Passionate.

Unless you're just finding yourself here for the very first time ever, it stands to reason that you know I am over the moon about the return of Mike Lowell to my Red Sox last night. (Even if you're not a baseball fan, I'm pretty sure my feelings on him have been made clear. Abundantly.)

I've had some *very* strong feelings on the way he has been treated this season. So strong, in fact, that I had composed & tucked away precisely what my response would be, come the day that he was traded, forced into retirement, released or otherwise relieved of his duties on Yawkey Way:

I am completely disenchanted by the handling of my most favorite baseball player's departure. And judging by the length of time it took me to recover from the Unceremonious Dismissal of Trot Nixon, it will be considerably longer that the mere mention of Theo Epstein leaves me with the burning desire to deploy an atomic wedgie so violent it registers a new high on the Richter Scale called Mike Lowell, Level 25.

See? I wasn't kidding. I was prepared & ready to fire. I would never joke around when it comes to something about which I am so passionate. One of those things being: I think Mike Lowell walks on baseball water. He isn't the best at everything. He isn't Hall of Fame bound. But he is the classiest of the classy, he plays with incredible heart & enthusiasm, he's given it all & broken his body for this team, and, fine, he's easy on the eyes. (So sue me. It's not the only reason I like him though.)

Don't get me wrong. I feel *awful* about Youk. I would never wish anything bad on Youk (or any player), not even to get my favorite baseball player a spot in the lineup. But imagine if Lowell *had* been traded or dismissed. Especially when the word on the street was that some sort of resolution was coming on Tuesday. What better insurance, what better timing, than to have him there in the eleventh hour, when we needed him most.

I was ecstatic just to see him back on the field. You can't imagine the jumping that took place in my apartment when the first pitch he saw sailed over the Monster. My Twitter stream lit up with Red Sox pals knowing I was through the roof with glee. It was like a made-for-Dawn script. The swing of a bat, later the flashing of leather. I couldn't think of a better way for him to tell the front office what he thinks. I simply sneer in Theo's general direction.

I love it. The ovations every time he came up to the plate & they announced his name. The cheers when he sparkled on defense (once we stopped gasping in fear for his hip). The roar when he clubbed that homer. I could have watched NESN replay that home run all night, and just like Lowell said when asked in an interview how he'd been treated in Pawtucket, replying that he is cheered everywhere & a player who says it isn't awesome is lying: it never gets old. The passion with which he wants to play, *in Boston*, is evident, and it is matched by the passion of fan support raining down on him.

I just recall thinking to myself that I'd already seen his last days in Boston. I was sad. I had resigned myself to just wanting him to get a chance to play out the season *somewhere* at this point. I only implored the baseball gods that it not be in New York or Tampa. (There is only so much a girl should be asked to endure.) It was a punch in the gut on Monday, still hanging in the post-Deadline balance, *still* waiting for the boom to be lowered, to learn that the Sox had tried to work a three-way trade that would have sent my beloved Lowell to the Bronx by way of Texas. Now they're saying it was New York that backed out, skeptical of his health (this, the man who hit .500 on his Pawtucket Rehab Tour, with four homers, four doubles and ten runs batted in). But I'm choosing to believe the first rendition: the one that said Lowell blocked the trade. Either way, he was disgruntled to think that they would have sent him to New York, and that there was a good chance he was planning to announce his retirement some time this week. Oh Mikey, to hear that you would rather retire than play in pinstripes? I didn't think it was possible to love you more until that very moment.

Last night's game was full of drama, what with hit batters & bench-clearing brawls & a classic fiery Beckett, but that all paled in comparison as I watched my favorite ball player's eyes light up when he took the field. As I heard the resounding crack of an unmistakable home run ball leaving the bat in a hurry, and saw him meet his teammates on the dugout steps. As I soaked in the joy he so obviously felt, stepping out onto the Fenway field. As I reveled in his patented slow burn smile as he victoriously high-fived his teammates at the end of the game, his welcome-back long ball the game-winning runs.

I've quite enjoyed prospect Ryan Kalish making his debut with the team, so much so that I shouldn't have been surprised when Tito compared him to another Sox favorite of mine, Trot Nixon. It's brought me a little joy in the shadow of what I anticipated happening this week. Though admittedly, I've been hesitant to like him *too* much, lest he end up packaged in some mega-deal Theo has cooked up. (I can't be imagining how intent he seems to be at trying to systematically send away every one of my most favorite players in his tenure, can I?) I really never thought I'd get to see a night like this happen again, unfolding around Mike Lowell.

I can't help but wonder if maybe he'll be playing first base on August 25, a stone's throw from where I'll be sitting, three rows behind the camera well. It makes me just a little giddy to think that maybe I'll get one last shot to have him hear my passionate cheers combine & rise with the rest of the Fenway Faithful one last time.

I am on a Mike Lowell high. I can't imagine how he feels.