The Best Part

I admit it. I despaired. After predicting and then watching super-closer turned super-goat Eric Gagne blow yet another save back in August, I lost all hope that the Sox would even reach the post-season, let alone win the Series. I despaired for Tessie, fearing that I had somehow revived the Curse, and that she would resent me forever for naming her in honor of the 2004 Curse-breaking Sox and "that damn 'Tessie' song."

As I lay on the couch that night, gasping for breath (I was hyperventilating - really), I worried that Tessie would face ridicule or disparagement because of her misguided father's moronic idea to name her in honor of a bunch of guys neither one of them would ever meet. I seriously contemplated changing her name.

The Red Sox did manage to hang on to just enough of their early season lead - it's a marathon, not a sprint, the saying goes - and they advanced to the postseason, sweeping the Angels, bouncing back from the brink of elimination against the Indians, and then sweeping the Rockies to win it all. Tessie has now witnessed in her first full season what it took me 37 years to see, and what many fans never saw - the Red Sox as World Champions.

So what was the best part? The victory itself? No. As great as it feels to have watched, cheered on and encouraged a team to an eventual championship, I do realize that this has a rather limited effect on my life, as my cheering, I'm sure, had a limited effect on the Red Sox.

The feeling that this is only the beginning? No, again. While a Red Sox 'Dynasty' may in fact be in the works, and there is reason for great optimism in Red Sox Nation, anything can happen. Injuries, misguided trades, bad calls - all can conspire to crush a season. I am grateful for 2004, of course, and now 2007. Next year is next year, and anything can happen.

Vindication for Tessie's name? No, not that either. Dark as the depths to which I sank in August were, I did eventually realize that a name is just a name. She can make of it what she will. She may, in time, choose to be called 'Teresa,' or 'Terri,' or even by her middle name, Caroline. (Yes, Caroline, as in 'Sweet Caroline,' as in sung at Fenway in the eighth inning. When I lay it on, I lay it on thick. I'm still surprised Hannah let me get away with this.) She's got options. If she wants to keep her Red Sox fanhood a secret, instead of wearing it on her sleeve and her driver's license, she may. (She may not, however, switch allegiances to the Yankees. Ever. Under any circumstances. Tessie, do you understand?)

Avoiding my worst nightmare? Not quite. In true, pessimistic Red Sox fan fashion, in the back of my mind I held a bit of dread that the Red Sox would win the the first three games of the best-of-seven World Series and then lose the next four. This sprang from the 2004 ALCS, in which the Red Sox did precisely that, recovering from losing the first three games to win the next four and advance to the World Series at the Yankees' expense, bestowing the title of "Greatest Choke of All-Time" on the Bronx Bummers. If the Sox managed to unravel, the New-Yawk-accent-inflected catcalls would have been deafening, and undeniable. So, while relief and joy compete for preeminence in my baseball-obsessed psyche, I never really felt that such a collapse was in the offing.

Dancing around the room with Tessie in my arms after Jonathan Papelbon struck Seth Smith out swinging to end the game and win the World Series? That was pretty sweet, as were Tessie's final Victory Tosses. (Possibly her final Victory Tosses ever, as I expect her to have put on enough weight by next season that hefting her up over my head will be out of the question.) Her delight, uncomprehending though it (probably) was, enhanced my joy. She giggled, applauded, cooed and babbled, all with a grin as wide as it could have been.

The best part came earlier in Game Four. I had settled in on the couch to watch, and Tessie came toddling by (she is a toddler, after all), and plopped her stuffed bear down in a seated position next to me. Before she backed away, she leaned in and gave him a hug and a little peck. My response? Jealousy, of course; I had yet to receive one of my daughter's kisses. "What's this?" I said, "Mr. Bear gets smoochies and I don't?" I leaned over, and she did in fact give me a kiss before toddling away again. That was it. First one ever. While Jon Lester was striking out Troy Tulowitzki in the bottom of the third inning. Ahhh.

That was the best part of the World Series.