I told you so. How could you have doubted? Part of the problem with the so-called Sox stigma was that people weren’t willing to believe in a comeback. Even as the Sox climbed their way out of a championship shutout, there were many baseball junkies I talked to who remained convinced that the Yanks would win, that it could not happen, and that the Sox, as adorably crimson as they might be, simply weren’t going to do it. But 10-3? That’s what I call a goddam blowout.

But taking the allegory I propounded the other day (which has launched some Grade-A comment silliness) one step further, I suspect that the Sox needed to win, just to demonstrate to the damn world that nothing is certain, and that there are marvelous surprises behind every corner — just so long as people believe in them and don’t give up hope. Case in point: If you told me two weeks ago that I’d be waxing whacked out sports-related metaphysics on these pages, I wouldn’t have believed you. But the Sox’s gradual entree into the Series proper gives the kind of true faith and freedom that the shaky boys at the top couldn’t fathom for a second. It’s a fatalistic whirlydirsh that needed to happen. Completely secular, entirely unprecedented, and downright joyous.

And on that note, holy frijole. Sarah’s nabbed an interview with Alexander McCall Smith. Joe Bob says check it out.