Such great heights

Well, boys, I reckon this is it - nuclear combat toe to toe with the Roosskies. Now look, boys, I ain't much of a hand at makin' speeches, but I got a pretty fair idea that something doggone important is goin' on back there. And I got a fair idea the kinda personal emotions that some of you fellas may be thinkin'. Heck, I reckon you wouldn't even be human bein's if you didn't have some pretty strong personal feelin's about nuclear combat. I want you to remember one thing, the folks back home is a-countin' on you and by golly, we ain't about to let 'em down. I tell you something else, if this thing turns out to be half as important as I figure it just might be, I'd say that you're all in line for some important promotions and personal citations when this thing's over with. That goes for ever' last one of you regardless of your race, color, or your creed. Now let's get this thing on the hump - we got some flyin' to do.
-- Major T.J. "King" Kong, "Dr. Strangelove," 1964.

Three days later, and Wednesday night remains locked away in some parallel utopia that intersects with the workaday world only on occasion. Here in California, it has been akin to being part of a secret underground resistance movement whose members are distinguished by their ballcaps and their exhausted smiles. Expatriot Red Sox fans in this part of the globe have dutifully walked that line between jubilation and dread, almost as if deriving too much merriment from the series just concluded will jinx The Series that lies ahead. The first rule of Sox Club is you don't talk about Sox Club. Not now. Not too loudly. Not until they ... you know.