The duck boats have barely cooled their engines, and all of the Gronk Tide-Pods-and-beer shrapnel is still being cleaned from the gutters of Boylston Street. The latest Boston sports championship parade is barely 24 hours in the past, and yet all I keep thinking about this morning is when we might have the next one — and whether something even grander than a mere championship might be achievable.
Pardon the greed, all of you citizens of sad-sack sports cities (which means every other one of you right now, especially you, New York). This is about us, because it’s usually about us.