Last night was an amazing night for everyone from Boston. It was also an amazing night for everyone of Boston, for all of the people who have lived, worked, and gone to school just minutes (or hours, depending on the Green Line) from Fenway Park. Regardless of whether you watched the game from Fenway (lucky jerks), from Beacon Hill Pub, or from across the country, last night was larger-than-life, the kind of night that sports legends spring from. It was the second Red Sox title since 1918 (the first, in 2004, broke the Curse of the Bambino), and the first time in 95 years that the Sox have won the World Series at Fenway Park.
Last night's win was also inextricably coupled with the tragedy that the city faced last spring at the Boston Marathon.
I was at the Marathon. I am one of those people who are of Boston, one of the 50,000 college graduates the city spits out each and every year. Watching the game last night I would have given anything to be back in Boston, to be able to feel that incredible sense of pride and connection that the city has for and with its baseball team. The Red Sox are as Boston as parades, as Paul Revere, and as dropping your 'r's. It was a testament to what the Red Sox have come to represent that, in the wake of the bombings, New York City showed solidarity with Boston by playing "Sweet Caroline" at Yankee Stadium.
Last night, the Boston Red Sox won something so much bigger than a World Championship. This World Series, dare I say it, was bigger than baseball (but can we just talk about Koji Uehara?). It was bigger than David Ortiz. It was bigger than playoff beards. This World Series was about re-balancing the scales, about commemorating loss with a win. This World Series was about the city of Boston proving that bombs can't touch their spirit, and about the Red Sox showing that they are truly #BostonStrong.