Pride

Once the exhilaration of winning the World Series wore off, the high of being on top of the world, the rewarding feeling of months and months of never giving up--I was left with pride. Pride in a sports team is a funny thing. In some ways, it feels as though the Sox are my child, whom I've watched grow up and mature through the vicissitudes of a season, and eventually succeed in life. Yet in another way, the Sox are this huge force I cannot touch, yet I admire and respect, and I dream of being like them. After all, the Sox is a historic organization made up of grown men playing their hearts out, day after day. And I'm proud at what they were able to accomplish. On a third level, I'm proud of the Sox because they are role models, and they are good, humble people who deserved every minute of their accomplishment. They worked hard all season, all offseason, every minute of their lives so that they could give the fans a victory. And I'm so grateful.
When we first won, I didn't even know what to do with myself. I kept repeating, "We just won the World Series." Before, every victory was merely a stepping point to a greater stage. Finally, there was nothing to wait for. We had to live in the moment, bathe in the warmth of our satisfaction. Even though it was after midnight, I stayed up to watch all the postgame celebration the FOX televised. My heart was beating so rapidly, I was afraid it would jump out of my chest. There was no greater gift the Red Sox could have given us than this. When I woke up the next morning, I was sleep-deprived, torpid, and sluggish. It was one of the greatest feelings I have ever experienced. My entire school seemed to be wearing Red Sox gear, and I was walking on air.
The offseason is going to be a long one. Some key players might be involved in trades (cross your fingers that it's not Mike Lowell!), but the core of this team will remain. We are going to be great. We are going to be champions.
We're already off to a very good start.