Every baseball fan has a special part of their memory bank set aside to remember all their gameday experiences- the places you go, the people you meet, the teams you see duke it out, the great plays you witness on the field. The thrilling victories, the horrendous defeats- it's all part of your history with the game. It's like having your own personal baseball scrapbook- one that's usually opened to the first brand new page for you by a loved one (in my case, my dad) who gives you the gift of love for the game. You add page after page over the years, and build up a hefty tome full of fuzzy memories.

But on occasion, when you're very lucky, you have a chance to be a part of a game experience that is so special, you don't just file it away in your memory bank- it's as though every at-bat, every out, every catch, every pitch is tattooed in sharp relief on that corner of your soul reserved for baseball.

Last night was one of those occasions.

I was fortunate enough to see a lot of great baseball this year, but last night at Fenway, as one of the lucky 37,706 to be a part of that walk-off win... I was able to be a part of something amazing. I was there for the Mother's Day Miracle back in May, and that perhaps is the only other game this year I can possibly compare it to-- except that this was the PLAYOFFS. And that adds a special additional shine to the victory- the need is more urgent, the victory is sweeter.

There were a lot of "moments" last night: J.D. Drew punching out a double to drive in two runs at just the right moment. The Manny pop-up that caused a collective sharp intake of breath from the crowd, "that's got to be an out, it has to be an out, oh wait, thanks for catching that ball kid" that turned into him drawing a walk. Papelbon (who had the Faithful on their feet from the moment the first notes of "Wild Thing" played on the PA) and the defense rallying to shut down the Angels in the eighth after Mike Lowell's error could have derailed the mojo (that Figgins freeze-out was particularly masterful).

But the ninth inning rally was poetry. Lugo's leadoff single was like a shot of adrenaline to a Fenway crowd that was already bouncing on their feet in anticipation. Pedroia's sacrifice grounder to move Lugo around turned the dial up just a touch further. Youkilis's K would normally have been the pinprick that deflated the balloon... but that second out lighting up red on the Green Monster scoreboard just seemed to stoke the fire even more. And when Napoli held out his glove to signal the intentional walk for Papi, that building tension exploded into a giant cascade of boos- which then transformed into a rousing and Park-uniting cheer of "MAN-NY! MAN-NY! MAN-NY!"... all before Papi ever stepped out of the batter's box to trot towards first. Everyone knew we were on the precipice of something big, and watching Manny amble towards home plate, he seemed to be the only person who wasn't affected by the big-ness of it all.

And the homerun. My god, the homerun. From the crack of the ball off the bat, it seemed every single person in attendance immediately knew that it was long gone. You've seen the pictures- Manny and the team in the dugout and the stands behind them full of fans, all with our arms raised together. If I can be sappy (even moreso than I've been already), watching it unfold before me was like connecting with the ball and Manny and the team and every single Sox fan there together as we simultaneously realized that victory had been snatched away for Boston. The opening notes of "Dirty Water" blared out of the PA speakers before the ball had ever finished its flight over the Monster. And that tension that had exploded a few moments before in frustration at K-Rod pitching out to Papi then imploded into mass hysteria-- on the field AND in the stands. When Papelbon vaulted over the dugout fence to rush towards Manny as he trotted to first, I thought for sure Papelbon would rip Manny's limbs off in a giant mauling of joy. And in the stands, everyone was bear-hugging and high-fiving random strangers around them, who had all suddenly become compatriots in a once-in-a-lifetime memory.

Sure, there have been bigger comebacks. There have been more miraculous endings. There have been more important games. But I'll be damned if it felt that way last night- walking out of the stands and into the cool air of a beautiful Boston night, it felt like we had just won it all.