After it all, a celebration uncorked

DENVER - It took the briefest of moments - for the 94-mile-per-hour fastball to settle into Jason Varitek's glove, for umpire Chuck Meriwether to signal strike three, for it to register on Jonathan Papelbon that Game 4 was over, the World Series was over, and the Red Sox had won.

It was then, in a kind of stooped crouch, that Papelbon let loose with a yell, that he caught Varitek in his arms, that the celebration began.

Once the team had finished their hugs and cheers and interviews on the field, once the 4-3 win had registered, they headed back into the Red Sox clubhouse, officials scrambling to make sure that all were there. One wasn't, though. An important one. David Ortiz. He trailed the pack, the last one in, grabbing a pair of blue goggles and yelling to his teammates: "Coming in. Wait for me."

He ran, his teammates assembled around a large table in the visitor's clubhouse, one stacked with champagne bottles and cans of beer. He jumped up, his legs taking him onto the table, above everyone. He stood there, trademark grin on his face, and waited. It came all at once, the champagne spraying from all corners of the clubhouse as Ortiz danced, as his shirt quickly darkened with the alcohol.

"When you wear Red Sox on your chest," he yelled out, "you're cool as [expletive], [expletive]."

OK, so it wasn't fit for print. But it was real. It was emotional, it was loud, and it was directed at the teammates Josh Beckett later called his "family."

"It's my fifth year [with the Red Sox], my second World Series," Ortiz said. "We have a whole group of guys that, seriously, they take things personal. We were down [against the Indians], we had a little meeting, and I think that put everybody in the mood. This is about the whole team, not all about one or two players. This is the Red Sox right here. I told everybody, you've got to feel proud of wearing this name on your chest. You're good at something."

Beckett's soliloquy came minutes later, when the righthander, the MVP of the American League Championship Series, pushed through the crowd holding the ultimate prize, the flag-bedecked World Series trophy. He climbed on the table, hoisting up the emblem, and was joined by Papelbon and Ortiz.

"This is for all the family," he said to his teammates. "I know we spend more time together than with our family."

Then came the moment. Royce Clayton, veteran of 11 major league teams, a late pickup by the Red Sox. A guy who had not made the roster in any of the postseason series. A guy who had never won a championship. With his face twisted slightly, the emotion stark, he was pulled up on the table with the big names. With Beckett and Papelbon and Ortiz. Royce Clayton. He didn't stay long, just enough to lead a cheer, and step off the table, into a hug with Coco Crisp.

"I feel good," Crisp said. "Trying not to get hurt, everybody's jumping around, hooting and hollering. You can't see half the time because you've got the alcohol in your eyes, and it's burning and stuff. But that's a great feeling in and of itself. But it's an amazing feeling. This is what everybody dreams of. A few of the guys have multiple and this is my first one. It's amazing."

His smile, the one that goes from ear to ear, was brimming over. The excitement was there, as he dodged champagne and walked around. It was his first time. It was Mike Timlin's fourth. Both looked the same, the same smile, the same joy, the same frantic celebratory mood.

Like Manny Delcarmen, who could only dream of this moment back in his Hyde Park days.

"Celebrating, trying to throw champagne on people," Delcarmen said. "Real emotional."

It was different for Papelbon, who stood, still, next to the table in the middle of the room. He wasn't dancing, no jigs, no beer boxes on his head. No wild dumping of champagne down Delcarmen's pants. No celebrations for the ages. He looked as if he could barely stand, barely talk. His face was drained. There seemed to be no more in him, hardly even the words to answer the surrounding horde.

"I'm exhausted, man," Papelbon said. "I feel like I have nothing else to give. I'm just glad that it's over, we don't have to play any more games. Relief. The stress and everything else that goes along with it. Relief.

"I never thought it would come to this. It's phenomenal. There's no explanation. It's so surreal right now."

Amalie Benjamin can be reached at abenjamin@globe.com.