World. Series. Champions.

In 2004, I was living in the North End in my very first all on my own apartment.  In fact, I was all on my own the night the Red Sox finally ended their 86 year old drought; sick and utterly exhausted - as was the rest of Red Sox Nation - due to many late night ball games.  That night, nine years ago, I watched the game sprawled out on my sofa, sipping tea, butterflies in my stomach for nine innings.  The city erupted, of course, at the end of the game and even from my fifth floor apartment I could hear the shouting, the chants, the screams of glee.  Thrilled beyond belief with the victory I was also momentarily blue, tinged with the slightest regret that I didn't rally and make it out that night, that I wasn't at a bar or a friend's party, celebrating with a large group.  But the melancholy lasted for only the briefest of seconds.  I walked down those five flights of stairs, stood outside on the sidewalk of my neighborhood for a minute, listening to more screams coming from the group of bars mere blocks away.  We had done it, I thought to myself.  We had done it.

The next morning will forever be one of my absolute favorite memories about living in Boston.  As I walked toward the T, on my way into work, every single person that I passed was smiling.  A few grown men in suits were whistling.  The joy running throughout the entire city was palpable - it was a feeling unlike anything else I have ever experienced.  I bought a Boston Globe from the man outside of the Government Center T stop.  We didn't speak a word to one another as I bought the paper.  We did, however high-five one another, both of us grinning from ear to ear before I disappeared underground into the subway system.  

I still have that newspaper.

******    

2007 was the first fall I was back in Boston, after moving to New York in 2005.  I shockingly can't remember exactly where I was the night we clinched that World Series title, for some reason the final game of the Series is not tucked away very clearly in my memory bank.  What I remember most about that series, about the 2007 championship in general, was how happy I was - despite a lot of questions and drama swirling around in other parts of my life around that time that were making me a tad miserable - how happy I was to be back, to be a part of this city...particularly when a sports title involving the Red Sox was on the line. For there is no better time for this city to shine.  Or so I thought.

******

And then, suddenly, it was April 15, 2013.  A favorite day in this city, a day celebrating our Marathon, our revolutionary spirit, our day reserved for those Patriots - the ones that came before the football team.  Marathon Monday has always been a day we Bostonians count on to leave all of us a bit more inspired, a bit more motivated, a bit more awestruck by the power of the human spirit.

Which, in fact, is truly what I think each and every one of us took away from a day that ended as terribly and tragically as it did.  Because this IS our fucking city.  Because we are Boston Strong.

******  

Last night, I hosted book club at my apartment.  It was a night we'd settled upon weeks ahead of time, long before the World Series was truly on any of our radars.  (I'm not really one to count my chickens before they hatch, you'll find.)  Rather than reschedule our meeting, my beloved book clubbers and I combined all of our interests last night, managing to talk about the book from 7-8pm, and then turning on the game promptly at 8:00.  It was in the middle of the 5th when a friend asked if we wanted to go down to the nearest sports bar, a handful of blocks away from my apartment.  Brilliant.

Which is how I ended up ringing in our big win last night, in one of the best series I can ever remember watching.  My friends and I were surrounded by throngs of other baseball - of Boston - fans, each and every one of us in the packed bar sipping our beers and eagerly staring at that television screen.  Then, just like that, we were all exploding with joy.  There was screaming and yelling, high-fiving strangers, and hugging friends.  Maybe it wasn't the smartest idea on a school night, but if there is ever a night to do a victory shot as you close out your tab, last night was it.  Which is exactly what my friends and I did.  Mere minutes before the entire place broke out in song to Sweet Caroline. 

This morning, my alarm went off at its usual time.  I always wake to NPR, Bob Oakes's voice whispering in my ear.  Today, his opening lines were about these new World Series champs of ours, with soundbites of the previous nights game looped in.  I laid in bed for a minute or two, waking up and realizing that it wasn't all a dream.  That we had won last night.  That sometimes in life we get lucky enough that what should happen actually does happen. 

And then Bob Oakes launched into his second story of the morning, a minor headline compared to all of the recent events surrounding our beloved baseball team.  Because, oh right.  The President of the United States had also been in town yesterday.  Right. Minor detail.

As I sat up in bed, I smiled again to myself.  I live in a city where baseball is king.  Where the Red Sox trump all.  Where strength overcomes weakness, where hope outshines anger and fear.  

Where the good guys win.