Currently, I am at my desk, and to my right is a beer glass about the height of my head, filled half-way with the most beautiful black and tan I have ever poured and drank. My trip to Target, inspiring me to leave with a set of decent, tall, and relatively inexpensive beer glasses made for a worthwhile dinner. Now comes the writing. My best male friend, Erik, left me a message, and it was waiting for me when I got home: 'I want to crawl into a hole,' it read. I knew exactly what he was talking about. The Red Sox, the heart and soul of New England baseball fandom and lore and Erik's favorite baseball team, crumbled apart at the seams in the brief reality that is three zero-sum games, ending their run as World Series Champions. I was rather bummed, too, when Edgar Renteria grounded out to the end of his team's playoff fate for the second time in his career. But, in a way, I found it fitting, appropriate, and even justified. I remember the Red Sox winning the World Series, and more importantly, the ALCS. I remember it like a grandparent remembers as he would tell it to his grandchildren. I remember being amazed, overjoyed, happy for something to be happy about. And even for fans like me who are refugees, refugees of geography and time, nomads on the face of this Earth, always looking for good drama and a good game and a good team to root for. But, the World Series, for me, is like any story that has such a finite beginning and end, any story that mimics a beautiful plotline until the stroke of midnight (or later), any story that a person can predict if they hear it without having been there. It only has the distinct flavor, the characteristic luster one time, before the luster isn't the same anymore. Eventually, it's a light gloss that has been lost over time, like old baseball cards or weathered stones. In a way, we all lived it once, and this year, Sox fans were dying to live it again. And I say, why bother? Well, if it happens, that's great, don't get me wrong. But the moments live on, no matter if the Red Sox lose 162 games next season. No matter if the Yankees win 26 more rings in as many years. The luster from the 2004 postseason is in your mind, not in the possibility of another ring. The moments still exist, and the luster of last year's baseball season for me was that I got to witness a Cinderella story that wasn't concocted or handwritten, and Cinderella was a team in sports that was really a team, with heart and drive, like teams should have. Yes, I remember, and it felt great. We all felt great, or at least, those who sat up on that last night and watched the Sox rout the Yankees, on their way to the greatest comeback, and the greatest victory, in the history of professional sports. It was real, and the feeling was so distinct that I know it can't be repeated (unless, of course, the Mariners win next year). So, Red Sox fans, here is your charge from me, and I think you'll agree with it: Tip your hat, for all is done, and it's time to hang up the red 'B'. Shake the hand of a White Sox fan. Put a drink in their hand, and toast to them. Tell them your toast is to Cinderella stories, and the privilege of knowing that you were once Cinderella, so why can't they be on their way to the ball, too? Be happy that on Lake Michigan, people are believing, and cheering, just like you all did, and be happy that names like Shoeless Joe Jackson, Lefty Williams and Ed Cicotte will no longer mean anything to another legion of baseball fans. Be happy that two consecutive years of baseball history, 1917 and 1918, may be curses no more at the end of this season. And in the celebration of White Sox fans, find your celebration, and realize that you don't need to have the Red Sox win the series again to relive the celebration again. That is my charge. Take it as you will, but believe me when I say that it's a good thing that someone else gets the happy ending. Believe me when I say that others can live the fairy tale, while you still hold dearly and rightfully to your own.