“WE WIN!” If you’re a fan of the television show, “Cheers”, then you remember, during the opening theme song, when one of the bar patrons holds up a newspaper with the aforementioned headline in large words.

Coincidence? Well, take into effect that not only the show took place in Boston, but that there is actually a bar named “Cheers” in that city.

Last night, as I’m sure the entire civilized world is aware, the impossible happened. That’s right, the Boston Red Sox not only advanced to their fifth World Series since the last time they won the world championship all the way back in 1918, when most of our grandparents hadn’t even been conceived, but they also made history by becoming the first baseball team to both force a Game 7, and win it, after being down three games to none, only three outs away from golf season.

The mood in Boston was the exact opposite of the one after last year’s American League Championship Series when the Yanks won Game 7 in extra innings on a first pitch by Aaron “#@%$@” Boone. Well, Boone is no longer in New York, and neither is the World Series, at least not this October.

On Fox’s coverage of the ALCS, Wednesday night, they showed two postgame scenes. One was the obvious locker room celebration of the Sox, and the other was one at a bar in Boston where the crowd was large and ecstatic, as opposed to last year, when we got a look at that very same bar, and the mood was quiet and depressing (The way I like it!).

If you read that last sentence, then you have probably figured out that I have been a diehard fan of the so-called “Evil Empire” since I was a young child growing up on the north shore of Staten Island, New York, part of the greatest city in the world. My entire family and most of my friends there were Yankee fans. I was born into it. It’s in my blood. It was never a conscious choice. It was, however a conscious choice to remain one, one I will never regret.

I watched the postgame celebration after Game 7. I can’t really say why I did. Maybe, despite being depressed right after the game, I was still in a state of shock, awe and wonder about what had just occurred. The one thing that struck me, just for a brief second, was watching the Red Sox throw on their caps and shirts that read, “Boston Red Sox, 2004 American League Champions.”

I did manage to get over that quickly enough, though. I talked to my two younger brothers, both my parents, one aunt, her 18-year old son and my grandparents…all after midnight. We all had quite a bit of trouble coping with the night’s events. Some more than others as my youngest brother wouldn’t leave his room, and my dad saying, “I don’t want to talk about it!” after calling me to do just that.

After all of the madness, which included a group of obviously drunk individuals having a celebration outside my room as if they were the Red Sox themselves (They may have actually had champagne!), I went to bed, not knowing what the next day would bring. As I lied there, I couldn’t help thinking how ridiculous it was that these guys felt the need to validate themselves through a baseball team that they don’t even route for.

They say it’s only because they hate the Yankees. In response, I say, “Get the owner of you’re favorite team to put some money into the roster like George does, and go beat the Yanks yourself!” These are the same people that think I may have been agitated at the time, and that whole statement may not exactly have come from my brain, but the principle stays the same in either case, but that’s neither here nor there.

I woke up Thursday morning at about 10:30. Luckily I have no classes that day, so I could take in what had happened less than 12 hours ago. I looked around, and I could see that nothing in the landscape of my coveted bachelor pad had moved. I looked outside and couldn’t see any red clouds or structural fires that I had anticipated if something like this were to happen during the hopefully long and fruitful span of my life.

I then came in contact with the same people that were outside my room early that morning in oblivious celebration. It was as if nothing had happened. Of course I heard a random, “Go, Sox!”, every few minutes. However, that was really nothing, because I had been hearing that my whole life after Staten Island, let alone during this series.