It will be a long day at work tomorrow.

I am confident that I am not the only Cincinnatian to be uttering those words right now, and I am equally confident that I will not be the last, by the time the night is out.

The several glasses of Bulleit Bourbon – a gift from a great friend – personally guarantee that for me.

Jim Day said tonight during the Fox Sports Ohio broadcast of the post-game celebration at Great American Ballpark that Jay “Bruuuuuuuuuuuuuce” was only 7 years old the last time the Reds made the playoffs (or “post season”, as the pros prefer), all the way back in 1995.

I was 14. And I was a Braves fan. I feel no shame in saying that – as a Western New Yorker with no MLB allegiance, I had attached myself to Dale Murphy sometime around 1988 (before he was traded to Philadelphia) and as I watched the Atlanta pitching staff grow via my baseball card collection, I decided the Braves were a cool team. And they had a cool chant (if somewhat not-P.C.).

And so it was for many years, and I eventually lost interest in baseball altogether during my college days. Subway Series, the Arizona Diamondbacks, the Florida Marlins… None of them garnered anything more than passing interest from Mr. Pratt.

While in college, though, I fell in love with a girl from Cincinnati. Post-graduation, I moved in with her (and her family) and her Reds-loving little brother. He was 5 when the Reds won the 1990 World Series, so his affinity for the team was understandable.

The City of Cincinnati’s affinity was equally understandable – Ken Griffey Jr. had recently returned to town, a prodigal son of sorts; the citizens had recently picked up the tab on a brand new ballpark (just for the Reds, no more of this Riverfront/Cinergy-sharing-with-the-Bengals-bullsh*t) and there was all kinds of renewed energy for baseball.

Then it died out. Changes in ownership, shoddy general management, and fluctuations in player personnel will do that.

But a few years ago, this fellow Bob Castellini came to town and bought the Reds. And he brought his son, Phil. And he brought along an old friend from St. Louis – Walt Jocketty – as a “special adviser” to the general manager. And then that special adviser became the real general manager.

And then, oh yes, some magic started to happen.

The farm system got rebuilt, producing fellows like Jay Bruce, Drew Stubbs, Paul Janish and likely National League MVP, Joey Votto.

They went after a proven – although much maligned – manager by the name of Dusty Baker (and in a county where the Auditor is named Dusty, that’s a good sign). They picked up wily veterans from the trash heap in exchange for players that were supposedly “the future” – see, “Edwin Encarnacion for Scott Rolen” (I’d do that trade 1,000 times and twice on Sundays).

They emphasized the value of solid pitching. They signed and then kept around innings eaters like Bronson Arroyo and the inconsistent but likable Aaron Harang. They developed Homer Bailey, preaching patience, saying he was the ace of the future. They developed a real pitching rotation and a real bullpen, with interchangeable parts for both.

But there were never the big signings, the Yankees/Red Sox/Phillies big market signings. Orlando Cabrera? Johnny Gomes? Arthur Rhodes? Eh? Who who? What what?

Then Walt Jocketty shocked the Major Leagues and all those big-market-high-payroll teams and signed a Cuban defector with an ungodly fastball named Aroldis Chapman to a $30-million contract.

The Cincinnati Reds, Walt Jocketty & the Castellinis had given notice: “The next 3 years, you WILL pay attention to us, and we are not to be trifled with. We will throw 104 mile-an-hour fastballs down your throat and you will like it.”

The third game of the 2010 season saw the Reds first win of the year, and they did it in high style. Jonny Gomes hit a homerun to left that sealed the deal and allowed the Reds to walk-off with one for the good guys. It also set the tone for the season – a season in which the Reds would win 45 times in comeback fashion, many times in their final at-bat of the game.

The Reds pitching would be solid – as promised – both from starters and relievers, and the hitting would be prolific more often than not, leading the National League in home runs, runs scored, and runs-per-game.

They would fight and scrap and not quit on any game. Even in losses, they would battle to the end. The Reds in 2010 sent more players to the All-Star game than in their previous 3 years combined. These were young gladiators, warrior-poets all. They didn’t back down from a challenge, and they didn’t turn-tail when things got difficult.

Tuesday, September 28th, 2010, would be no different. And it will go down in Reds lore as a great day for America’s oldest professional baseball team.

Entering the bottom of the 9th tied at 2-a-piece, the Reds and the Astros had pitched some incredible baseball throughout the evening. I managed to synch up the 700WLW radio broadcast of Marty Brennaman and Jim Kelch with the Fox Sports Ohio television broadcast (featuring Marty’s son Thom and Jeff “The Cowboy” Brantley). I wanted to see the action and hear Marty’s call if (and when) the Reds managed to clinch the National League’s Central Division Championship.

With this kind of history on the line, I didn’t want to miss a thing.

Jay Bruce begged Dusty Baker to let him in the lineup for this game. He was 1-18 against Houston’s starting pitcher Wandy Rodriguez, but he knew he needed to be in this game – a potential home clincher for his Reds. The 22 year-old Bruce started the game in right field, and was less than stellar in all of his at-bats that took place before the 9th inning – he had gone 0-3 with 2 strikeouts and had stranded 5 men on base.

You could say he was looking to redeem himself.

It didn’t take long.

The first pitch to Jay Bruce from veteran relief pitcher Tim Byrdak traveled an estimated 412 feet to deep center field and bounced off the “batter’s eye” paneling over the wall and beyond the grass at Great American Ballpark on the riverfront of beautiful downtown Cincinnati.

Jay Bruce hit the hell out of that ball.

Jay Bruce wrote himself into the personal histories of 30,151 fans in attendance, and hundreds of thousands watching or listening around the world. 15 long years of waiting came to an end. I would be lying to you if I said I didn’t cry while watching the celebration.

A father & son tandem was able to call the same game-winning play, in different media, and you could hear the genuine sentiment in their voices – their team was going to Major League Baseball’s post season for the first time in too long. I like to imagine that Marty and Thom Brennaman gave each other the biggest of hugs when they hung up their headphones for the night. I hope they did. They’re a part of what makes this Reds team magical.

The 1970s had “The Big Red Machine,” and the sporting world was all the better to have Cincinnati be a part of it. Cincinnati, a genuine baseball city, the first professional baseball city – since 1869.

Well, this is 2010. This is The Little Red Machine that Could. Next Year was supposed to be their year. Not this year.

But this is their year – this is our year.

Next year is Now.

Believe in this team. Believe in the Reds.