When your team makes it to the playoffs, you have to celebrate it. Things change. Your team may look good now, the future bright as a headlight, but anything can happen - disasters are almost the rule, not the exception. You can't "sit this one out", assuming that there are at least a few more playoff runs in the foreseeable future. You have to make excuses at work, promises to loved ones and cement commitments for the winter to balance flaking on friends and community now.
This might be the only time, this might be your last time; regardless, this is it. There is only now. Your team is in it. You have earned this, but it is all you have earned. There are no guarantees. A generation or more of your family can live and die under the same roof, going to games of a team that will never surpass second place, never know what it is like to live after a season has died. Your memory of this moment may be all they have, all that ever gives them hope.
This might be the last time. You owe it to yourself, to the past and all you have been through as much as to the future and all you can enrich it by relaying memories of this moment.
Keep a diary, take pictures, spill beer on a friend's lap to mark this moment like a flashbulb popping. Keep this memory until you are the last person who even remembers what a flashbulb is. Because this memory won't be much more than a line in a book or a website or whatever they are recording the important feats on in the future, but like the Titanic survivor you can raise an eyebrow at any time the subject comes up and tell of the glorious or infamous moment, because you were there, you lived it.