(hours slept: >4, coffees consumed: 3, slices of pumpkin pie in the last 12 hours: 3, random smile outbreaks: oh thousands)
I have no words. For once. I am speechless.
In 2004, I was sitting in my childhood bedroom watching the final out while simultaneously drinking copiously, chatting with my Remy Report friends online, and holding my grandmother’s rosary with all my might, willing a win. I don’t think I slept that night and danced with joy with my students the next morning.
In 2007, I was in my apartment in Boston, less drunk and more relaxed as Papelbon closed out the game. Exhausted, but jubilant, the following morning Dirty Water and Tessie blared from my iPod, echoing down the hall from my homeroom, my door decorated with the morning’s headlines.
Early this morning I was in bed in Glasgow watching on MLB.tv, and on Twitter, as tears of joy fell. There are just no words to sufficiently explain how this feels, what this is like.
I’m sad I won’t be able to go to the parade this time (I was there in 2004 and 2007) but I know Red Sox Nation will be well represented by my friends from Boston and beyond.
It’s a time for joy. Have a drink for me, my friends.
And we will remain #BostonStrong.