I wind up telling this one every now and then. I was driving from Boston to Maine in the middle of a vacation with my family, and we had the radio on. The date was, through no particular baseball planning of our own, October 17 2004 - thanks to the magic of the Google I can look it up to make sure. We listened to WEEI 850 AM. The Red Sox were down to the Yankees in the ALCS three games to none. The game the night before had been a humiliating 19-8 loss, right there in Boston. The fourth and surely final game would be that night. This was a call-in show. It was glorious listening. We heard Bill Flippin' Buckner this. We heard Bob Freakin' Stanley that. The fans were calling in to relive all their collective nightmares, one more time. Just like every post-season appearance. Over and over, in every detail imaginable. The Red Sox were doomed to this kind of disaster, yesterday, today, tomorrow, forever. Forever. Fans were likewise doomed, to the honorable, noble misery of being a Red Sox fan. The misery would never end. Glorious. We all know what happened after that, starting that very evening. My boys and I (plus the long suffering wife and daughter) were lucky enough to experience Boston at its very very best, its ultimate, that afternoon in the comfort of our rental car. It will, it can, never be the same again.