You could not ask for a more picture-perfect day in Boston: bright blue skies and even brighter sunshine, just enough crispness in the air to remind you that it’s late October. The American League pennant is whipping off the top of the old Hancock, and it feels like a day that will be worth remembering.

It’s just the kind of day you want when your baseball team wins the World Series.

Last night made me nervous. I was at the Paradise, trying to split my time between watching RMB on stage and watching the game off to my left of the stage. The Sox were up when we left early (we’re going again tonight and, truth be told, there was sluggishness experienced as a result of a wonderful Halloween party the night before), and Colorado began to creep back during the car ride home. By the time I arrived back at my place and went upstairs to the television, Holliday was preparing to hit the home run that would make me wonder if we really were about to lose one of these games (and, I feared, the momentum).

The Sox came back, of course, and Ellsbury and Pedroia showed off just what kind of atypical rookies they are. And we won with a decent cushion, putting us up 3-0 in the Series and making me wonder if Sunday was going to be The Day.

And now here I am, realizing that it’s the most beautiful day I’ve experienced thus far as a Bostonian, and every baseball-centric bit of me is beginning to chant, “Today. Today. Today.”

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