I just caught myself doing it again. It happens more often than I'd like to admit. Any time, any place. In the shower, in the car on the way to work, in the middle of a promotions meeting, when I'm brushing my teeth...you get the point. I'll be minding my own business when, without warning, my mind starts to wander. Before I know it, I'm in that same familiar place at that same familiar time.

Fenway Park. Game 7 of the World Series. The Sox lead the Cardinals by three runs. Top of the ninth. Two outs. Keith Foulke is on the mound. Albert Pujols hits a hard grounder towards right field which Mientkiewicz predictably dives and grabs between 1st and 2nd. He tosses it to Foulke, who covers first for the third out. The cheers are deafening. Hugs. Tears. A wild celebration on the field.

That's when I catch myself, lost in a daydream, with a huge smile on my face. I shake my head furiously, as if I could destroy the image I had just been enjoying. "Don't think like that;" I tell myself, "don't tease yourself. "

But it's too late. We've all imagined it. Sure, the details in our daydreams and fantasies are different. Some see Mark Bellhorn hitting the game winner walk-off homerun. Some see Schilling pitching a complete game shutout in Game 7. Some see the Sox using the last man on their bench, Nelson de la Rosa, to pinch hit in the bottom of the 17th inning of Game 7.

Ok, maybe not that last one.

But we're all thinking about it. Visions of champagne celebrations and ticker tape parades interrupt our thoughts. The Standells have been playing on repeat in our heads for the last week. We've lost our voices in anticipation of what could be. We -

Uh oh, I've got to go. My boss just called and asked me to - well..to be honest, I don't know what she asked.

All I know is that it's the top of the 9th, Foulke is on the mound, there are two outs, and Albert Pujols is walking up to the plate.