-those-pricks-do-it-to-me-again-I've-had-it-this-time-I'm-gone-and-I'm-not-coming-back but you know you will, so you sigh, take your medicine, and start planning for opening day. It means knowing and accepting that it can end at any time, that any given game can be the season finale, the last time you'll see Manny swat a home run or Cabrera do that goofy li'l jig or Schilling bark at the mound. It means Peter Gammons on the field at Fenway Park, ESPN trucks cluttering up Yawkey Way, and seemingly endless talk of curses. It means knowing that the heart you've opened up and given away so willingly is going to be speared, torn into two throbbing pieces and left on the frozen ground. It means the umpire is blind, the "fan" reaching for the in-play ball is SPED, and the commentators are an unsavory, anti-Boston bunch, deserving of the bad vibes I'm zapping them with through the cathode ray tube. It means losing focus in meetings, letting your relationships slide, leaving that big project for another day. It means lying in bed but never quite finding sleep, your stomach knotting as it replays a particularly horrific inning or contemplates the next day's match-up. It means that the Red Sox will either win the World Series or leave us crying in the middle of the road. And we can't wait.

Because we live for this.

::steps down from podium, removes tie, swigs from beer::

Okay, now that I got that out of my system, I just want to say that when the Red Sox win the World Series and I'm driving down Commonwealth Ave with my balls swinging out the window and a stack of freshly-minted Gs in the glovebox, I will be looking to buy a beer for each and every one of our loyal readers. Sure, this will probably amount to five beers, but it's the only way we can say how much we've enjoyed living and dying with all of you, one game at a time. It is time for the big pants, my friends. Big, big pants. And I'm drunk with the possibilities of this 2004 post-season. Drunk I say, and I shake my fist for emphasis.

::shakes fist::

See that? Business!

It seems only fitting that the Gods conspire to keep us riveted to our TVs on the final day of baseball's regular season. This is a day that should be spent priming the pump for the ALDS; making sure we've got enough snacks, beer and cute girls in Red Sox caps to help us ward off the demons of postseasons past. Instead, we'll be flitting about, weighing the pros and cons of playing Minnesota or flying to the Left Coast. There's a crisp chill in the Boston air today, the sun is shining, and the Red Sox will be playing baseball in October. Short of the Fenway Ball Girl showing up at my house to model thongs, I can't think of any way in which life could be more full-tilt rockin'.

From today's Globe:

After last night's victory, the Sox said Bronson Arroyo and Tim Wakefield would pitch Games 3 and 4 (if necessary), but did not say which pitcher would start which game.

So, with this in mind, my question for this Saturday morning is: If, say, the Sox are down 2 games to 1 with Wakey set to take the hill for Game 4... do you even let him take the mound? And if you do, with your season on the line, with everything you've worked for hinging on whether that ball is gonna knuckle, how short a leash do you keep him on? Two runs? Three runs? Six runs? This is the season, dudes. This is everything.

And we still don't know who the Sox will be playing come next Tuesday. And although everyone's hoping for Oakland, I think the one advantage of playing the Twins would be avoiding the west coast run, although it didn't seem to bother us last year.

Hi. I'm Red. ::extends hand:: How are you. Thanks for coming by today. Have a drink. Pull up a chair. There ya go.

Denton has left the building. Gone to Baltimore, to watch the Sox B-listers take on those pesky Orioles. Which means I'm left in charge of the massive Surviving Grady empire, which now includes at least two different flavors of "Pop Tarts" in the fridge. So I can write about anything I damn well please. And I will. So this is your chance to jump ship and head somewhere far more interesting.

Still here? Well, you are tenacious. Okay, so here's what I'm thinking. Creating interesting content for this blog every day can be tough work. Obviously, we haven't actually created anything interesting yet, but it's the effort, man, that makes it all worthwhile.

Anyway, from time to time we get together with our shareholders and other associates to "brainstorm" [i.e., drink] concepts and themes for each day's post. As the regular season draws to a close, I thought it appropriate to open the magic bag and give you a glimpse into the posts that might have been... ideas that were deemed "too thin," "too Greek" or simply not worth the effort.

So here they are, just a few opening sentences that we thought could serve as the springboard to something magical. But, man, were we wrong.

In no particular order:

From time to time, we try to imagine what the Sox players' shoes might say to each other as they languish in the locker room during a game. So today, we're presenting last night's game commentary from the point of view of Bill Mueller's loafer.

Everyone who comes to Fenway knows "the Peanut Guy." But very few know "the Blabbering Pantsless Guy." Until now, that is.

My Uncle Pete was a man noted for his unusual relationships. But no relationship was more unusual than the one he shared with former pitching great (and one time Red Sox) Rollie Fingers.

Photos from Nomar's "Bowling for Orphans"? We got 'em!

Pudge Fisk loved the ladies. But exactly how much? We caught up with Gretchen Fortez, who claimed Pudge once picked her up at the Ritz bar in 1974, to learn more.

Gabe Kapler and danish. The two go together like... well, they don't. But if Gabe was into danish, here's what we think he'd enjoy.

Stealing Johnny Pesky's jockstrap is not quite as adventurous as living to tell about it. But we did. So here goes.

NESN's Krissily Kennedy? Man, that's why God invented eyes.

Ladies and gentlemen, today SG presents the poetry of Ricky Gutierrez.

Girls who wear Sox gear are cool. At least in my book. I am a sucker for any woman wearing a Sox jersey. Throw a Sox cap on there, and, man, it's a little something I like to call "restraining order time." The exception to this rule is Phyllis Diller, and that's only because the oxygen tank ruins the overall picture.

Folks, I've snapped. I've got my gun, six rounds of ammo, and I'll be in Section 16 tonight. Who's with me?

Click here for downloadable video of Tito and Dale Sveum briefly contemplating the disappearance of several trays of ham from the post-game spread.

Last night's infuriating, 1-0 loss to the Twins in Game One of the 2004 ALDS, in which Schilling went the full nine and only surrendered one unearned run, was simply the most heartbreaking game I've ever witnessed. Now, the weight of the world is on Pedro's fragile shoulders, as he'll try tonight to prevent the Sox from heading back home down two games.

Actually... ixnay on that last one. We were saving it for next week. Just in case.