That Martin-Sheen-in-Apocalypse Now! look in Josh Beckett’s eyes.
Scutaro going 4-for-4 despite my cursing and insisting that he was doomed to bring us down with each at-bat.
Wheeler and Bard striking out five of the six Yankees they faced when we absolutely needed them to come up huge.
The complete lack of f$%ks given for the “mystique and aura” of Mariano Rivera.
That “of course he did” moment when Pedroia laced a sac fly for the tying run in the bottom of the ninth.
The minute Reddick connected and we all lost our shit in the bottom of the tenth.
JD Drew being among the first guys out to pigpile Reddick.
And the opportunity to watch the Yanks skulk off the field, sole possession of first place firmly in our back pocket.
My mind should be focused on the McCluskey file and a million other projects piled up on my desk. But I can’t stop replaying last night’s heroics in my head. And thinking how the only thing that could have made it better would have been seeing Josh Beckett get the win or Gonzo going yard. But these are minor details. We got the win, the fans got a taste of October in August, and I’m a babbling, Red Bull-fueled, incoherent mess at the office today.
But it feels so goddam awesome.
