Game 6: in my apartment, Lindell Boulevard, St. Louis, with a friend from Boston. Grad school, Washington University. We were both miserable through most of it; it was a very trying game, and of course as a Red Sox fan he was used to disaster. When the ball went through Buckner's legs, I raised my arms and shouted "Yes!" And immediately apologized. Game 7: In my apartment again, this time by myself (not sure why my wife wasn't there). I turned the TV on at intervals, until the Mets finally broke through. I don't remember what I did after it was over; probably walked up and down the Central West End feeling secretly happy and special.