Open Letter to Redsock Nation: Go ahead. Print the Playoff Tickets

Dear Madams or Sirs,

OK, it's over. You win. Undefeated. Untied. Unstoppable. Invincible. Invulnerable.

Dynasty. Second Season.

That's you.

You are The Nation. No sense bothering to play.

Nope. I came to this conclusion after reading Shaughy's column.

Covering a dynasty like yours has improved his writing, by at least four beers.

If you forked over big bucks to fly 6,700 miles from Fenway, you were happy. If you took the train in from Yokohama to see your Japanese idols, you were happy. If you were watching while you got dressed for work in your Brighton apartment, you were happy.

If you were sitting in an 8 by 8 cell at Gitmo, waiting to be water-boarded, you were happy.

If you were on an operating table, having surgery on your colon, you were happy.

If you were standing on a building ledge, with crowds below shouting, "JUMP," and you leaped into the air, you were happy.

The Redsocks win. THHHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEH Redsocks win.

I haven't seen such a display of ecstacy since Britney Spears found Oxycontin.

Congrats are in order.

You're a dynasty. Two out of four. And one in a row.

You are The Nation. The world is happy.