Had the score still been 3-2 in favor of the Red Sox in the top of the ninth when Casey Blake lifted a two out Jonathan Papelbon fastball deep into Fenway’s centerfield, Coco Crisp’s breathtaking catch against the wall would have passed instantly into New England legend. People might have likened it to “The Catch” of the great Willie Mays and Crisp would have obtained Boston baseball immortality in a fashion similar to Dave Roberts’ 2004 base stealing heroics.

But this was not quite the case. In the seventh inning, Red Sox second baseman Dustin Pedroia pounded a Rafael Betancourt offering into the Green Monster seats to stretch the lead to 5-2, and he again came through in the eighth with a three-run double. Kevin Youkilis crushed the next pitch into the Coke bottles atop Fenway’s infamous green wall and the Red Sox led 11-2 once and for all.

So with a comfortable lead, Crisp may not necessarily have saved the Red Sox season, but the reward was the same: the Boston Red Sox are American League Champions for the second time in four years.

And of course, they being the Red Sox, it was a struggle every step of the way.

It has been written, rewritten, dramatized, and simply beaten to death that the Red Sox are the only team in history to ever battle back from a 3-0 postseason series deficit as, of course, they did in 2004 against the Yankees.

So when 2004 hero Curt Schilling, $103 million man Daisuke Matsuzaka, and Red Sox veteran Tim Wakefield were dispatched in order by the Cleveland Indians over Games 2, 3, and 4, there was a very strange mix of faith and panic in Red Sox Nation. We did it once, can we do it again? The dominance of Josh Beckett and the Red Sox offense, so apparent in the 10-3 Game 1 thrashing of Indians’ ace C.C. Sabathia and company, seemed to have completely vanished.

But still, it was all of which the talking heads spoke. 2004, 2004, 2004, 2004, 2004, experience, 2004, 2004.

Well, this is not 2004, and it is extremely naïve to draw direct comparisons between the two seasons. Three years ago, the Red Sox bore the heavy weight of The Curse, magnified by the then recent New York Yankees’ crushing ALCS Game 7 comeback victory in 2003. And of course, in 2004, the Red Sox were down three games to none against those same Yankees who had added Alex Rodriguez to the middle of their already potent lineup.

It goes without saying that it was an accomplishment of epic proportions, a modern miracle, a tremendous tribute to the power of teamwork, determination, and faith in friends etc.—you have heard it all before, I’ll spare you for now. Joe Buck will mention it about 86 times over the next week or so. Prepare yourself.

But getting back to the comparison, this is not 2004. This is 2007, and the Boston Red Sox are Major League Baseball’s finest club and best run organization top to bottom, from Lowell Spinners to the Portland Sea Dogs right up to the Olde Towne Team.

They won 96 games during the regular season despite slugger Manny Ramirez’s worst season in over a decade, a knee injury that limited the production of David Ortiz, a shaky-at-best Matsuzaka, Julio Lugo’s experimental approach of swinging a bat made entirely of air, Coco’s hair, the J.D. Drew saga, and no permanent fifth starter.

Important note: Many Ramirez’s hair is a net factor positive for the Red Sox because it makes Manny happy. End of story …

So, considering these foibles (which of course are magnified ten-fold by the simple nature of the Boston sports environment and media), where did 96 wins and the first AL East Championship in Boston since 1995 come from? How did they survive a tremendous second half surge by the New York Yankees, despite “key acquisition” Eric Gagne’s determined efforts to derail his new team every step of the way? Easy.

Sensational rookies. Guys like grinder Dustin Pedroia, wonder-boy Jacoby Ellsbury, Clay Buchholz, Jon Lester, Hideki Okajima, and Manny Delcarmen.

Grizzled veterans, young and old: Guys like Josh “ut Out” Beckett, the lights out Jonathan Papelbon, the Big Papi Ortiz, on-base machine Youkilis, and RBI leader Mike Lowell.

They won because they have their captain, Jason Varitek, catching everyone not named Tim Wakefield most likely and effectively lowering the team’s ERA by a full point. Did you see what happened to the pitching staff when he got hurt last season?

They won because they have Terry Francona as their manager, a guy so calm, so cool, so collected under the microscope of Bob Ryan and Dan Shaughnessy that it makes Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible look like Tom Cruise in real life.

They won not because being down three games to one to the Cleveland Indians is “easier” or any less daunting a task than being down three games to none versus the Yankees. There comes a point where your situation is simply “really bad” and you’re just splitting hairs in comparing one to the other.

Let’s be honest. The Indians team was superb. Excellent. Scary as all hell for Red Sox fans. They could hit, they could pitch, they could play defense, and Fox Sports led everyone under the sun to believe Eric Wedge was the next closet genius among managers.

But there was a fatal flaw in Ohio, one that will haunt Cleveland baseball until it can avenge the events of this past week: The Indians lacked postseason experience. They lacked the never-say-die approach to the game that Boston brought day after day. They lacked the confidence in each other that the Red Sox team possesses. They lacked the seemingly contradictory quality of patient tenacity that Red Sox batter after Red Sox batter displayed against Cleveland’s jittery twin aces.

Oh, and they lacked Josh Beckett.

They forgot Curt Schilling doesn’t miss twice in a row in the clutch.

They gave the Sox offense enough time to awaken from their slumber. They let the series go back to roaring, screaming, pounding, shaking, Fenway Park. And they let Ryan Garko open his big mouth, essentially pouring lighter fluid on a Red Sox team that was still just warming up.

So on Sunday morning, while I was bumming around my apartment and nervously thinking about the Red Sox in Game 7 of the ALCS, I spied my 2004 World Series video sitting conveniently atop a pile of DVDs. And why not.

I sat there on the couch and relived a confusing week in 2004, one filled with stress, joy, and absolute terror, in preparation for the showdown. I was ready. Were they?

As it turned out, they were.

And when the Red Sox disparaged center fielder Coco Crisp squeezed that absolute bomb from Casey Blake and my frazzled synapses tried to tell me that the favored sons of New England had just won the American League Pennant, I barely moved.

As my New Hampshire-native roommate jumped up and down, galloping around the room in celebration, I just kept staring.

But as I watched the replays of the catch, the Red Sox players jumping all over each other on the mound, and the absolute bedlam that Boston had instantly become, it hit me and I laughed.

My cell phone was rattling with messages and calls from friends and family and I finally got up. I saw good friends calling, I saw old friends calling. I saw the network alive and well, the timeless bond shared among Red Sox fans.

I saw Red Sox Nation together again in celebration. I saw the local pride and camaraderie that glues Red Sox fans together even when they move out west, when they grow old, and when the times are bad.

And standing there amidst the relative order and quiet of my apartment, I grinned ear to ear and started yelling along with my roommate. On this night in October, I would not worry about the Yankees, or the Indians, or the fateful World Series showdown with the incredible Colorado Rockies yet to come.

On this night, I was unburdened. On this night, we all were. On this night, we were immersed completely in … The Joy of Sox.