I was there last night for Jon Lester’s no-hitter. It was our annual company trip to Fenway. I was sitting way back in right field with about fifteen of my coworkers, and we spent the first five innings drinking beer and trading office gossip. Then we realized what was happening in front of us.

Until about then, the crowd had been heavily invested in Manny Ramirez’s pursuit of his 500th home run. But as Jon Lester retired one Royal after another, the atmosphere in the old ballpark became increasingly giddy and electric, with moments of expectant silence broken by cheers after every strike, groans after every ball, and gasps after every grounder. The sunset blazed pink and orange over the left field wall.

I woke up this morning and it seemed like a dream. Last night I had this crazy dream, and I was at Fenway Park in May but it was really really cold, and for some reason, all my coworkers were there, and then Jon Lester threw a no-no!

I’ve seen a lot of great moments at Fenway over the past 26 years, but when Lester recorded the final out, the cry of jubilation that erupted in the Fens sounded unlike any other cheer I have ever heard there. It wasn’t the lusty roar I’ve heard at playoff games, and it wasn’t anything like the triumphant crowing you hear at Yankee games. It was the sound of 37,000 people surrendering themselves to euphoria, falling into 100% pure, unadulterated, grade-A baseball love. In fact, I may have given in to the euphoria of the moment a little too much, if possible. No need to go into too much detail, but if you were in Kenmore Square last night and saw a blond woman, about 5′6″, leaning into the brick facade of Fenway Park and apparently attempting to hug the venerable edifice, let’s just say you weren’t hallucinating.

The night was better suited for October than May. There was a wind whipping through Boston that put whitecaps on the Charles. Dust blew into my eyes on the way to the park. It was the kind of night you expected fly balls to become home runs and pop-ups to become singles. That Jon Lester threw a no-hitter is amazing enough. That he did it in such a gale? Unbelievable. Except that I was there and I saw it with my own eyes.

I walked back across the river, the moon and the Citgo sign shining brightly on the water. I could still see the white glow of Fenway’s light towers. The night didn’t feel so cold anymore—the wind had died down. I fell into talking with a couple of guys who were also making the trek back to the Cambridge side of the Charles. I’ve high-fived with strangers in Kenmore after a great game, but I’ve never had thirty-minute conversations with them. But maybe this is just normal, post-no-hitter behavior—who knows? They told me a great story. They were sitting next to an elderly woman. Last year, she gave her tickets to Clay Buchholz’s no-no last year to her daughter and granddaughter. There may be no crying in baseball, but I do believe there is karma.

Boston is losing today’s game against Tampa Bay as I write. Nevertheless, It was a special night in the Fens last night. An evening of hope for a region of panicked Red Sox fans.

Jon Lester took the mound in Fenway Park for the first time since being diagnosed with cancer. That in itself was an achievement. But it’s what he did next that electrified the old ballpark.

A full seven innings pitched on an economical 97 pitches (62 of which were strikes). Four strikeouts. One walk. Only two hits and just one run.

He used his fastball, his curveball, and his changeup and consistently hit his spots all night, alternately fooling hitters and freezing them. He strode in from the bullpen and tipped his cap to the standing, cheering Fenway Faithful and then, perhaps fighting down some nerves, walked the first hitter he faced. Then something shifted. For the rest of his time out there, it was clear he was in charge, as he retired 9 straight batters and then, after the Devil Rays run scored their one run, another 12 straight.

Unfortunately for Lester, he was up against Scott Kazmir, the Devil Ray’s one legit starter. Kazmir has always enjoyed success against Boston despite his tender years, and last night was no exception. On a strict pitch count, he left the game after six innings and 95 pitches, having struck out eight and allowed no runs, despite giving up four hits and walking three. The Red Sox were pleased to see the arrival of Tampa Bay’s bullpen (aka “batting practice pitchers”) but didn’t make any headway until the bottom of the ninth.

Manny Ramirez started the frame by watching strike three sail in—it looked low, and he argued, but he was out. Then Mike Lowell—himself a cancer survivor—launched a bomb over the Green Monster, over the Monster seats, over everything. Aerial footage from the Hood blimp showed it coming crashing down on Landsdowne Street, where ball scavengers tussled over it. Inside the confines, the crowd erupted. At home on the couch, I rejoiced, then worried—the last thing we needed right now was an extended, extra-innings slog that would sap our bullpen before today’s day game and what’s sure to be a tough, four-games-in-three-days battle with the Angels this weekend. We had to end this thing now.

Varitek follows with a ground-rule double. Youkilis then makes the second out of the inning when he—like Ramirez—strkes out looking. As an enraged Youkilis storms back to the dugout, looking more like a wrathful Russian Tsar than ever, Coco Crisp steps in to the batter’s box. Crisp has had some great defensive plays this season—and added another with a running basket catch last night—but has never had in Boston the kind of offensive output he had in Cleveland. His fingers fluttering over the handle of the bat, he waits.

Ball one. Ball two. Crisp takes a pitch for a strike. Ball three. Then another called strike. The count now full, Crisp swings at the next pitch and fouls it off. Crisp attacks the next offering, looping the ball into shallow right! Jason Varitek motors around third, but the Captain’s not known for his speed. His teeth gritted, he chuggs home as the throw comes in. The throw is short! Varitek slides home! Red Sox win!

A few thoughts.

1. Pitch counts are stupid. The Devil Rays are trying to “save Kazmir’s bullets” but costing him wins. Not to mention all the wins the team costs him by just sucking, period. I feel bad for Scott Kazmir.

2. This could be the moment the Sox get hot again. With the Yankees utterly crushed by the Orioles last night (12-0), Boston brought its lead in the division back to 5 games. I would love nothing more than for this game to galvanize the Red Sox and send them screaming into their upcoming series with New York.

3. Lester has disappointed, frankly, with his peripherals so far, despite being a highly touted prospect at the start of last season. Last year with the Sox, his 7-2 record and impressive string of five straight wins (making him the first rookie lefty in franchise history to win his first five decisions) was undermined by his 4.76 ERA and 43 walks in 81.1 innings. And as you might expect from someone who walked so many batters, but also struck out 60, he threw a lot of pitches and didn’t get very deep into games. This season, his record is 1-0 with a 5.14 ERA in 5 starts. He’s shown flashes of real brilliance, but has had trouble staying consistent. If he can get in a groove and go out there every five days and start stringing some innings together, this could finally be the season Jon Lester breaks out. Looking ahead, I would love to see the 6′4″ lefty helping to anchor the rotation in 2008—especially if Curt Schilling will be elsewhere. Beckett, Matsuzaka, Lester, Wakefield, and Buchholz? Rowr.

3. Boston’s bullpen looked good last night. After Manny Delcarmen got two outs in the eighth, Terry Francona called on veteran Mike Timlin to finish the job. Part of the reason the Sox wanted Eric Gagne was because it looked like Timlin’s days as a lights-out setup man were done. Timlin’s health hasn’t been great this season, giving him a rocky start. But lately, when he can pitch, he has pitched, giving up just two earned runs in all of July and August. Last night he came in and struck out B.J. Upton on four pitches–without throwing a ball. Not bad for a guy who only needs 7 more appearances to reach the 1,000 mark. If this is Timlin having a last gasp of glory, his timing couldn’t be better.

4. Eric Gagne was, well, Gagne-esque. After unleashing an expletive-filled tirade against himself on Sunday (when he blew his second save opportunity of the weekend), he came out last night and dominated. Maybe it’s because he was pitching the ninth inning. Maybe it’s because Friendly Fenway greeted him with a chorus of boos and it ignited within his breast a fierce desire to prove them wrong. Maybe it’s because he knew, deep inside somewhere, that Sarah Green had castigated him in an as-yet-unpublished column and he wanted to make her look stupid. Whatever the reason, I don’t care. He gave up a scary looking double—it one-hopped the low wall in right before J.D. Drew made a sweet one-handed grab, but was just feet away from being a game-tying homer— but also struck out the side. He threw heat, he threw changeups, and the Devil Rays looked like the overmatched scamps they are. It was hot.

5. Nevertheless, runners left on base continue to plague the Sox. Boston stranded 7 last night. Manny has grounded into 19 double plays–only six players in all of the major leagues have more. And David Ortiz still isn’t hitting like David Ortiz. Worry, worry. Fret, fret. This season’s going to go right down to the wire.

When I was trying to decide what to write about for this week’s Metro column, of course I considered doing a piece on Jon Lester. The handsome 23-year old went 7 and 2 last season, winning his first five decisions—the first rookie lefty to do so for the Sox. For those of you keeping score, that put him ahead of the likes of Bill Lee, Bruce Hurst, and George Herman Ruth. No wonder that while he was still in the minors, the Rangers insisted he be part of a deal for A-Rod, or that the Marlins insisted he be part of a deal for Josh Beckett. Or that the Red Sox were having none of it.

But after 15 starts and 60 strikeouts in his first year in the majors, Jon Lester was diagnosed with lymphoma. Since then, Bostonians have respected the Lesters’ privacy while also wishing him well. A couple of local girls started selling rubber bracelets with Lester’s number on them to raise money for the Jimmy Fund, a longtime Boston charity that helps kids with cancer. And Hub columnists have squeezed every drop of compassion out of their keyboards.

All the while, Jon Lester has been chomping at the bit, impatient to get back on the mound. “It’s been hard getting treated like you’re in a glass bottle,” he told the Globe. On Monday night, when Jon made his first big league start since his diagnosis, the cameras repeatedly swerved over to Mr. and Mrs. Lester, perched on the edge of their seats. The sideline reporter asked them about their feelings, and they did their best to answer.

Meanwhile, Jon Lester pitched, earning his 8th major league win.

So I decided I’d had enough of the hushed tones that cancer elicits. Enough of the inspirational and the reverential. Enough of glass bottles. Because Jon Lester is six-foot-two and a hundred and ninety pounds. His hat always sits a little crooked, giving him a cocky look that fits his pitching style. He’s got a powerful fastball and a nice curve, which he mixes in with changeups for deception. He’s sometimes erratic—he tends to walk a lot of people and loads the bases more often than I’d like—but has a veteran’s ability to get himself out of those jams. He’s all business (except for the occasional fist-pump) and he’s looking forward to the stretch. Jason Varitek, who’s caught more games than anyone else in a Red Sox uniform, may have felt nervous. But Lester didn’t, at least not after the first pitch.

So if you’re here for the motivational poster, you’ll have to look elsewhere. Jon Lester’s here to play baseball.