I'm watching the show on HBO called "Reverse the Curse of the Bambino", which chronicles the Red Sox debacles over 86 years, and now it's the end and that part where Foulke flips the ball to Renteria for the last out of the World Series is on and I actually have tears coming out of my eyes when they show pictures of the graveyards in Boston decorated with Red Sox flags and balloons for all the grandfathers and ironworkers and union guys that never got to see Boston finally win.
I saw it in the eyes of the two blue- eyed, red-haired little boys who were on their way to Fenway on the train with their big Irish father holding them by their shoulders and telling them to stay off of the ground while every single person in that packed train had on a Red Sox jersey or hat and were coming out because the Sox were in the playoff hunt and it was Fenway's 280th consecutive sellout....
This, this is why we live and die by our Red Sox. This is why whenever I see those last outs of the Series or Ortiz's homerun in Game 4 against the Yankees, I start tearing up. And this is why next year, when September rolls around and the Sox are in the playoff hunt, I'll stay up until 1 in the morning every night and watch them fight and claw.
For Boston. Forever.