BOSTON - They descended the escalator at the Providence train station wearing the green and white jerseys of their heroes for the day. They also wore suits and sundresses. Some wore jeans and T-shirts.

Within a minute of stepping out of the Back Bay train station in Boston's Copley Square, hundreds of people walked past, shuffling downhill on Dartmouth Street toward Boylston Street, with an enthusiastic but unrushed stride that said "Where else would we be going?"

It was noon yesterday, and the sky was a brilliant blue, dotted by puffy white clouds and the occasional blimp. The crowds were headed to the "rolling rally," a victory parade to celebrate the Boston Celtics' NBA championship. The parade began at TD Banknorth Garden, wound past City Hall and Boston Common, and ended at Copley Square.

The throngs of people walked toward, and then right into, a wall of people who stood shoulder to shoulder, face to sweaty back. People waved flags and fliers reading "We Beat LA," "Sweet 17," or simply "SEVENTEEN," referring to the number of NBA titles the Celtics now hold.

And in the thick of the crowd, one fan showed his excitement by bringing his face to within centimeters of mine, opening his mouth wide enough to expose a few fillings and shouting "BOSTON CELTICS!" sharing a whiff of his stale, somewhat boozy breath.

Well before the parade made its way to Copley Square, sporadic cheering, hooting, hollering and general loudness broke out from time to time. It seemed to be prompted by nothing, but at one point, the cheering was followed by pointing, toward a man climbing a fenced-in structure that resembled a miniature water tower.

When the man reached the top, the crowd chanted "JUMP! JUMP! JUMP! JUMP!" He didn't jump. The crowd booed. He climbed down to the street and was swarmed by police in bright yellow jackets.

And a half-hour later, the first of the World War II-era amphibious "duck boats" slowly rolled down Boylston Street. But before they could be seen, they could be heard: there was the techno, the wave of cheers from the fans that had already glimpsed the players with their wives and their children and a blur of entourages, and who knows who else.

And as soon as the procession could be seen, it could be smelled -- the tubes that launched confetti into the waving arms of the fans also let out a plume of smoke that smelled faintly of firecrackers and static electricity.

Paul Pierce hoisted his MVP trophy over his head and Glen "Big Baby" Davis stretched his arms over the side of the duck boat, waving them madly and begging the crowd to go wild.

So what else was there to do? The crowd went insane.

Each fan seemed unaware of the others, talking -- loudly -- to the players.

"I love you!" "Marry me!" "Boston Celtics!"

Then, as soon as the boats were out of sight, the frenzy ended. The fans turned around, and the sounds of the city returned. A backhoe pushed gravel along a side street. A cab honked.

A row of fans stood their ground on either side of Boylston Street, yelling at each other from behind the barricades. And a handful of street vendors held their ground.

David Curry pushed a cart with plastic green tubes that flared out at the end like a trumpet. The price, he assured a blank-faced passersby, was fair: two for $12 or $7 each.

Curry, a former Marine with the arms to prove it, said he'd been to parades across the state to sell his wares.

"I've never seen anything like this," he said, motioning to the thousands-strong exodus from Copley Square.

"Never in my life."