"Listen," designated hitter David Ortiz began, "we're not just a good team. We're a great team. And don't you f------ forget that. And let's go play one at a time and go prove that. Because let me tell you something...."
Ortiz pulled on the sides of his gray road jersey. "There's a reason why you wear this Red Sox uniform...."
Ortiz paused for a beat, letting the suspenseful silence fill the rapt room.
"Because you're a bad mother------."
The world championship is all of it: the commitment to player development, the obsessive devotion to detail, the fluorescent-bathed nerds who break down statistics and video as if they were the Dead Sea Scrolls, the small army of scouts, the bad dudes -- yes, especially the bad dudes -- who wear the Boston uniform and strip the will from their opponents one grueling at bat after another. The entire thing is a giant Jenga game; remove any one of the interlaced blocks and the whole damn tower might topple.