I've had some very good days in my life. Meeting a president. Making out with a girl the first time. Winning a scholarship to college. The day my son John was born. The day my daughter Emma came home from the NICU. The day I got married. The day my divorce was finalized. Cutting down the nets in the old Sacred Heat Gym at Cabrini. Playing Torrey Pines. Driving the Green River Valley. Sitting in the rain at Fenway.
But none of those days compared to yesterday. The anticipation built all day. Coming back into Philadelphia from Toronto, I drove past the stadiums and knew in that instant daydreamed of a parade Friday. My son babbled for an hour as we drove home and his innocent certainty was infectious. The Phils were going to win.
I've been racking my brain all day. Trying to think of a moment in my life that meant more to me than listening to Harry Kalas on the call as John and I held each other and jumped up and down in rapture.
And the truth is that nothing compares.
I don't ever want this feeling to go away.