Editor's note: Millions of baseball fans followed the World Series that concluded five days ago. Pat Jones, The Chronicle's lifestyle editor, did so from an uncommon perspective. Here, she recounts her close-up view of the October classic.

I was lucky enough to be in St. Louis on Wednesday when Keith Foulke, the closer for the Boston Red Sox, caught a ground ball hit by St. Louis Cardinals' infielder Edgar Renteria. Keith caught, then tossed, the ball to Red Sox first baseman Doug Mientkiewicz for the out.

That toss will go down in baseball history, as it ended the ninth inning and gave Boston a 3-0 win over the Cardinals — as well as a sweep of the World Series. Sitting next to me during that game was Keith's wife, Mandy, holding her nearly 1-year-old son, Kade. On the other side of Mandy and Kade sat Keith's parents, Chuck and Pauline Foulke.

Silence reigned for a heartbeat as St. Louis fans came to recognize their dreams of a World Series title had just been shattered, and Red Sox fans came to recognize an 86-year-old curse had been lifted and the Red Sox were now World Series champions.

Crying with joy and pride, Mandy asked "Mom, can you believe it?"

I'm Mandy's mother, making Keith my son-in law, and making me very proud.

In an instant it was time for us to go out onto the field for a celebration that included hugs, shouts and champagne. But, before we could get there, we had to run the gauntlet of adoring Red Sox fans.

At one point, as we neared the turnoff that would lead us to the field, a newspaper photographer pushed me from behind and told me to "move" so she could get through.

I couldn't have moved if I'd wanted to, so I ignored her.

This exchange took only seconds, but by the time I turned back around, my family, and everyone else I might recognize, was gone.

For a moment I panicked as I was alone and crushed by a sea of humanity. I got my wits about me and traveled a short time against the flow, until I got some space and my bearings.

I climbed over a short rail until I could figure out how to get onto the field. Luckily, I had kept on my orange "family" wristband that allowed me access to the field, and an understanding security guard allowed me to pass.

It took me a moment to compose myself and find my family. Keith had not yet joined the family when I arrived, and when he did, he already had on his World Series T-shirt and cap that, by then, were drenched with champagne.

He also carried a bottle of champagne that we all shared.

It must have been my night for being pushed because, as I stood in awe observing all this, someone big, strong and in a hurry shoved me aside. Having had enough abuse, I began to let this guy have it until I recognized it was Curt Schilling, the Red Sox pitcher.

I'm thankful that all I got out of my mouth, as I spun around to let this guy have it, was "Hey!" I don't even think he heard me.

The Red Sox didn't have much time to celebrate as their team jet was leaving St. Louis for Boston at 2 a.m., just hours after their victory. The celebration would come later on the plane and on Saturday during a parade in Boston in their honor.

We made our way into the bowels of the stadium, through the Red Sox dugout, where a party room had been set up. Keith's mother and I agreed to take Kade back to the hotel and get him to bed.

I was exhausted and got into my own jammies after rocking a very tired little boy to sleep. I washed bottles, folded Kade's clothes, and gathered items that were strewn hither and yon until Mandy came and Pauline went to her room to pack.

Having decided earlier that I wasn't going to go back to Boston with them, I was suddenly left alone in a room too large for just one person and too quiet for words.

I knew I needed to get some sleep, but before I could do that, I had to call downstairs for a wake-up call. It was 2:30 a.m. and my flight was at 8:30 a.m. I don't know what time I actually got to sleep because Red Sox fans, 14 floors below my window, were chanting and cheering for what seemed like hours.

I was up again at 5:30 a.m. and quickly on my way to the airport — a good thing I got there when I did, because the airport was absolutely swamped. Finally in my seat on the aircraft, and exhausted but too wired to sleep, I began thinking of my family.

Keith married my daughter in 1997, and on Nov. 10, 2003, the two of them gave us Kade Charles Foulke, the grandson for whom my husband, Craig, and I had been longing, and the apple of our eyes.

The first time we met Keith was in 1993 during the Thanksgiving break at Lewis-Clark State College in Lewiston, Idaho. We lived in Boise at the time, and Mandy was a freshman at that college. She had brought Keith, a junior, home to meet us. It's the college from which the San Francisco Giants drafted Keith before trading him to the Chicago White Sox.

Keith also played one year with Oakland before signing with Boston this year.

I'll never forget what Keith said to me during his first visit, as we sat around the kitchen table and I questioned him about himself, his intentions toward my daughter, and his dreams.

In what I assumed, then, was the arrogance of youth, he told me he was going to become a major league ballplayer and make millions.

I politely smiled at him while inwardly thinking, "Yeah, right."

I remember being slightly comforted by his assertion that, should baseball not work out, he was considering becoming a police officer like his father, or would practice sports medicine. Those were jobs I could get my mind around.

This table discussion has become part of our family lore.

Now, back at home and work, the reality of having been part of the Boston Red Sox win over St. Louis has finally sunk in. I wore a Red Sox cap to work on Friday (it's a casual day at The Chronicle), and told and retold the tale I'm telling here.

So much had happened during the short time I was in St. Louis. I arrived Tuesday evening just in time to attend the first of possibly three games. If all three games had had to be played, with no winner declared, I had planned to fly back to Boston for the final games.

I wound up sleeping the first night in a room adjoining Johnny Damon's. I have a huge crush on Damon, the Boston center fielder, and Mandy thought it funny that I was sleeping one thin door away from Damon and his fiancee. Honestly, it was kind of weird.

First thing the next morning, I wound up going to breakfast with Kade and his other grandparents. After a while I returned Kade to his mother, packed my barely unpacked bag, and moved to the room that was part of the suite Keith, Mandy and Kade were staying in.

Kade and I ate lunch in the room while his father and mother shopped. Living high on the hog, we wound up sharing a hamburger and grilled cheese sandwiches.

We later took a walk to the famous St. Louis arch, and hung out in the room until Mandy and Keith returned and it was time to get ready for the game.

We were all a little nervous and Keith was a little quiet. Accustomed as he is to stressful situations, this stress was somehow different. It was, after all the World Series.

All he said was, "I hope we win tonight. I'm ready for this to be over."

His feelings about that spectacular win, and his part in it, could be seen on his face on front pages of newspapers and television screens all across the country and the world.

If you're looking for Keith (No. 29) in the victory pileup photos, however, you won't find him— he was buried beneath a mountain of Red Sox players.

Pat Jones covers arts and entertainment and lifestyle stories for The Chronicle. She may be reached by e-mail at pjones@chronline.com, or by telephoning 807-8226.