Good Day to be Alive
And it feels right this time
On this crash course we're in the big time
Pay no mind to the distant thunder
Beauty fills his head with wonder, boy...
Says it feels right this time
Turn around, found new high lights
Good day to be alive sir
Good day to be alive, he said...--Metallica
The first thing I did this morning was stumble to my computer to see who had updated, who had commented here. I wanted to begin absorbing the joy before my eyes had even fully focused.
On the radio, Hillman and the gang were on the phone with Ernie Boch Jr., who was in turn in Japan, asking passerby, "Red Sox...do you know the Red Sox?? No? Matsui??"
Last night, my sister called me from Ohio, where it's not exactly The Baseball Desert, but where, as she put it, "people just. don't. get it." A roomate of hers watched the game, watched as my sister pined to be in the raucous bars of Boston, and asked, "How many games in the World Series?"
"They have to win 4 out of 7," my sister said.
"Oh, boy," said the roommate, sighing.
This morning comments have flooded Surviving Grady from as far away as Beijing. The Red Sox have crossed time zones and cultural barriers. The Red Sox have gone around the world.
Another thing I did this morning was stop in to the local convenience store and buy several copies of both the Globe and the Herald. The store had enormous stacks laid out on the counter as well as on the newsstand, preparing for an onslaught of buyers.
The Globe front page from 2001 and the front sports page from 2003 are framed in my apartment. They will become a trio today, with the Red Sox right in the middle, in a place of honor.
This morning when I finally walked in to work, several of the men from the shop were out fixing something under one of the ceiling tiles, in the lobby up a short flight of stairs from the door. I stood looking up at the bottom, they stood looking down at me, and everyone smiled at once.
I took a deep breath, savoring the moment. "How bout them Red Sox, huh?" I asked.
"Amen," one said.