There are certain things you can't put a price on. Sure, I probably should have saved my money instead of shelling out $130 for a plane ticket, and $70 for tickets to three Sox/Orioles games. I've got bills to pay, houses to save up for, and all the other stuff that comes with being a responsible adult.

But standing outside Camden Yards on Saturday night, on the eve of the playoffs after the Sox had just defeated the Orioles in both halves of a doubleheader, singing Sweet Caroline with thousands of other drunk, jubilant Sox fans, I knew I made the right decision.

hands….touching hands...

Baltimore was a total love fest this weekend. Inside the dugout, Pedro was dancing and drawing caricatures of his teammates, Millar and Manny were cuddling for what seemed like hours, and the rest of the guys had smiles glued on their faces. In the stands, and in the bars surrounding Camden Yards, thirty-five thousand Red Sox fans hugged, high-fived, and drank their way through the last stress-free weekend of baseball that Red Sox Nation will enjoy for quite some time.

reaching out…touching you…touching me…...

The weekend started with what we all took as a sign of the good things that were to come. Maureen and I stood waiting at Gate C5 at BWI Airport for Claudia and Dave. My cell phone rings.

"Hey, we're sitting on the runway...we'll be out in a minute."

"Ok, Maureen and I are waiting at the gate, so we'll look for you."

"Ok, well look for Theo too, cause he's sitting right behind us."

I try to maintain my composure, but it's no use. "Theo is on your plane?!" He's not a celebrity. I know this, and I hate myself for turning into a 12 year-old girl. But I know that I am about to be in the presence of the man that could, thirty days from now, be responsible for bringing unprecedented joy to an entire Nation. We say nothing to him as he walks from the long hallway towards baggage claim, but we all steal quick glances, just to see what a 28 year-old genius looks like. We decide that Theo's presence is an excellent way to kick off the weekend, as well as a sign of things to come. We were hopeful, but we had no idea what we were in store for.

sweet caroline...

After dropping our luggage at our hotel and making an obligatory visit to Inner Harbor, we made our way to Pickles, which is the closest bar to the gates at Camden Yards and not a gay bar, despite what those who named it would have you believe. Pickles, along with Sliders, the bar next door, shut down an entire street and serve beer outside when the Sox come to town. We were gawking at the size of the crowd, all of whom were covered in red and blue, when we saw the signs.

DOLLAR DRAFTS

They were begging us to come out and play. And so, for the next two days, Pickles became a home away from home for us and a couple thousand other Sox fans.

good times never seemed so good...

The next two/three days were a blur of baseball, Sox shirts, cheap beer, hangovers, tasteless pizza, baseball, greasy spoon diners, laughs, crab cakes, and…did I mention baseball? There were, however, more than a few moments that, alone, made the entire weekend well worth the price of admission.

Being a part of the standing ovation for Ellis Burks' final major league start, and seeing Ellis cross home plate for the final time in his career. Doug Mientkiewicz's 2 RBI game winning triple. Triple! Watching Pedro and Manny model their matching headbands and wristbands in the dugout. Spending nearly 8 hours on Saturday at one of the league's most beautiful ballparks with incredible friends. Seeing the signs that read BELIEVE all over Baltimore and convincing ourselves they were meant for us.

(Supposedly they are meant to inspire confidence in the city's ability to become, as the local put it, "a place where you don't have to walk down the street and worry about being shot." But we adopted them as our own because let's face it - who will appreciate the message more, Sox fans or Baltimore crackheads?)

And of course, the shining moment of the weekend - the Sweet Caroline sing-a-long. Does the idea of sucking down a few beers, watching a doubleheader, and singing a Neil Diamond song at the top of your lungs with thousands of other people who are just as excited/nervous/hopeful as you bring tears to your eyes? It does if you're a Sox fan.

so good, so good...

And so, the 2004 season comes to a close, my final record a respectable 6-3. It's not bad when you consider the horrific 0-3 start. But now, that's history. The new season begins tomorrow, and everything that happened before is out the window.

This is it. Starting tomorrow, an entire Nation will put work, relationships, love, and hobbies on the back burner. We will make late night runs to CVS to pick up Tums. We will try to be productive at work, and then convince ourselves that spending 10 minutes on SoSH for every 5 minutes of work that we finish is fair. I have had permachills since Saturday night - goosebumps that show no sign of disappearing until the playoffs are but a distant memory. I am excited. I am terrified. I am hopeful. I am doubtful. I truly believe this is the year, and I am scared to death to be wrong.

I believed they never could...

I am a Red Sox fan.