01:00 AM EDT on Thursday, October 28, 2004

ST. LOUIS -- In the years to come, there will be a clear line of demarcation in Red Sox history: everything that came before Game 7 of the 2004 American League Championship, and then, everything after.

On the night of Oct. 20, the Red Sox became transformed. When they dispatched the New York Yankees in the seventh and deciding game of the ALCS, completing baseball's most miraculous postseason comeback, they also rid themselves of the heavy burden of failure that had weighed on them for decades.

Suddenly, the countless years of October heartache became a thing of the past. As they danced in celebration on the infield at Yankee Stadium that night, it was a dance of liberation.

No longer were they synonymous with disappointment. No more would they expected -- guaranteed, even -- to fail.

Set free from their past, distanced from their infamy, a new era began.

They haven't lost since. And last night, they posted their biggest win in almost 90 years, blanking the St. Louis Cardinals 3-0, to record a four-game World Series sweep of the St. Louis Cardinals and earn their first championship since 1918.

Historically defined by heartache, the Red Sox now own a record eight-game winning postseason winning streak. Ever since they refused to lose to the Yankees, it seems, they can't lose.

"This changes the image of the francise," said champagne-soaked Red Sox owner Larry Lucchino, a relative newcomer. "It doesn't diminish it, but it will transform into something much different from what it had been known for."

Battle-hardened by their 19 regular-season clashes with the Yankees and burnished by two bruising, seven-game American League Championship Series over the last two Octobers, the Red Sox finally have the hang of this thing.

The Yankees, it turns out, represented their stiffest challenge. They were the baseball Holy Grail that had cruelly eluded the Sox for generations.

Having solved them, the rest was -- relatively speaking -- easy. The Sox committed eight errors over the first two games -- and still won both. They stranded baserunner after baserunner in the games here -- and still won both.

The Yankees were the main course. The Cardinals? They were just the dessert.

From now on, Chicago's two franchises, the Cubs and White Sox, will carry the twin ignominy of being baseball's lovable losers. The White Sox haven't won a World Series since 1917 and the Cubs' stretch of championship-less seasons dates back even further, to 1908.

After so many seasons that ended short of the desired goal, the Red Sox are no longer a benchmark for franchise futility.

Their litany of tough-luck losses are now merely a footnote. This morning, Johnny Pesky can hold his head high and shrug off accusations that he held the ball too long in the 1946 Series.

"This means more to me than anything that's ever happened," said Pesky in the bedlam of the victorious clubhouse. "This is the greatest thing that could ever happen. I'm going to see a few more (championships) now; I'm not going to spit the bit, yet."

Bucky Dent's back-breaking 1978 screen gem? Just a cheap, wind-blown flyball now. Bill Buckner's egregious error in 1986? Only an ill-timed faux-paus.

There will be no more taunting in the future, no more reminders of Babe or Boone.

"1918 is now just another year that we won the World Series," said general manager Theo Epstein.

In the new baseball world that dawned a week ago and officially came to pass last night, the Red Sox are the standard-bearers for baseball excellence, not the poster children for October mishaps.

They're not the punch lines anymore; they're not even the answer to some trivia question. They apologize for nothing, answer to no one.

The same goes for the immense fan base.

"They can walk around with their Red Sox hats and stick their chests out now," said Trot Nixon, who has the longest tenure of continuous service with the franchise. "They pushed us, and we wouldn't be here without them, and I'm so happy for all of them."

From now until at least next October, they aren't mocked; rather, they're emulated.

Next April 11, prior to their home opener, the Red Sox will raise their first championship flag since the World War 1 era and officially commemorate the dawn of a new era.

The fans will cheer wildly and the flag will flap in the New England spring breeze.

And in the visitor's dugout will sit their opponents, themselves now without a championship in several years, themselves now eager to remember the sweet taste of baseball supremacy.

Those opponents? The New York Yankees.

Kind of fitting, wouldn't you say?