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.