Pulling up to a stoplight in Kendall Square this morning, I was happily surprised to hear September pumping out of one of the minivans waiting at the line. I pulled alongside and gave a smile and nod though the open window to a woman clearly enjoying her Thursday morning. She was clapping and singing along and just caught my hello out of the corner of her eye. “We got ’em baby!” she exclaimed to me between claps. She must have sensed my confusion and produced a small sign, at the ready on the passenger’s seat. “Sweet 17” read the white on green bold lettering. “We got ’em alright!” I replied after realizing what the hell she was talking about.
Did she miss the game, and finally watched it on Tivo last night, or is she still riding the wave from Tuesday evening? Maybe she is mentally five hours early for the parade. On Tuesday night the air was filled with cheers and car horns, but as soon as Wednesday morning the celebration had all but subsided. Meandering through Somerville yesterday morning, our carpool continued the brouhaha from the night before; horn blaring and Queen blasting out the open windows, but it was clear the celebration was over and we were alone. So thank you to my friend this morning for your defiance of the clearly set sporting event victory statute of limitations.