World Series Blog
From the couch
By: Melissa Ostrow
For: Boston Phoenix
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Some went to bars and some gathered on couches; I did the latter. I chose a comfy, safe spot on the couch as opposed to the mob scene everyone predicted downtown Boston would become. Chips, beer, a few good people, and an awesome game made the night complete.
During commercial breaks we ran to the balcony to check up on the lunar eclipse, a magnificent sight that will not appear again until 2007. We split our time between the incredible sight of the Red Sox doing something that hadn't been done in 86 years and something that wouldn't happen again for another three years. Both seemed magical, as the moon glowed orange and the Red Sox swept the Cardinals. The curse had loomed in the air all night as we waited for something to turn. Things had looked glum for us at the start of the American League Championship Series until we turned it around in game four and fought our way all the way to the win.
In the seventh inning, Cardinal fans seemed to still have high hopes. The camera zoomed in on a woman kissing her rings; some in the stands prayed, and one gentleman covered his eyes with the scoop of his hat. Two men smirked to the camera, showing off their baseball hats that bore Babe Ruth's face taped to the front as they held on to the idea of the curse that had kept us from holding the trophy for so long. The thought lingered: "It's not over til it's over," as one man's sign read. You could see the tension in the faces of the Cardinal fans. Could the Sox really do it and in just four games? People said it was going to be tough! But as we watched the Red Sox slaughter the Cardinals game after game of the World Series, we wondered: could it really be this easy? Most expected it to go to the seventh game. No one got too excited at the wins -- too afraid to jinx it. But the Sox did it.
Bottles of champagne appeared from the dark of the fridge and red plastic flutes appeared on the coffee table. As Edgar Renteria grounded out to closer Keith Foulke, the bottle opened with a fizzle. I wish I could say it popped and poured like in the movies, but this is realty. We clanged glasses and did a lap around the room hugging those we knew and those we never knew until the Red Sox came to win. As fireworks popped off in the distance, we drank, loaded up coats and champagne glasses, and ran for the street. On the corner of Washington, in front of the Forest Hills T-stop, cars honked their horns as they drove by. Everyone from the loud college kid to the working guy to the little old Asian lady blared their horns. Even the buses and cabs that rolled out of the bus stop honked. This was surely a day when people blasted their horns in glee, not in angst. People hung flags out the window, screamed, threw up their arms, and hung out of car windows. A girl stopped at the traffic light chanted, "FUCK BABE RUTH!" and threw Baby Ruths from the car. Then she and her cheering squad went into a song and delivered a drunken screaming version of "We Are the Champions," and the car began to hum the same tune. The group of us bundled up on the corner held our champagne glasses high as the cars drove by honking. We felt the victory and for one night, all of New England was united.
