Who Gets the Last Shot?

News Flash: Kevin Millar opened his big mouth, said something he shouldn't have, and the media is in uproar about it!

Shocking, I know.

So Kevin Millar went on the Best Damn Sports Show Period late last week and said that before Game Six in the ALCS the Sox players took shots of Jack Daniels, and since they won that game, they felt the need to keep up the ritual for the rest of the playoffs. He also recounted this to local reporter Dan Roache.

Why is this the big news when the Red Sox just won the World Series for the first time in 86 years?

The fact that this story has gotten so much play, IMO, just adds fuel to the fire for those (in the media, Clemens, people outside of Boston I've encountered in the last week) who think Red Sox fans are somehow unhappy now that we've won the WS, that we're now just going back to being miserable. This story being blown out of proportion just shows that at least the media, if not some of the fans, want to latch onto the one potentially negative thing happening right now.

I personally think, what is the big deal? Come on, people, it's Kevin Millar! Are we really surprised he ran his mouth? He's been in Boston two years now, he's said his share of outrageous things, and occasionally had to back away with his tail between his legs. So he has to do it again. So what?

Should we be outraged, indignant, incredulous the way much of the media is reacting? I definitely don't think so. In fact, I'm amused by the whole thing. The Best Damn Sports Show Period is FAR more entertainment than sports news. Even with Roache, you have to take into account who is talking and what he's saying. This is, after all, the rally karaoke guy, the guy who shaved his head for good luck last year and stopped shaving his chin this year for good luck, the guy in the KFC commercials, the guy who tried to stop Manny from going out onto the field for pre-game introductions by pulling on his back pants' pockets, the guy Orlando Cabrera said tried to pull his pants down in a home plate celebration. He's a goofball, he makes us laugh, and I wouldn't want it any other way.

After some backlash about his comments, Millar backtracked to Peter Gammons that it was just a symbolic thing, just a shot in a Gatorade cup that was passed around among the players, not a big deal, nobody was drunk. Frankly, even if Millar's latest comments were just to soften the blow (and after watching the Best Damn Sports Show Period clip, I'm leaning in that direction), and even they all DID in fact take a full shot of Jack Daniels before the game, I don't care! Anyone who has spent any time around professional sports would have to agree the idea of some guys sipping a little whiskey before a game is pretty damn low on the scandal scale.

As for those who are complaining about the shots being a bad example for kids -- please! We have no problem showing athletes downing champagne and beer on the field, with wads of chewing tobacco during the games, and we're reminded at the beginning of every broadcast to be sure to grab our Budweiser! We've got players demanding absurd amounts of money; we've got rampant rumors of steroid use; we've got players saying they're too good to be put in the six spot so they just walk out of the game. Baseball, and pro sports in general, haven't been doing much to set a good example for kids anyway. And by the way, it's not their job -- that's what parents are for.

So the Sox took a shot before the game? So what?! We spend months praising this team for being a bunch of idiots, rebels, free spirits, then when we hear they might actually have done something a bit unprofessional, we freak out and bash them for it. Real nice.

Can we all please lighten up and go back to enjoying the first World Series in 86 years?!

Okay, ranting done, back to state of euphoria.

Thoughts on the 2004 Sox

On Friday night, October 29, Chad and I went to the Cask N' Flagon across from Fenway Park for dinner and a few drinks before settling into our tent at Boylston and Kilmarnock in preparation of the "rolling rally" to celebrate the Red Sox winning the World Series. About 95% of the patrons in the Cask had some item of Red Sox clothing on. The music was a medley of Sox-related songs (Dirty Water, Tessie, Sweet Caroline, old radio station mixes), with most people singing along or dancing with strangers. Every few songs, the middle-aged guys at the end of the bar would start a new chant, often directing different sides of the bar to chant different phrases. We high-fived friends and strangers alike.

This went on for hours. That was two full days after the Sox clinched the World Series victory. If you were living under a rock and finally pushed it aside and walked into the Cask that Friday night, you'd have been sure the Sox had won it just moments before. The celebration was that exhuberant.

And it will be that exhuberant for a long, long, long time.

Many players have talked about wanting to bring the championship to Boston for the fans. They speak of knowing how much it means to the fans, what joy it would bring. If you're not from Boston, if you haven't lived and died with this team your whole life, and your parents and grandparents before you, I'm not sure you can truly understand the pure, unadulterated joy that this championship has brought to the members of Red Sox Nation.

But I suppose if any group of guys could understand, it's our beloved Idiots. I can't recall another professional sports team that so clearly enjoys playing the game with each other. These guys truly played as a team. Can you imagine Sammy Sosa on this team? Barry Bonds? Even Nomar, no matter how hard it might be to admit? Not a chance. But Papi, Millar, Johnny, Manny, Tek, Schilling, Trot ... These guys never seemed to forget that playing a game is supposed to be fun, and it's never more fun than when you win it all.

And it all felt so genuine. "That's just Manny being Manny" became an oft-heard phrase around Red Sox Nation this summer, but the same could be said for virtually everyone on this team. They were just being themselves, and they just happened to be a bunch of fun-loving idiots who were really good ball players. They didn't seem like superstars; they seemed like the people you hung out with every day.

Picture your best friend who has to sit in the same spot and wear the same shirt every game because he's utterly convinced that this affects the outcome; when he goes to Fenway he listens to the radio broadcast on his headphones and scores the whole game; and you don't talk to him about any of this because it all seems to work --well, he's your Curt Schilling.

Think about your friend who has their share of personal problems, who drops off the face of the earth for months at a time and then suddenly shows up again as though they never left, and you're always happy to see they're still alive and kicking -- that's your Derek Lowe.

Think of your friend who's well past college but still smokes pot on a regular basis -- that's your Johnny Damon.

Think about the smartest kid in your high school, the one motivated beyond all reason for a teenager, voted most likely to succeed, who you're glad you stayed in touch with because you knew it would pay off some day -- that's your Theo Epstein.

Think about your impossibly good-looking friend, who always attracts all the members of the opposite sex, but you can't hate them because they're just too nice -- that's your Pedro Martinez and Gabe Kapler.

Think of that friend who doesn't do a whole lot of talking, but when the chips are down, he's the first to lend an ear -- that's your Jason Varitek. And if that friend is out of town when you need him, his brother is sure to take care of you -- that's your Doug Mirabelli.

Think about that asshole who keeps showing up at parties uninvited and trying to start fights -- that's your Byung-Hyun Kim. Aren't you glad you locked him out of the house for the playoffs?

Think about your most devoted church-going friend, the one who never has a bad word to say about anyone and always tries to find the positive in every situation -- that's your Bill Mueller.

Think about your college football buddy, that huge hulk of a guy who most people assumed was one mean dude from the look of him, but as soon as you started talking to him his huge smile revealed the heart of a teddy bear -- that's your Papi Ortiz.

Think about that one friend who never shuts up, but you don't really mind because he never fails to crack you up; he's the guy you're afraid to pass out around because you know you'll wake up with one less eyebrow -- that's your Kevin Millar.

Think about the one guy you want with you if you ever get in a bar fight -- that's your Trot Nixon.

Think about your whitest of white friends who grew up in an affluent suburb but listens to rap, wears baggy clothes and big gold jewelry, and speaks in ebonics -- that's your version of Bronson Arroyo.

Think about that cousin of yours who's always saying off-the-wall things, and you think it's just to get attention but eventually you realize that's just the way they are -- that's your Manny Ramirez.

Think about the friends who you haven't known for all that long or don't see very often, but you know you can count on them in a pinch -- they're your Doug Minkskjdfiustz, Dave Roberts, Orlando Cabrera, Pokey Reese, Kevin Youkilis, Mark Bellhorn, Alan Embree, Mike Myers, Curtis Leskanic, Ramiro Mendoza, Ricky Guitierrez.

Think about your friend who starts off the night really impressing the hottest woman in the bar, but takes a bathroom break and when he comes back your other friend is walking out the door with her. That's your Mike Timlin and Keith Foulke.

Think of your dad, who sometimes guided you with the most seemingly illogical decisions and made you want to scream in frustration, but he always had the best interest of the family in mind, and he never, ever gave up on you -- that's your Terry Francona.

Think about your oldest friend, the one who's always been there to do whatever you ask of them, even when they didn't really want to -- that's your Tim Wakefield.

You see, any group of guys could have been the ones to win the first Red Sox World Series Championship since 1918, and it would have been great, we would have been ecstatic, it would have been historic.

But with this group of guys winning it, it was like your own friends and family winning it -- a quirky, crazy bunch of people who occasionally let you down but always made up for it, who sometimes made you want to pull your hair out but who you wouldn't trade for anything, who brought you some pain but far, far more joy, and most all, who no matter how many years pass you will never, ever forget.

Red Sox Rolling Rally!

Kevin Millar tips his cap to me -- Seriously!

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See all of our pictures from the parade

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I could just as easily file this whole thing under "Signs I've Gone Over the Edge" ...

Chad and I headed into the Fenway area around 8pm Friday night to stake out a spot near the beginning of the "rolling rally" to be held throughout Boston on Saturday. We were armed with tents, sleeping bags, munchies, and plenty of layers. We left behind our sanity.

We figured finding a spot to park the car overnight would be the biggest challenge considering all of the parking restrictions, but we quickly found a spot in the public garage inside Fenway. It only seemed fitting! The attendant insisted we were fine to leave the car in the garage overnight, and that we would be able to get it anytime after 5am the next day. Lesson learned: Believe in the Red Sox; don't believe in Fenway parking garage attendants.

With the car all settled, and only a few people already camped out at the beginning of the parade, we decided to grab a bite and a few drinks at the Cask n' Flagon before pitching our tent for the night. Perfect choice. The music most of the night was Sox related, and fans were still riding the high of two nights earlier. If you didn't know any better, you'd think we just won that night.

Around midnight, we headed out to look for a spot. After gathering some info from a chatty security guy, we decided to move slightly away from the very beginning of the parade directly outside of Fenway. The deciding factor was the security guy telling us he calls the rats around there "Big and Bigger". We moved away, catching a glimpse of Bigger on the way. Believe in the chatty security guy.

Barricades were already being set up along Boylston Street. We picked a spot on Kilmarnock, at the intersection of Boyston. Chatty security guy told us the duck boats would be passing down Kilmarnock and turning onto Boylston. Again, believe in chatty security guy.

For the next few hours, Chad and I attempted to sleep, trying to ignore a group of young drunk guys yelling, "Sweep!" at least 718 times. I also tried to ignore the conversation between two strangers (in more ways than one) outside our tent who chatted on and on about, among other things, wrestling, Star Trek, and drugs (direct quote: "Crack never did anything for me"). At this point, I started to question being there, considering who the company was. But it was too late to turn back.

The people started coming in bigger numbers somewhere around 5am. At that point, I gave up on sleeping, made a trip to Dunks, prepared my sign, bundled up some more as the rain began to fall, and started counting down the hours.

Somewhere around 7:00am or so, the main cop manning the intersection of Kilmarnock and Boylston started telling people to move further down a block, that the parade wasn't starting at that intersection. At this point, the barricades started at Boylston but there were none at all on Kilmarnock, the side street where the parade was listed as starting. A good chunk of people grabbed their things and started heading for the next block, while others began plotting a riot -- mostly those who had spent the previous seven-plus hours staking out a spot at that intersection. Chad asked a couple cops farther down Kilmarnock, I called my dad to check online, and with everyone else (including chatty security guy) telling us the parade would indeed start at Kilmarnock, we stayed put. One couple who had spent the night started heading one block up, and I overheard one of them say, "If the parade doesn't start one block up, I'm going to stab that cop." Hope the cop's okay.

By about 8am, barricades had been set up all along Kilmarnock. Chad and I had staked out our spot at the very front. I was not moving come hell or high water, or little kids. The place was packed, the cops were stopping people from coming any further on our side of the street, people were popping up on rooftops, the players started arriving. D-Lowe pulled his beige Hummer through the crowd as we chanted, "D-Lowe! D-Lowe!" Also coming through our way were Pokey, Francona, Varitek, Youkilis, and Manny and Papi together in a yellow Hummer. These arrivals definintely helped pass the last two hours, which felt like an absolute eternity, especially when it started to really rain.

At about 10:20 we finally heard the roar of the motorcycle cops coming around the corner. When we glanced the first duck boat, it was mass pandemonium. My heart was pounding away, I was screaming and jumping up and down. I realized what it must have felt like to see the Beatles in America for the first time. We had an incredible view -- the duck boats were about five feet away.

The Old Timers were first in line. I found myself screaming for Butch Hobson, a sure sign I'd gone over the edge since I actually find him a little creepy. Also saw Oil Can Boyd and a favorite of my dad's, Luis Tiant. Very cool start.

I believe next up (it was a bit of a blur) was a boat that had the owners in the back, holding the trophy. Larry Luchino pointed to my sign! Johnny Damon came by, flashing the peace sign, and the crowd went insane.

Soon after was my boy Millar. I made a sign (have to give credit to the idea to Chad) that said, "Kevin, Thanks for Picking Boston Over Japan." Since I was right up front, I was able to hold the sign in front of the barricades for a clear view. Millar saw it, pointed as he read it, tipped his hat and gave me the now-routine hand guns! I was, um, beside myself, to say the least! And Chad captured it perfectly! (See above picture).

After that it was all gravy. I somehow missing Curt Schilling entirely (I think he was on the same boat as Millar,which explains why I didn't see him). Also missed Foulke, Cabrera and Bellhorn, but managed to catch everyone else. Another sign I was going over the edge was when I found myself screaming ecstaticly at the sight of Mike Timlin. I mean, he's money, but I don't think I would have been any more excited to see Matt Damon, and that somehow seems wrong.

The parade itself took no more than five minutes to pass through, but it was one of the coolest five-minute stretches of my life. I came within a few feet of a group of guys who will go down as unforgettable legends in Red Sox history. It was well worth sleeping on Boylston, and even worth waiting three more hours to get our car out of the Fenway garage and then driving 10 hours home to Maryland on almost no sleep. It was all totally, completely worth it, and the perfect ending to an incredible week.

Huge thanks to Chad for taking all of the pictures -- I was way too preoccupied, and he did an awesome job!

Game Four

Just a week and a half ago, you'd be hard-pressed to convince me I'd be sitting at my cousins' place in Southie on that crisp October 27th night waiting for the Red Sox to wrap up a sweep of the St. Louis Cardinals to win their first World Series Championship in 86 years. It's still hard to believe that we were three outs away from elimination from the playoffs -- three outs from pack your bags, go home, see you next year -- and then for the next week and a half we couldn't lose, even when it seemed like we were trying (i.e. four errors in Game 1 and another four in Game 2). I went from feeling like there was virtually no hope for tomorrow to feeling like there was no way we weren't going to win the whole damn thing.

So I knew from before we even sat down to watch Game 4 that it was going to happen. I just felt it in my bones. Chad seemed to take my role as the nervous doubter, but I was calm and collected to the point where there was far more discussion among the group about things like Mark Bellhorn's attractiveness (according to my cousins Adrienne and Kerry) or lack thereof (according to me) and David Ortiz's wife (Adrienne: "She looks like you or me -- totally average suburban girl") than about the game itself.

But we didn't need to talk about the game. It took care of itself. Johnny Damon started it off with a home run. I mean, come on! First at bat and we're already up by a run. Could it get any easier? Trot added another two in the third. D-Lowe continued his Dr. Jekyl/Mr. Hyde routine, this time showing up as the unflappable clutch player, allowing only three hits and no runs in six innings. Ridiculous!

Somewhere around the sixth inning, my brother Tommy had to leave to pick up his wife at work and bring her home. He made it from Southie to the Aquarium to Quincy and back in absolute record time, probably helped by the fact that no one else in all of New England is not in front of their TV.

The Cards continued their streak of crappy God Bless America singers with a painful rendition by Scott Stapp of Creed, who was probably pretty pissed that Johnny Damon one-upped him with a better Jesus look. At least making fun of him helped us pass the time. Then we moved on to making fun of Tim McCarver. (Seriously. How is this man still employed? Seriously!)

Somewhere around the seventh inning my friend Liam, who took the Fung Wa from NYC to be in Boston for this moment, headed home a few blocks to watch the end with his father. We all understood.

And before I knew it, there we were in the bottom of the ninth inning. There was Keith Foulke -- as he had to be -- closing it out for us. Even though I knew we had it in the bag, and never felt the familiar rush of nausea waiting for it all to fall apart, still that last out felt like it
was in slow motion.

And then the rest of the night felt like it was in super high-speed fast forward -- my brother, sister, husband and cousins, all screaming and jumping up and down and hugging and screaming some more; the phones ringing so we could re-live the moment with our other siblings, our dads, our friends; the champagne pouring so we could toast to our grandfather who didn't get to see it; the cars honking and people screaming throughout the streets of Southie; the high-fives with total strangers.

Turns out the Sox winning the World Series was not a sign of the apocalypse, but even if it had been, it wouldn't have put a damper on the spirit of Red Sox Nation that night!

Game Three

Check out Chad's Blog on Being in Boston This Week

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So Game One was a tight one, certainly plenty of moments where I spewed some profanity, covered my eyes, and found myself doing my best Terry Francona/Rainman impersonation. Ended well but there were plenty of tense moments to go around.

Game Two was ... well, I was there at Fenway Park, so it was way beyond exciting, even if it was never a very close game. The four errors were cause for some stomach churning, but otherwise just a ridiculously high level of adrenaline to be witnessing such an amazing performance by Curt Schilling.

Game Three last night was ... dare I say ... easy to watch! From the moment Joe Buck mentions in the first inning that Terry Francona is just waiting for Manny to explode, and instantly Manny jacks one, I knew it was going to be a good night. Then in the bottom of the first, Manny (Mr. Silver Glove himself) throws a guy out at home. Another good sign. Finally, in the third, Jeff Suppan makes the ultimate brain fart and is tagged out at third when anyone, even Nelson, could have scored on that play! That sealed it for me.

See, the thing is, if this was any other year in Red Sox history, Jeff Suppan would be a Sox player. Those are the kind of things that have happened to the Sox year after year since you know when. To think that our third base coach, Dale "Wave 'Em In" Svuem, criticized plenty throughout the regular season, has had an uneventful (in a good way) postseason, while last night we watched replay after replay of the Cardinals third base coach practically have a coronary while Suppan stumbled back and forth, then get the third degree from coach Tony "I'm Too Good for Quincy" LaRussa ... Well, it just confirms this year is different.

So when Suppan stumbled, and the Cardinals weren't able to squeeze out even one run in that inning, I knew we were going to win. And it was only the third inning!

Most bizarre feeling as a Red Sox fan I can ever remember. I didn't know what to do with myself. Relaxed during a Sox playoff game! Where am I? Who am I? What's going on?

Not that I voiced any of this at the time. I still felt the need to keep up the ritual of going around the room to my dad, mom, husband and sister to knock knuckles after each good play. And I still dug my fingernails into my hands for the entire ninth inning. Some things don't change.

And now Mission 11W, as Curt Schilling calls it, is down to Mission 1W.

One. More. Win.

Why the Cards MUST Lose!

Among the many other reasons, here is the final straw:

Cardinals manager Tony LaRussa dissed my hometown of Quincy, Mass.!

Sorry, LaRussa, but Boston is such a popular town that even without the World Series, it was hard to find a place to stay in the downtown area. Don't think we'll be having that problem in St. Louis.

And by the way, Quincy's good enough for Tom Brady, Super Bowl MVP!

I do like our mayor's response: ‘‘If St. Louis had a decent pitching staff, they would have been back in Quincy in plenty of time to visit any one of our 30 fantastic restaurants,'' Quincy Mayor William said. Take that!

Game Two (a.k.a. BEST NIGHT EVER!)

We Kept The Faith!

See all the pictures from Game Two

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There are no words to describe what it was like to be at Fenway Park for Game Two of the 2004 World Series.

Oh, hell, sure there are. And here are mine:

Honestly, there were a number of moments throughout the night where I found myself at a loss for words, sort of staring around me in awe, chills running up and down my spine, almost getting teary. It was that great, it was that inspiring, it was that unforgettable.

We went into town around 3pm to meet up with some friends at Jillian's across from Fenway to watch the Pats go for another record win (btw, has there ever been a team so decidely good that is so decidedly an afterthought as this year's Patriots?). First chills moment of the day: Walking over to Jillian's, seeing the signs "The Curse Is Dead" and "ALCS Champs" and "Papi Is My Dadi" in the windows of Fenway High while hearing the Standells warm up "Dirty Water" from the park.

I'm not sure whether getting in that early was good or bad. I looked at my cell phone clock no fewer than 300 times that afternoon. One point of discussion: If it goes to Game Seven, will they postpone the election in favor of the Sox victory parade? We're not really kidding. Finally at a little after 6pm we headed over to the park. The streets were already swarming with people. Free pins, t-shirts, bumper stickers, rally cards were flowing. We took a nice shot of us with the Manny Keep the Faith sign in the background. We headed into the shrine.

No luck for batting practice. The weather had been crappy all day and by the time we starting walking around behind home plate, it was misting heavily. Only people out on the field were the TV crews and the ground crew. Walked by the curly-haired boyfriend (a.k.a Dan Shaugnessy) and fought the urge to yell, "Curse this!" Headed over to our seats in the right field bleachers, passing Scott Van Pelt on the way and then seeing Erin and Jessamy from "Still We Believe" sitting a few rows in front of us. (I promise, my celebrity sightings get better!).

From our seats we have a fantastic view of Curt Schilling rising out of the Red Sox dugout and making his way across the field, as the entire park gets to its feet, light bulbs flashing all over the place, all of us oblivious to the fact that the man woke up that morning unable to move. Serious chills moment.

A lot of the pregame is a blur. I remember what happened but couldn't be sure what order it all happened in. I do remember:

* The jumbotron was basically replaying the entire history of the Red Sox, with the Exhorcist soundtrack in the background. Cool ... but did we really need to replay all the bad moments too? I mean, Bill freakin' Buckner? This must be the work of Fox! (Although I think it says something that I was even able to just type that name.)
* Another rousing ovation when Varitek made his way over to meet Schilling in the bullpen. Chills.
* Rousing welcome for Mr. Mark Bellhorn. Bellhorn signs abound. (Related note: On the way into the park, listening to sports talk radio, a caller asks, "Boston loves Lou Merloni because he's from here, and Jerry Remy because he's from here. Bellhorn was born in Boston but why doesn't he get the same kind of love?" Hosts say it's basically because Merloni and Remy actually grew up here while Bellhorn was just born here and then grew up somewhere else. Caller says, "Okay. That' all I got.")
* Showed the Nike commercial showing Fenway through the years. Chills. Had chills and was teary just watching it on my computer; multiplied by 10 seeing it from my seat in the right field bleachers.
* No cringing pregame moments (think: Cowsills in ALCS and horribly lip-synching 13-going-on-30-in-a-disturbing-way country singer girl from Springfield). From the Standells singing "Dirty Water" to the Teammates throwing out the first pitch to the kid from the Boys and Girls club presenting the game ball and milking the moment for everything it was worth ... it was all chilling.
* All they had to say was "Stockbridge to Boston" and the crowd goes nuts for James Taylor. I'm usually more in favor of those who belt out the anthem, but JT was perfect. Just perfect. The night was off to a good start.

I'm feeling a little like Bill Simmons right now. I've typed for way too long and I haven't even started talking about the game itself. So...

We won! And it was great.

Well, parts of it were really ugly. I was in the bathroom when Varitek and Mueller tried to make out. Chad said he was happy I was not in the stands for that. I blacked out on the second Mueller error. Felt like time was standing still for the third Mueller error and then the Bellhorn error. But somehow the errors didn't matter. It's like we held out a silver platter of the finest caviar to the Cardinals and they said, "No, thanks, we're full," so we scarfed it all down ourselves. Unreal.

Despite the errors, there was a sense of excitement and positivity throughout the whole game. We were on our feet more than we were sitting. We were chanting, "Morris! Morris! Morris!" with little children's glee. We were belting out "God Bless America" with hometown girl Donna Summer. We were just waiting for the 8th inning so we could sing "Sweet Caroline," and it was indeed, so good, so good, so good. We cheered as Foulke made his way back out to the mound for the ninth inning, with common sense telling us he's going to have to blow it sooner or later, but with our hearts telling us, It's not going to be tonight.

And it wasn't! The place exploded at the last out. Chills all around. We didn't want to leave our seats ... but we had passes to an after-party in the Red Sox .406 Club (have I mentioned what a God Tyrone Brooks is?! Thank you, thank you, thank you, Tyrone!) so that helped get us on our way.

Seriously ... we could have lost that game and it still would have been the best night of my life (oh and by the way, at one point in the game Chad essentially gave me permission to stop pretending the night was on par with our wedding.) But not only did we win, with super-human Curt Schilling on the mound, bringing us to a 2-0 World Freakin' Series lead, but then I got to hang out with the cool kids in the .406 Club.

The cool kids tonight included Mike O'Malley of "Yes, Dear" which is on CBS which is why none of you have heard of it, but you'll recognize him as "The Rick"; he is also my friend Rachel's cousin. Another surreal moment of the night: The Rick yelling across the bar to me, "Sull, get a beer!"

Also there were Jimmy Fallon, formerly of Saturday Night Live, and Seth Myers, currently of SNL. Jimmy Fallon was exactly like you would imagine -- cute, chatty, and wasted. Seth Myers -- adorable! Very underrated! And also afraid of me, I think. I insisted he had to get Jimmy Fallon to come back to SNL for one last Red Sox skit when it's all said and done, and he said, "We hope so, but he's kind of busy." Priorities, man! BTW, yes, we took pictures, and yes, I fought the urge to yell, "Tommy, did you get that? Tell me you got that!"

Open bar, clam chowda, and rubbing elbows with VIPs -- what a way to end the night. Top that! Okay, so there was no Jerry Remy, but still. BEST. NIGHT. EVER.

Check Out Our Pictures (thanks to Chad for putting together the photo gallery)

Game One

We didn't deserve to win, but when you win a championship you have to have a little luck along the way, right? Some thoughts on the night:

* Manny and Millar should be thanking Bellhorn this morning and buying him a big red candle.
* All of Red Sox Nation (myself included) should be apologizing for calling for Bellhorn's head a mere week ago (sorry, man). I personally apologize for repeatedly saying unkind things about his general appearance throughout the season. I don't care if he looks like the elephant man, as long as he keeps crushing foul poles.
* It's official -- Tim McCarver is universally despised.
* Why didn't we see Yaz throw out the first pitch live? Couldn't we have cut the discussion with the poor old guys a little short so we could have seen Yaz live?
* Why didn't we hear a little bit of the crowd singing Sweet Caroline? It's one of the things that makes Fenway so great. Hell, even Mike and Mike from ESPN are into it. In the ALCS, we had to listen to the slower-than-molasses introduction of Ronan Tynan by the announcer guy who sounds like he's on his last breath, and then the extended intro before we even freakin' got to the actual God Bless America song. Give me 10 seconds of Sweet Caroline, please.
* Why was someone from TEXAS signing God Bless America at FENWAY? Was there NO ONE else available?
* Having World Series tickets can bring unexpected reactions. I opened the door to my brother's house to see him brandishing a large knife and demanding my tickets. His friend would barely speak to us, kept calling us, "You!" and giving us dirty looks.
* There are no words to describe how great it is to be able to be in Boston this week. I can't imagine anywhere else I would rather be, tickets or no tickets.

Win It For ...

Who should the Red Sox win the World Series for?

Everyone has their own ideas. This is something that has been floating around a number of sites since the Sox started coming close to winning the World Series. I first saw it on the boards I belong to at the Remy Report. Check out the thread.

It was started after one of the RemDawgs saw a much longer thread on the Sons of Sam Horn message boards. Check out the thread.

And the Sports Guy's column continues the idea. Win It For Everyone.

As I said in the Remy Report boards, here's who I want the Sox to win it for:

* Win it for my grandfather, born in November of 1918 and passed away in June of 2002. Win it for my grandmother, so she can tell my grandfather all about it when she meets him in heaven.

* Win it for Tim Wakefield. Curt has been super-human, but I can't think of a current Sox player who deserves it more than Tim Wakefield.

* Win it for all those who hit hard times and can't see the light at the end of the tunnel. Win it to show them you should never give up, you should never stop believing.

Random Sox-Related Pictures

My nephew Gabriel has the Sox hand guns move down pat.

Turns out Jesus really was on our side! (This photo taken from Sacred Heart Church in Quincy, Mass.)

Total eclipse of the Sox curse! (Not that I believe in curses or anything)

Wally was ready for the playoffs!

Now that's devotion! This is a priest at my Aunt Ellen's parish in Billerica, Mass.

Just for Kicks

Random fun/funny stuff:

* Priceless!: This site is truly "priceless!"

* Front Pages: Relive the magic with shots of newspapers from around the country spreading the word about the RED SOX WINNING THE WORLD SERIES!

* Oh. My. God. Mahow Mahow. This one just in from Jamie. It's in his blog but deserves its own space here as well. You will see why. And probably have very bizarre dreams tonight. If you weren't worried about Pedro before, you will be now.

* Daily Show on Boston: Weymouth native Rob Cordrry of the Daily Show gives outsiders a taste of Boston. This one's for you, Wilkie (MAUREEEEEEN!)

* Manny's Catch in Skankee Stadium: Manny's regular season catch that defied the odds, especially the Manny odds. One of the most classic reactions from Miguel "I'm a pro athlete but am out of breath from jogging around the bases" Cairo.

* Nike Commerical: This brought tears to my eyes. Seriously. Watch it. You'll see.

* Jay Makes the Papers!: My most randomly met friend :) makes the papers at Chad's alma mater.

* What Will Ben Do? Granted, this is from the ALCS, but I think it could be applied to the WS, too. Sportspickle
Thanks for this one, Nick! All I can say is, he better not take Matt Damon with him!

* ShowMeYourBlog: Not exclusively Red Sox-related, but something to watch through the WS. Anything with a picture of Johnny Damon with a Bud can't be bad, right?

* Mr. Irrelevant: Another one that's not exclusively Sox related but good stuff: Mr. Irrelevant's AOL Sports Blog.

They Said What?!

Question: How does this team rank among all the teams you've played for?
Curt Schilling's Answer: "So vastly different that there is no comparison."
(Check out everything Curt had to say in an e-mail Q&A the week of the World Series.)

According to Tim McCarver:
* Pedro Martinez is wily as a wolverine
* a walk is as good as a home run
* Tim Wakefield is 40 years old ... and his name is actually Bill Winfield
* Brandon Arroyo was set to face Pedro Martinez

Classic McCarver Exchange:
* Game Seven: Sideline reporter tells us how the last pro team to come back from 0-3 to win in Game 7 was the New York Islanders in 1975, with the game-winner scored by Eddie Westfall, who just so happened to be a former Bruin. Not 10 seconds later, McCarver tells us, And Eddie Westfall played not only for the New York Islanders but also for the Boston Bruins. NO WAY, TIM!

From the Sports Guy (Liam, you're right, this really sums it up!): "You have to be from here to understand. You just do. It wasn't just that the Yankees always win. It was everything else that came with it -- the petty barbs, the condescending remarks, the general sense of superiority from a fan base that derives a disproportionate amount of self-esteem from the success of their baseball team. I didn't care that they kept winning as much as they were a-holes about it. Not all of them. Most of them. In 96 hours, everything was erased. Everything. It was like pressing the re-start button on a video game."

All-Time Classic Quote from Chad:
Game Seven, as the Yankees are starting to mount a comeback, Jeter is fired up on first base, yelling to try to wake his teammates up. McCarver says, "I've never before seen that look on Derek Jeter's face." Chad yells, "That's because you're too busy sucking his dick!"

Manny's Where?!
From friend on airplane in Boston headed to NY at 2:30pm on Wednesday, hours before Game 6: "So I am on my way to ny for the game (not the reason for my email) andguess who is on the plane??? F'n manny. Apparently somebody does not needto be with his team on the team plane or bus when they are on the verge ofelimination. Oh, and by the way we are taking off an hour and 20 min late.That gets us to ny at 5pm and manny to the bronx at 6 at best. bad omen..."

Other Quotes - From the Team:
* "Kiss my ass, we're World Series Champions!" -- Kevin Millar to WEEI guys who have no life
* "I don't believe in curse. I think you make your own destination." -- Manny Ramirez
* "If we use our brains, we're only hurting the team." -- Johnny Damon
* "The reason we are here is to win, not to dream about winning." -- Terry Francona, Red Sox Manager

Other Quotes - From the Fans:
* "About an hour and a half after the game [Four of the World Series], everyone is still there, hanging out and cheering for the players. It starts to rain at midnight, and I'm standing next to this dad who's with his 4 year old son. The guy says to the kid, "Do you see that falling? What is that?" The kid looked up and said "Rain." The dad said, "Nope. It's the tears of dead Yankees." -- from Chiller
* "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't rooting for them after my rage over the ALCS died down. Rooting for history, yes, but also in some ways rooting for the Sox. See what you reduced me to. Anyway, congratulations!" -- Tom Madigan, loyal Skankees fan, after the RED SOX WON THE WORLD SERIES
* "It's the happiest day of my life,'' the 29-year-old Quincy resident shouted. ‘‘They can lose another 86 years, as long as I got to see it in my lifetime.' -- my cousin John, quoted in the Patriot Ledger
* "i'm still having trouble discussing this rationally... but,congratulations to the idiots, the cowboys and the terminally cursed.here's to ted williams (and his head), johnny pesky, bobby doerr, DOM dimaggio and yaz. salud to jimmy rice, dewey, richie gedman, spike owen, eddie romero, tony armas, freddie lynn, the ORIGINAL pudge and the Babe. because i know you're smiling right now.clemens and boggs, you can both suck it, because you'll never know what it feels like to win on a team. it makes me happy to remember that, according to dante, mercenaries have a special spot reserved for them in hell. i hope those rings you got from the Empire still fit when your hand's on fire.and nomah, i hope you can see what this feels like some day. i really do.i hope billy buckner can sleep now. i know i can.the world looks different now thanks to papi, millAH, schill, d-low, bellhorn, me-you-ler, unfrozen caveman damon, pedro, tek, mientkdkwlblvich, pokey, gabe, manny (2 hits, and i don't mean with a bat), bronson "brandon" arroyo, gabe kapeler (welcome back!), foulke, timlin, embree, wakefield, serial killer michael meyers, john henry and theo, the boy wonder GM.for all you guys who might not be part of the Nation, or any of you who have scratched your head at this message, "if you have to ask, you'll never know..."it started out with "ding dong the wicked witch is dead," now it's "we must keeps our precious." REPEAT IN 2005?! -- e-mail from Nick after Game 4 of the WS
* "Wow. The Sox are American League champs, haven't been able to say that in a while. How great would be it be to call them 2004 World Series champions? Four more wins and we'll be able to do that. Four more wins and we'll have seen them win it all in our lifetimes. And we won't have to wait until we're old and gray (OK, some of us are a little gray already, including yours truly)! So when they do win it all this year, let's meet up at the parade. You know I'll be there, I hope you all will, too :) We'll have some beers and celebrate the greatest sports achievement in Boston sports history in pretty much forever." -- e-mail from Liam after Game 7 of the ALCS
* Story: Warped Satellites Prove Einstein Theory -Scientists: Einstein was right -- again. Satellites that have been pulled slightly off their orbits show that the Earth is indeed twisting the fabric of space-time as it rotates, scientists said on Thursday. Andrew's response: "Twist space and time - that's one way to get the Sox to the world series"
* "My brother, a Yankee fan, asked me how Red Sox fans would handle a World Series victory. Here is my responseto him: We will clutch a World Series victory like the survivors of the whaling vessel Essexclutched the human bones of their shipmates when a rescue ship pulled up next to their lifeboat.They were at sea for many months, and their only sustenance was the marrow of their shipmate'sbones. The shipmates died of starvation in the lifeboats. They were delirious, and they thoughtthe rescue boat was going to take their little pile of bones. As they were pulled onto the shipthey would not let go of the bones. These are Red Sox fans, who will clutch a World Seriesvictory to their chests and not let go for, perhaps, another 86 years. We do not expect instantgratification. A victory will age in the wine cellar for many years, and as we reminisce, itwill grow into something even better. We will occasionally turn the bottle over, and astimeplays tricks, it will become more remarkable and legends will be born about 2004." -- Jonathan Hall
* "just when i think i'm out, they pull me back in!!!!no question, no kidding, i CANNOT handle another extra inning marathon.i'm on my second liver, my hair's falling out, whatever hair's left isgray, and all i've ingested is coffee and beer in the past threenights. and it's all been intravenous - i'm mainlining with an IV tube.if i had heroin i'd be an insta-junkie. all because of the sox.oh, by the way: GO SOX." -- e-mail from Nick after Game 5 of the ALCS
* E-mail from Rachel: "My friend Mary wore a Yankees hats to Stadium in Southie on Saturday night. I thought I was going to have to get in knife fight before the evening was out." My response: "You should have been getting in a knife fight -- with Mary!"

Other Quotes - Rob Corddry from the Daily Show:
* After the WS Win:
Rob Corddry: "And on a more serious note, people always said there would be peace in the Middle East before the Sox win a World Series. And i just have to say, 'They were wrong!' Yeah, this place is a disaster! Man and it's only getting worse! In your face, Middle East! (Bringing his palm in front of his face.) Let's go, Red Sox! (Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap.) Whooooo!"

* After Game 7 of the ALCS:
Jon Stewart: "And I wish you well, um, Rob, the Red Sox (were) down 3-0 against their archrivals, the Yankees. A historic comeback to win the series. I mean, (in a Boston accent) 'Come on , Corddry! What's the mood like up there right now?"
Rob Corddry: "The mood, Jon. I'd say the mood here is hopeful. Cautiously optimistic. People here feel the Sox have the Yankees more or less where they want 'em. But only time will tell, Jon."
Stewart: "They have the Yankees where they want 'em? Rob, it's over. The Red Sox beat the Yankees. ...
Corddry (interrupting): "Don't, don't, don't, don't, don't, don't, don't, don't, don't, Jon, Jon, Jon, you're gonna jinx it, man. You're gonna jinx it! Something could still happen. Umm, there could be a forfeit. Or the pennant could go through Buckner's legs, I don't know. Derek Jeter could fly counterclockwise around the Earth really, really fast until it's the night before like Superman did. It's the Yankees, Jon. They're always pulling s--- like that."

Road Trip!

Highlights of last-minute trip from work in Northern Virginia to Boston for a week of the Sox in the World Series:

* Started off by getting stuck in traffic in Leesburg, Virginia, behind a truck with Maryland plates that had "Red Sox in 7" written into the dirt on the back of the truck. It truly is Red Sox Nation.

* Still being physically and mentally spent from the postseason so far, we weren't able to make the roughly eight-hour drive all the way through. We hit our limit in southwestern Connecticut, heavy Yankee country. Eventually found a super-skeevy motel to crash at. Encounters that night and the next morning:

* Stop at about 12:30am at a sketchy Bridgeport gas station, wearing my Sox shirt, to ask where we might find a motel. Give up quickly as attendant behind bullet-proof glass apparently can't hear me, and man next to me has all his Yankees hats lined up in the back seat, looks like he just stepped off the Sopranos set, and is glaring at me.

* At skeevy motel, attendant behind bullet-proof glass (sense a theme in this area) is a Yankee fan and babbles on about the Yankees. Among his observations: "The Yankees handed it to the Sox on a silver platter," and "Ah, well, it's only fair that after 80-something years you get one win." He smiles and sounds friendly, but I sense the arrogant mocking nature of his words. When we leave the next day he calls me "Mrs. Schilling" (I'm wearing a Millar shirt, for the record) and declares that with Wakefield on the mound Saturday we'll either win big or lose big (he's wrong, for the record. We win, but it's not a blowout either way).

* Trip to Dunks Saturday morning before we get back on the road brings many, many cold stares. The New Haven Register guy has a particularly evil eye and follows us with a glare the entire walk from our car inside and back again. Totally unrelated to the Sox, but classic conversation overheard in line at Dunks:
Man getting grumpy about long line.
Woman: "Patience is a virtue."
Man: "I don't have it."
Woman: "Well, you need it if you're going to have kids."
Man: "I told you, in three or four years we'll have kids."
Woman: "But I already have kids."

* As we approach Boston, start seeing Sox signs everywhere, including:

* American Cancer Society building in Natick with huge Go Sox - Thank You sign in windows

* All overhead signs on the Mass. Pike read Go Sox

* Favorite sign: Billboard ad right before our exit in Dorchester: "Wait til next week."

Superstitions

We all have them. Here are some of mine. Feel free to share yours:

* After trying out three different Sox shirts in Games 1-3 of the ALCS, I switched to my Pats shirt (same day the Pats won their 20th in a row). It worked, so I didn't wash it and kept wearing it til we finished off the series with a nice Yankee beating.

* Wally must sit in the same spot every game. Bad people are not allowed to touch him (this means you, Sergio!) Depending on whether we're on a winning or losing streak, Wally may have to be turned upside down onto his head.

* I must sit in the same spot on the couch for every game. Chad must also sit in the same spot on the couch. He's allowed to leave during commercial breaks but must be back in the spot at the next pitch. This one is unspoken. Nothing needs to be said about it.

What Would You Do?

What would you do for a Red Sox World Series Championship?

I would:
* name my firstborn Papi ... and then give the child to Big Papi
* lick Trot Nixon's batting helmet ... and then lick Orlando Cabrera's batting helmet
* wear white-person corn rows for the rest of my life in honor of Bronson Arroyo
* give George Steinbrenner a big kiss ... with tongue!

What would you do? Post your comments.

I'M GOING!!!!!!!!!!

Tyrone Brooks of the Atlanta Braves is a GOD for getting Chad and me tickets to Game Two to see the Second Coming pitch on Sunday night! Our future children will now be named Tyrone Papi I, Tyrone Papi II, Tyrone Papi III, etc. THANK YOU TYRONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Signs We've Gone Over the Edge

Latest: This has to take the cake:

From Craigslist: F*** my wife for red sox tickets
http://boston.craigslist.org/cas/46339611.html

* Friday morning on the main page of Boston.com:

Two in fake beards shought in shooting, robbery
An armored car driver making a routine cash delivery yesterday was confronted by a robber wearing a Johnny Damon-style fake black beard and wielding a rifle.

The police chief said the guard had unloaded some money and was walking into the bank when he was confronted by the thief wearing a fake beard. One law enforcement official described the disguise as a ''Johnny Damon kind of beard," referring to the Boston Red Sox center fielder.

We're now relating all news stories to the Red Sox.
* After mocking Terry Francona for doing it all season, I now find myself unconsciously rocking back and forth when watching games.
* I find myself regularly quoting Nancy Kerrigan ("Why, why, why?!")
* I've run out of profane phrases and am now sputtering ones that don't even make sense. Example: In Game Six, I spontaneously referred to Derek Jeter as a "fat faggot." To make matters worse, I wasn't even aware I'd said anything until Chad repeated it.
* I was teary at the end of Game Five. Five! End of Game Six, delirious. End of Game Seven, comatose.
* I drew blood as I clawed at the skin on my own face and saw red and black spots as Francona brought Pedro into Game Seven
* Too tense to drink alcohol! (With the exception of mid-way through Game Three when I was basically ordered to drink)

I know there are worse out there -- let's hear them!

Required Reading

If you don't read the Sports Guy on ESPN.com, you've probably been living under a rock. He may be on ESPN, but don't mistake him for a journalist. He's a total homer, but he's a Red Sox fan so it's all good. He's a must-read now more than ever.

World Freakin' Series
* Basking in the Nation's Afterglow
* When It Was Finally DONE!
* The Next Win Is For Everyone
* Game Two

Sports Guy Archives

Visualize Yankee Suffering!

A-Fraud shows his true sense of style.

A-Rod School of Baseball

Lovers, together at last!

Thanks Matthew, Liam and Meredith!

And check out these links:

* Being George Steinbrenner

Musical Notes

Suggested listening to get pumped up for Sox games:

"Black Betty" - by Ram Jam. Played when Mike Timlin enters the game

"It's Not Over, Til It's Over" - Lenny Kravitz. This one seems obvious by the title, but you need to listen to the song to truly appreciate how appropriate it is for the Red Sox. If I didn't know he'd written it for Denise Huxtable, I'd have been convinced Lenny is a member of RSN. Lyrics:

"Here we are still together, We are one, So much time wasted, Playing games with love
"So many tears I've cried, So much pain inside, But baby It ain't over 'til it's over
"So many years we've tried, To keep our love alive, But baby it ain't over 'til it's over
"How many times, Did we give up, But we always worked things out
" And all my doubts and fears, Kept me wondering, yeah If I'd always, always be in love

"Livin' on a Prayer" - Bon Jovi. We were certainly living on a prayer in the ALCS, no?

"Praise You" - Fatboy Slim. Some lyrics: "We've come a long, long way together, through the hard times and the good. I've got to celebrate you, baby. I've got to praise you like I should."

"Don’t Stop Believin'" - Journey. Steve Perry and company's version of our motto, Keep the Faith.

"Beautiful Day" - U2. I haven't seen the sun in the D.C. area since Monday, but every day this week has been a truly beautiful day.

"Right Now" - Van Halen. Nuff said.

"Tessie" - Dropkick Murphys. Local band re-does old-time Sox tune. If this doesn't pump you up for the Sox, nothing will. Key line: "Don't blame us if we ever doubt you, You know we couldn't live without you, Red Sox, you are the only, only, ONLY!"

"Sweet Caroline" - Neil Diamond. Played at every Fenway Game. So good, so good, so good!

"Dirty Water" - The Shandells. Boston, you're my home!

Suggested additions welcome...