I wanted them to win. I really did. I’m not really a huge baseball fan, but it’s the history of it. It’s the pageantry. But I knew what would happen if the Red Sox won the World Series. How it would affect my life. How I would have to pay. I imagined, during the victory parade, drunk people stumbling into Starbucks, where I work at One Charles Street, at 9:00 in the morning, vomiting and passing out before ordering their lattes. I envisioned crowds and crowds of people wandering the streets screaming and yelling and murdering each other. As I walked through Oak Grove Station, every person I saw was holding a Dunkin’ Donuts cup. I knew it would happen. I knew everyone would be in my store. It was a rainy day, and perfect for a cup of coffee. But at least the people in the train station weren’t drunk. At least not yet. In Boston, at 8:00 in the morning, I walked down Tremont Street and saw the crowds starting to line the streets. Everybody looked so happy, screaming at every honking car that drove by. I couldn’t believe that all of them were up at that hour screaming at the top of their lungs. But then, I could believe it. The Red Sox won the World Series. If that could happen, anything could happen. When I got to the store there were huge crowds of people. As the day went on, it was busy, but it wasn’t the worst I’ve seen. Everyone was really happy, and some silly girls came in and they screamed. Everyone all day walked around the city screaming. Cars drove by and guys stuck their heads out hollering. There was a feeling in the air as if something magical had happened, as if the Messiah finally came down to earth, and everyone would be saved and would go to heaven and exist in bliss for all eternity. It was as close to that as Boston would ever see. As the parade headed down Boylston Street, I stuck my head out the window to hear the crowd. The roars were so loud it sounded like the ocean. A swell of pride welled inside me, and I felt a spirit of community within the city. I asked Mike Jones, a diehard Red Sox fan and the manager of Starbucks, if he ever thought the Red Sox would win, “I thought they would do it. Even at the beginning of the year, I knew they had a really good team.” I asked him, since Red Sox fans are highly cynical, if the win could have been a fluke, and he said, “It might have been. But at least we got to see it in our lifetime.” Eighty-six years ago, most people didn’t have radios or cars. Women didn’t have the right to vote, and the communist regime in Russia had yet to rise and fall. My optimistic side says that we won’t see such a cultural metamorphosis by the next time the Red Sox win the World Series. But there’s a nagging pessimistic side that says that when they win again, we will all have flying cars and the world will be run by robots. Let’s hope that optimism wins, and it happens so we can all live to see it once more.