Sox's 'why cant's' turned to 'we dids'

This is about winning Game 1 of a World Series with a home run off a foul pole struck by a player who, if plebescite managing were in vogue, would have been dropped from the lineup three games earlier. This is about winning Game 2 of a World Series when a very expensive, swaggering, big-talking 37-year old pitcher does the very thing he said he had come here to do, and he does it on an ankle that needs significant surgical repair. This is about winning Game 3 of a World Series when the gifted 33-year old diva of a mound ace submits his best performance in a month in what may have been his Red Sox farewell.

Finally, this is about Derek Lowe out-Curting Curt and out-Pedroing Pedro with a spectacular 7-inning display of pitching. This is about Johnny Damon leading off the ballgame with a home run into the St. Louis bullpen, making it the fourth straight game the Red Sox scored in the first inning. This is about Trot Nixon hitting three doubles and knocking in two runs. This is about becoming only the fourth team in major league history to win a World Series without ever trailing.

This is about an eccentric billionaire owner, a precocious general manager and a computer-toting manager working together to build on a team left behind by a Massachusetts-born pure fan who had stocked the cupboard with stars, including the Series MVP.. The starting lineup in this biggest of all games featured four Dan Duquettes, four Theo Epsteins and one Lou Gorman. I like that.

This is about a team that stumbled and underachieved for three months before finding itself. This is about a team that conducted a Sysiphysian pursuit of the Yankees during the regular season, but which never lost faith in the team-wide belief that it was the better team, even after losing the first three games of the ALCS, the third of which was a complete embarrassment.

This is about a team that was able to do what so many of its predecessors could not do, which was to appreciate the tortured team history and appreciate the angst of the fandom without becoming overwhelmed by either. This is a team that had no trouble adopting the one-day-at-a-time mantra of manager Terry Francona, whose approach to many situations, both on and off the field, confused and sometimes angered fans, many of whom can only relate to my-way-or-highway skippers, not to a thoroughly modern man who embraces technology and thinks too many rules are counter-productive.

So now we know what it takes to win. It takes superb starting pitching. How about a combined 10 hits and one unearned run from Schilling, Pedro and Lowe in Games 2, 3 and 4? It takes timely hitting. It takes the requisite defense. And it takes a bullpen, which, in the post-season, was, at times, beyond spectacular.

And it takes a little luck. Manny stayed. The Yankees got stuck with A-Rod.

Baseball, my friends, baseball.

It took a little while, but the championship of baseball has come back where it belongs. Since the 1870s, baseball has resided in the heart of Boston. While an entire nation has sold its soul to the violence and essential callousness of football, Boston has been a proud, stubborn holdout, preferring a more subtle, intricate, sport appealing equally to the mind and the senses. If we are the only locale in America left in which baseball is King, so be it. When you're right, you're right.

What a sweet ride it was. Has any team ever sent its followers on such a Manic (sweeping the Angels) - Depressive (Losing those first three to the Yankees) - Euphoric (each and every one of the last eight games) post-season journey? It's not possible.

So there it is. No more crying, hear? No more whining, hear No more "Whys?" The Boston Red Sox are champions of the world.

There is only one thing left to say.

"Go Cubbies!"