You could see the fire across campus, if you looked hard enough. It was in the middle of two classroom halls on my campus. I saw everyone I knew. I exchanged hugs and handshakes, high-fives. I lost the key to my store. I collided with people. It was incredible. Yes, it's been repeated in thousands of newspapers, and it'll be in this week's SI. The Boston Red Sox, who, at this time of the year, were packing up to head home in Game 7 of last year's ALCS. Refer to the two entries in my diary entitled 'Cowboy Up' and '$125,000' for my commentary on that. 'Faith' is another good entry for this year. But, I mention it because I was watching that last game. That last slaughtering. It was a David finally crushing Goliath. It was Darth Vader's mask being revealed by Luke Skywalker and finding out that he's NOT James Earl Jones. He's a normal guy, just like you and me, and what's worse, he's weak and pale. He's dying, and the final blow is already delivered. It was good to see a victory, good to see good triumph over the perceived evil of the baseball world. And for once, everyone was happy. Everyone was forgetting that they had class the next morning. I did. I went on a midnight run with Shannon to a 24/7 truck stop to get poutine and coconut cream pie at 2:30 in the morning. The fire was extinguished when we got back at 3:30, but we were both happy. We had something to smile about. Something that I'd been searching for for months. Something that seemed just so out of my reach. It was good to whoop and holler and go hoarse over something so incredible; just for a moment, I didn't live in Orono, Maine, and I wasn't a physics student. I was a fan, and I was a co-conspirator who turned superstition on a team that statistics favored. It has felt good since yesterday. It will always feel good.