It’s been a year. Twelve whole months since everything changed.
One year ago today, we all prepared to see our beloved Twenty-Five in Red Sox uniforms as a united front for the last time. We readied ourselves for a fond farewell to our dearly departed. We promised never to forget them.
One year ago today, Pedro Martinez, drenched in champagne, held up the American League trophy and spoke incredulously to his GM: “Hey Theo! Look at that, American League champs! Oh my goodness!”
One year ago today, David Ortiz launched himself out of the Red Sox dugout in the physical manifestation of pure, unadulterated joy.
One year ago today, a group of cowboys and idiots tap danced on the “sacred” mound at Yankee Stadium and celebrated on Steinbrenner’s electric bill.
One year ago today, Tim Wakefield shed tears of joy in the very same place where he’d shed tears of anguish one year prior.
One year ago today, we all learned the power of believing.
For last year’s words belong to last year’s language
And next year’s words await another voice.
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
~T.S. Eliot, “Little Gidding”