Nice that they got to do it at home. Fitting that they did it in an offensive explosion. Classy that they seemed to really want the fans involved in the celebration.
This is the feel-good quote of the day:
“This is the absolute best crowd,” Tim Wakefield said. “I’ve never heard them so loud as in this game, even when the Yankees were in town. I came in here, took a champagne shower, went back out twice and they’re still out there.”
Went back out TWICE. This is why PSF.com is proud to sponsor Timmy. I didn’t see the game last night; but I’ll be sure to watch the NESN replay today as I work from home.
Goofy moment of the night:
Trot Nixon started talking maturely about how the 2003 Sox remind him of the 2002 Anaheim Angels but then lost his mind, smashed two full beer cans together and screamed, “Stone Cold Steve Austin!”
Huh?
UPDATE:
Regarding overcelebration, which some have brought up here and in other places, it is my opinion that the celebration last night was more for the fans than for the players. To me, it seemed to be their way of saying ‘Thanks’…as indicated above by Wakes going back out to the field twice, by Nomar throwing shirts to the crowd, and by this Todd Jones story:
Reliever Todd Jones, champagne bottle in hand, walked across the outfield grass to the Sox bullpen and sprayed the fans. As he walked back to the clubhouse, Jones pointed at himself, shook his head no, and crossed his arms like a football referee signaling incomplete pass, then pointed at the fans, while mouthing, “You, you,” over and over.
“I told ’em we were sorry,” joked Jones, a reference to the bullpen’s struggles this season.
“But how could I not go out there and thank them? They were with us all year. There were times they could have shot us and they didn’t.
ANOTHER UPDATE:
Funny story from House that Dewey Built:
Now, normally I wouldn’t bore you with such trival details, except one of the cooler things happend during this excursion. Jocelyne, my girlfriend, heard someone from the street yell, “Let’s go Sox!” Thinking it was just some fan, she looked down. And saw Boston starter Derek Lowe.
It was cool, there was Derek Lowe standing 3 stories below us in the player’s parking lot, on a cell phone, wearing the red undershirt and two bags of ice on, and he was feeling the crowd. A few minutes later, I yelled down “Good game Lowe!”. He acknowledged with a fist pump and a point. It was the first time a major league baseball player gave me something rather then the finger (I hate you Jack McDowell and Tony Phillips).