sportsgal	Female SOMERVILLE, MA
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It’s 5:30 Am and I just woke up out of a dead sleep.

Is it because I’ve got multiple victory beers and shots churning around in my stomach that, in the last four hours, have evolved into a killer combo that just sent me stumbling to the bathroom for the Pepto Bismol? Nah.

I’m thinking that it’s to write about the Game Five miracle that I decided I was too tipsy to earlier submit to Sawxheads (how’s that for sound decision making while under the influence, by the way?). What I might have written was this:

Have you ever been in a car accident?

There’s a moment before impact—probably not even a second long—where everything screeches to a standstill and you think, ‘Oh my God. I’m going to die.’ Stretch that feeling out for six and a half innings and that’s what last night’s Red Sox game felt like. Watching the Sox go down 7-0 to the Tampa Bay Rays was like being in that white, 2004 Jeep Grand Cherokee Laredo as it spun out of control and careened into a tree. Dramatic? Hell yes, but this is the ALCS we’re talking about. While watching baseball can’t fracture a pelvis the way a car crash can (at least I hope not) it can certainly break thousands of hopeful hearts.

Luckily, all I ended up with was a hearty bout of nausea.

My inner battle started early though. My cookies were almost tossed before Iwamura’s leadoff single and B.J. Upton’s mind-erasing longball that introduced itself to the Green Monster. I was a nauseous even before Pena unleashed his two-run homer on the right field line in the third inning, and Longoria hit for a copycat that tried to meet up with Upton’s ball somewhere in the Monster. Truth be told, I was sick before the Star Spangled Banner was sung.  

This gastrointestinal nightmare had nothing to do with a lack of faith in the Boston Red Sox. I’ve trusted my gut feeling before every game of the ALCS—whether good or garish—and I truly felt confident about Game Five. I think it was more a matter of Complete Commitment.

You know exactly what I’m talking about, right? I’m talking about guys who are too scared to settle down with a girlfriend but would be in the running for Devoted Spouse of the Decade if they could marry the Sox. I’m talking about women who are so wrapped up in the Playoffs that they’re pounding the Pepto to get through a game.

These are the members of Red Sox Nation.

With each Rays run we fans could physically feel the pain, but we were bleeding Boston baseball. Last night our boys staunched the wound with a brilliant 8-run turnaround that began with Pedroia’s RBI single in the seventh and got juiced when David Ortiz crushed a Balfour ball to officially return from his vacation from Clutch. J.D. Drew’s homerun in the eighth was only eclipsed by his own, beautiful ninth-inning line drive: The walkoff hit.

We are the Comeback Kids. We are hungry as hell. We love the Celtics but refuse to make the transition to basketball season without winning a World Series first.

I tell you, it ain't over.