I grew up outside of Boston, and my long years of suffering with the Sox, coupled with the vicarious elation of 2004's curse-shattering championship run, have well prepared me for this day.
The Philadelphia Phillies are World Series Champions!
I can't say this too loudly, as we have Mets and Nats fans in our ranks (not naming names) and they will tell you all about my "I think I am still a Red Sox fan" revelation after having attended my first game at Fenway in 15 years back in May.
But, as I settled into my role as a Phillies fan in 2005, and what I expected to be a long, turbulent ride moving into a long-suffering NL city, I carried my superstitions with me as closely guarded secrets. About the time Tim McCarver started talking about Philadelphia sports history last night, I feared him jinxing us; much the same as the soon-to-be former marine standing next to me in Fenway while Jon Lester wrapped up that no hitter I witnessed back in May, as the words "I've never seen a... oh, wait" formed at my lips.
Last night, my nephews had gone from a halloween parade to watching the game– the effects of the sugar had clearly taken hold. Taking cues from my brother-in-law, my wife and myself, they were easily whipped into a frenzy, yet unaware of the jinx. Much like a generation of young Red Sox fans who expectantly experience the thrill of victory these days, without being tempered by a spirit-sucking, excruciatingly painful drought, I look forward to them growing up having this privilege. There are plenty of folks around these parts that will be quick to remind them that it was a long, hard road to get here!
(cue Rocky horns here)
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