If he gets up, they'll all get up...

It's a new dawn.
It's a new day.
It's a new life
For me,
And I'm feeeeeeeeelin' good.
-- Anthony Newley and Leslie Bricusse, "Feeling Good," 1965.

There was a parade today, so it must be real.

The day after the Red Sox won the World Series was a lot like the one before it, except there were no more baseball games to watch. The sun rose. The sun set. John Harrington had lunch. All in all, not a bad day. And then, every so often throughout the day, it hits you. It floats up from untouched corners of the heart like the first few bubbles in a pot of water set to boil. The Red Sox are champions again. You smile.

For so many fans, this is profound because it is more than baseball. It is family. In New England, the Red Sox are heritage, practically codified by DNA. Every fan of this team knows someone for whom they are thrilled the Sox won, and we are happier for that someone than we are for ourselves. We are ecstatic that grandpa finally saw them win. We wish mom were still around to share it. We look forward to telling our kids about it some day. The pain of losing was always focused inward, albeit shared tacitly with fellow fans. The euphoria of winning has been radiated outward and shared privately. Everyone has their own story to tell about this championship, and everyone knows someone else with a better story. That's what makes the Red Sox resonate.