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"Baseball didn't die with the strike. It just changed. The people who love it will always love it. The strike just weeded out the summer soldiers and sunshine patriots."

"And broke a few hearts on the way," Casey said.

"That happens," Dan said. "That's life. Maddux made Glavine pitch in game 6. And people loved it. It was a baseball highlight of the 90s."

"It really was," Casey mused.

"Like Bobby Thomson in '51. It's a game that renewed our faith in the impossible."

       -- "Where Have You Gone, Tom Glavine?" by Sabine

It's difficult not to feel as if some fundamental principle of physics has been altered. Or that the normal universe isn't here, but somewhere over there, and we're over here in a bizarro land of quarks and Red Sox wins.

I remember feeling a bit like this when Clinton won in '92 -- I didn't really know how to act in a world in which I basically agreed with the people running the country. But this feels sweeter, more unalloyed. Clinton, after all, continued on to be a huge disappointment in many ways, because the real world isn't easy or perfect.

Baseball isn't the real world, however, which is one of its many charms. Its tragedies and joys are equally intense and one is allowed to actually feel that -- to feel that intensely and simply in one direction about anything in the real world requires the removal of all subtext and shades of gray which inevitably leads to guilt and ... no. Perhaps that's why so many baseball fans are opera fans and vice versa? Both offer uncomplicated catharsis. (Side note: My dad was at the opera tonight, "Rigoletto" and they announced the victory at one of the intermissions; a woman came out on stage and said, "Ladies and gentleman, at least one curse has been lifted tonight.")

It's difficult not to feel that anything can happen, now. Kerry can be elected in a landslide that won't require 200 lawsuits and 45 days to settle. There could be free and democratic elections in Iraq and our troops could come home. There could be universal health coverage in the U.S. and a lasting peace in the Middle East.

I mean, they were doing, "how the world has changed since 1918" on TV tonight and it's kind of mind-boggling. Women didn't have the vote. The Ottoman Empire still existed (OK, that wasn't on their list, but it's on mine.)

It's difficult not to feel like Gatsby, but with the green light suddenly dropped into one's lap. A whole new list of desires and impossible dreams is suddenly required.

(after we went up 6-0)
"There's not a single Red Sox fan in the nation right now who's comfortable with only a 6-run lead."
-TV announcer

"And God said ... let the curse be lifted."
-sign in the crowd

"All empires fall sooner or later."
-Red Sox official

then there was the post-game phone call to my dad, who reminded me that I called him in 1986 during Game 6, just before the Red Sox imploded and said, "Omigod, dad, they're going to blow it, aren't they? This is what you warned me about!" (Particularly funny, since this time I was deliberately avoiding calling him, even after last night, cause I felt it would jinx it.) Much yeehawing, during which I shared my theory (see below) that God won't allow both a Red Sox and a Kerry win. This brought up the following:

Me: "I really hope it's not the Astros. I don't want to lost to Texas."
Dad: "Yeah, but the Cardinals beat the Red Sox twice before in the Series -- in 1967 and 1946."
Me: "OK, but I wasn't even born in 1967. And *you* weren't even born in 1946."
Dad: "Yeah, but I've seen the tape."

OK, see, though, here's my problem: I don't basically believe that God will let the Red Sox win the Series without punishing us by having Bush be re-elected. Though, if the Red Sox do win, I think it's clearly proof that God is rewarding Massachusetts for instituting legal gay marraige.