For Red Sox fans, 2003 was the year that we finally understood that our world is an evil place.It was the anteroom to 2004's glory. It was purgatory, a furnace of affliction. It was the sum of all our fears. For a moment, when we could not summon the strength to look away from the horror, it seemed that we had descended to hell. Momentarily, Dante was a sportswriter for the Globe, all was darkness, and the unbearable screaming just wouldn't stop.STILL WE BELIEVE follows an endearing coterie of fans through the season of our hopes, one that would end in venerable BoSox fashion by a spectacular sequence of crashing and burning. Grady Little would be exiled to North Carolina, his given name rarely pronounced in New England after his American League Championship Series decision to allow a stubborn Petey to stay on the mound when his arm clearly needed a shower. Dan Shaughnessy would memorably label him 'He Who Shall Not Be Named', a verbal refusal to acknowledge the hapless tool of Satan that he became on that terrible night in the Bronx.It's odd to watch this move again after the Exorcism of 2004, when Evil unexpectedly ambushed those Yankees, the planets shifted in their orbits, and Red Sox Nation had to adjust to the psychological impossibility that we had won it all.One senses the eventual redemption of these hapless 2003 fans, a bright light on the horizon that they themselves could not yet see.We did win it all. Life is worth living.2003, like 1978 and 1986, became one more mile in the Forced March that led us to Paradise.No-mah, now a Dodger, still rocks.Enough said. Let's not think about 2003 any more.