What are we supposed to do now?

This magical, mythical baseball season is over. The Red Sox are World Champions, having swept the St. Louis Cardinals. The parade has come and gone, and we are left with unforgettable images of a celebration we thought we’d never live to see.

We’re also left with a void. What are we supposed to do each night without a playoff game to watch. For the past month, we’ve been glued to our sets, squirming with each pitch, debating each change on the mound. It’s been more than a habit; it’s been an addiction.

And now it’s over. Gone in a blaze of glory, to be sure, but gone nonetheless. Taken away from us when we need it most.

We are reminded of the words of A. Bartlett Giamatti, the late Commissioner of Baseball: “Baseball breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone.”

Only, this year, that quote is not entirely true. We are left to face fall with the realization that Our Team won it all, after leaving four generations of fans waiting.

We all will take away special memories from this incredible month of baseball. Mine came as Keith Foulke tossed the ball to Doug Mientkiewicz for the final out and the end of an 86-year Quixotic quest. As the celebration began, I placed a call to my parents in Lewiston. It was a call I started to make in 1986, but never finished. I only had a moment – my work was about to begin – but I knew I had to share the moment with family.

As I hung up, about to put the phone down to begin my duties, I received another call. It was my wife, Kelley, calling from home. She put our 8-year-old son, Jack on the line (he had fallen asleep in the seventh but she – like all good New England parents – got him up for the celebration.)

Although all three of us were miles apart, we were connected by one moment of pure joy. Three generations of Sox fans – an 83-year-old, a 40-year-old, and an 8-year old – were celebrating the first World Series championship of their lifetimes.

In that one moment, I was reminded of what makes sports great. An entire region – a nation, as we like to call it – shared in a celebration taking place halfway around the country.

Of course, now we must deal with a new era. The Sox are no longer cursed, no longer haunted by decades of collapse. Now, 1918 is just another year, Babe Ruth another ex-Yankee. Bill Buckner had a bad day, Bucky Dent had a lucky swing.

Everything is suddenly different for Red Sox fans. I, for one, am thrilled with the changes.

Lewiston native Tom Caron is a sports analyst for NESN telecasts for Red Sox and Bruins games.