To properly understand the Red Sox 2004 season, and their World Series victory, you have to look back to 2003. From the seeds of that bitter defeat, the Sox fixed what was wrong, built up their weaknesses, and came back to compete, and win, in 2004.
We all know what happened. Probably the only notable thing about this game was the fact that the Sox had yet another seventh game opportunity to do it to us again. They were ahead by five runs. My wife, a baseball fan, but not a total strategy nut like me, was upbeat. I was nervous, very nervous.
Did you ever see a horror movie where the good guys (usually a couple of guys, and a least one well-endowed girl wearing a something that either starts out as very revealing or ends up that way after the all the crap they go through) are almost out of the "bad place" -- you pick it: jungle, cave, haunted house. They're mere yards away from safety when the monster or bad guy in a hockey mask, or whatever, manages to grab one of the guys and kill him.
That's the way any tried and true, dyed in the wool, Red Sox fan felt that evening when they were up by five. You just knew it was coming. You knew that Buckner, Bucky F-ing Dent, or a phenomenally fired up Bob Gibson was going to appear.
I kept telling my wife that they'd find a way to let it slip away. When Grady Little came to the mound after Pedro had given up a couple of doubles, my wife said to me, "Phew, they're taking him out!" I had wished they'd gone to their solid bullpen to start the inning, but I too was relieved. And then, Grady Little turned and walked back to the dugout, leaving a tired Pedro in! You could just feel that monster breathing down your neck.
The Yankees tied it up, and Aaron Boone, a journeyman infielder, parked a Wakefield knuckler in the 11th, and that was that.
Truth be told, that monster hadn't just gotten the guy and chewed him up -- no, that monster reached out of the movie screen and punched me right below the belt just before the final credits rolled......
It took me a lot of hours before I could finally get to sleep. It took me a lot of months before I could finally say "Well, maybe next year."
So much has been written about the entire Red Sox season in 2004. They started off with so much promise in April and May, then went into a long stretch of mediocre .500 baseball. It was maddening, becuase you knew that they had even more talent than in 2003.
The big turning points obviously were the Nomar Garciaparra trade -- which brought much needed defense -- and the game against the Yankees on July 24. That game saw the Sox get into a brawl with the Yanks, started by A-Rod and Jason Varitek. It ended with a two run walkoff homer by Billy Mueller against Mariano Rivera. I don't think anyone knew it at the time, but something changed that day.
The Sox came close to catching the Yanks, ended up clinching the Wild Card spot down in Tampa, and celebrated just a little bit, before finishing up the season. Down the stretch, the playoff picture took a long time to form so we (my wife, my friends and other Sox fans) talked and debated about who we thought the Sox would get, and who they might match up with. Beneath it all, we all wanted one thing -- a chance to pay back the Yankees.
The Sox first playoff game since the Night of Agony in 2003 was on the afternoon (late afternoon Eastern Daylight time) of October 5, 2004. We had to suffer through Chris Berman doing play-by-play for ESPN, and had to listen to all the talking sports-heads discussing how difficult it would be for the Sox to beat the Angels.
Now, I like Chris "You're with me, leather" Berman, but he's a lousy play-by-play guy. And I was at work when the game started anyway, so I caught a lot of it on the radio on the ride home with Castiglione and Trupiano.
The Sox got out to a big lead, thanks to a 7 run 4th inning, but Curt Schilling appeared to hurt his ankle a little. The Sox went up 1-0 in the best of three series by winning 9-3.
Game Two was a late game on October 6. I couldn't stay up that late and still be remotely functional at work the next day so I went to bed. About an hour later (I guess) a barking dog woke me. I was awake, and curious, and snuck down to the living room to see how my Sox were doing. Big mistake as far as my sleep requirements were concerned.
It was a close game. I got sucked in. It reminded me of when I was a kid and had to go to bed, but I'd strain to stay awake trying to hear how the Sox were doing when my Dad was listening on the radio or watching on the TV. I was trying to stay awake, trying to keep the TV down low.
It was a pretty good battle, with the Sox holding a 4-3 leading going into the 9th. A one run leading going into the 9th inning will make any Sox fan nervous, even on opening day, no matter how good the bullpen is. But this Sox team had a good bullpen AND a ton of offense. They scored four runs in the 9th to take the second game 8-3. They were headed back to Fenway up 2-0 in the series, and I was headed to bed around 2am, knowing I'd be worthless in the office the next day.
The 3rd game of the Series was on Friday, October 8. I managed to watch a short bit of the first inning on the small TV in the exercise room at work. Unfortunately, all of us from work had a retirement dinner to go to that evening -- watching would be impossible. Being a techno-geek, I set up my phone to get text messages of the score. Unfortunately, there was one guy at the dinner who was TiVo-ing the game and didn't want to know anything at all about it, so I had to be very poker-faced when my texts would come in.
All of the angst was for naught though, because by the time the dinner was over, the Sox had been way ahead, given up a grand slam to Vlad, and were tied going into extra innings. So it was into the car for the ride home, and on went Castiglione and Trupiano.
I didn't get very far from the restaurant before David Ortiz, "Big Papi" came up in the bottom of the 10th.
The first pitch he saw went into the Monster seats and it was over. The Sox were headed back to the ALCS and I was headed home on Friday night with a couple of days to contemplate who would be our opponent!
So there we were, headed into the weekend (October 9/10 2004) with the ALCS opponent still to be decided. My co-worker Dave had a little open house at his place after doing some serious home improvement, and the Sox fans among us were trying to decide who we wanted to face -- did we match up better against the Twins? Did we want to face the Yankees again? What was more important -- getting to the Series and winning or beating the Yankees?
(For my money, it was beating the Yankees, then getting to the Series and winning....)
By the end of the weekend, we knew -- it would be the Yankees, and the series that every Red Sox fan had been hoping for would be starting on Tuesday night, October 12, in the heart of the Evil Empire, Yankee Stadium.
We were pumped. Curt Schilling against Mike Mussina. We didn't want to just win, we wanted to crush the Yankees. We wanted to stun them the same way that they had stunned us the year before. We wanted them to feel the embarrassment of losing to the Red Sox for a change.
Yeah, Yankee fans are smug. You can be smug when you've collected 26 rings, and have hardly ever had to face adversity. Oh sure, there were those "lean years" between 1978 and 1996, but nothing like what the Sox had faced and dealt with. Adversity can make you strong -- but the kind of snakebit luck the Sox had in 1947, 1967 (okay, not so totally bad), 1975, 1978 (Bucky's middle initial will always be "F" to Boston fans) and, ohmygodpleasesayitwonthappenagain 1986, does some strange things to a fan.
As a result, no lead is ever big enough for a Sox fan. They could be up 6-0 in the top of the 8th, and the fans will still be waiting for some bizarre, unexpected, totallyfreakingweird turn of events that cause them to lose 7-6.
But, this was Game One. I was pumped.
After all of that waiting and speculating and looking forward to spanking the Yankees, all that happened was Curt Schilling (who arrived at the stadium with speculation about his ankle running rampant) just imploded on the mound, giving up 6 runs in 3 innings. That was a huge surprise, and made me totally uneasy. If Schilling was hurt (and clearly he was), then our chances were seriously affected. No, we were in deep shit.
Meantime, Mussina was perfect -- no, really, PERFECT, as in no hits, no runs, no errors, no baserunners -- through 6 full. Wakefield, on in relief, gave up 2 in the 6th to spot the Yankees to an 8-0 lead.
Then, in what we all hoped would be a sign of things to come, the Red Sox got to Mussina, and their bats awakened. Over the next two innings, they put up 7 runs to make the game interesting.
But, Mike Timlin gave up 2 more runs in the Yankees half of the 8th, and that was basically that. Final score: Evil Empire 10, Red Sox 8.
I was bummed, but not seriously so. The general wisdom usually is that if you're starting a 7 game series on the road, if you can gain a split then the advantage swings back to you. And besides, didn't the Red Sox go down 0-2 to the Mets in the 1986 World Series????
Pedro Martinez was going the next night, and inspite of all of the "Who's Your Daddy" crap, I figured Pedro would pitch one helluva game and we'd be doing back to Boston tied at 1 game apiece. We could worry about Curt's performance after that....
Petey was taking the mound, the Sox were going to tie up the Series with the Yankees, and all was right with the world.
And actually, it was through five and a half....kinda sorta.
Pedro gave up a run in the 1st. Nothing major, no reason to panic. Pedro gives up runs on occasion. The Sox have some might hefty bats and they're going against Lieber, so again, no reason to panic.
By the time the bottom of the sixth inning rolled around, the Red Sox lineup looked like it was full of Pedro Ceranos from the movie Major League -- "bats no like curve ball" and it was not looking good.
When Petey finally tired, giving up a two run homer to John Olerud in the bottom of the 6th, things began to look even worse. The Sox got one back, but then the Yankees pulled yet another little bit of magic out of their pinstriped butts....
Mariano Rivera had been back home in Panama for a funeral for a family member. He'd hopped a plane, and arrived at the stadium late. And of course, he came in the close the game out. It was such a "Yankee moment" (Pardon me, I think I just threw up in my mouth a little).
Well, like I said, we'd been down 2-0 to the Mets in 1986, so there's nothing to worry about right? Right? Right???
I was a bit nervous. Johnny Damon was 0-fer-the-series-so-far (0-8 actually). No one else was hitting, save Big Papi, and when they were it wasn't at opportune times. One ace was hurting, our other ace had thrown a superb game but with no run support.
I took a deep breath and figured that maybe, just maybe, Fenway might be a bit more friendly. And we'd be back there on Friday, October 15th.... The Sox were heading home.
What was supposed to happen on Friday night ending up happening on Saturday night because of the torrential rains all day on Friday.
Even still, Saturday was nasty. It had rained during the day, it was damp and raw and cold, and all of that was somehow fitting for the massacre that would occur in Fenway that night. Ever since Wednesday evening's close loss in the Bronx, the weather in New England was grey, dark and nasty. Fall in New England can be beautiful, with brilliant, flaming hues of foliage, Indian summer days, and crisp nights. But when it turns grey, and dark, and nasty and rainy, you can understand what Herman Melville was talking about when he used the phrase "November in my soul."
The game that evening is hard to describe. Not because I don't have the words, but because, due to other commitments, I had to be out. I did catch some of it at the end, and it certainly wasn't pretty. No, it wasn't pretty at all, not by a long shot. In fact, it looked pretty damned ugly if you want the truth.
I guess you could say over the first three innings, the Sox and Yankees slugged it out like two heavyweights going toe-to-toe, giving up on all hope of blocking punches and just pummeling away at each other. After three full, it was 6-6.
Then the rout began. Over the next four innings the Yankees put up 11 runs to the Red Sox 2, and added two more for insurance, pasting a 19-8 drubbing on the Sox.
It was some ugly baseball. Period.
There was one small thing to note however; something that, when time had run its course, would turn out to be pretty huge. Tim Wakefield, the man who threw the final pitch in the ALCS the year before, the longest tenured member of the Red Sox, and the consumate team player, gave up his opportunity to start the Game 4 in order that he might throw some relief innings to try and stop the bleeding. Like I said, it didn't seem like much at the time, but it would have a huge impact down the line.
I'd be flat out lying if I said anything other than on Sunday, which dawned beautifully sunny and cool, by the way, I had several main thoughts in my head:
The day after the fiasco of Game 3, that sunny but cool Sunday, was the day my stepson was getting confirmed. My parish is very heavily Yankee country. Oh, there are a few of us who support the Olde Towne Team, but for the most part, the parishoners and pastor cut their baseball teeth on Ruth, Gehrig, Mantle, Maris and all the rest. My Yankee fan friends, my brother-in-law and our priest all attempted to console me with words of sympathy: "Gee, I don't understand what has happened to the Sox -- I really expected a lot more to handle than this." Because they are friends, there was none of that Yankee smugness which colors the speech of most Yankee fans.
And so there I was, sitting there in the church, gazing at the beautiful figure of Christ in his Risen Glory on the stained glass window up behind the altar, (and truth be told realizing that to that point in time the "savior" of the Red Sox, Johnny Damon -- he of the "What Would Johnny Damon Do?" t-shirts and Christ-like haircut -- was 1-for-13 with just 1 RBI.)
Then, I did something that I hadn't done since I was 7 years old, and had only done that one time before in my life - I prayed for a victory. Oh, I wasn't selfish. I didn't pray for them to come back and win the whole thing, or anything silly like that.
When I was seven, I was rooting so hard for the Green Bay Packers in the NFL Championship game against the Cowboys (known these days as the Ice Bowl) that I actually knelt in church before Mass and prayed for a Packer victory.
Almost 40 years later, I knelt in church before the Bishop arrived to begin the confirmation Mass, and I prayed a simple prayer: "Please God, don't let them get swept. That's all, please just let them win one."
And that was that. I let it go until game time.....
Game Four. After the slugfest the evening before, a game that finished just a bit shy of the four and a half hour mark, the Yankees looked poised to sweep their way into another World Series.
And because of the length of the game, and the utter rout inflicted on the Red Sox, Derek Lowe was starting. Lowe, who'd been banished to the bullpen for poor starts down the stretch was an enigma to me. I always said he was Forest Gump's box of chocolates -- you never quite knew what you were going to get. A no-hitter one time, a complete rout the next. Still, when his sinker was working, you tended to get a lot of ground outs, and after the Nomar trade shored up the infield defense, that was not necessarily a bad thing.
The Yankees struck first, though, in the 3rd inning. Derek Jeter got on base, A-Rod blasted a home run that ended up out on Lansdowne Street, and the Yanks took a 2-0 lead. This did provide one comic moment though, as the ball came sailing back from the street into center field. Johnny Damon fired it back over the wall and into the street. A few moments later, the ball came flying back into center field. The ump finally pocketed the ball.
The Sox, finally realizing their backs were against the wall, got a rally going in the fifth and plated 3 runs. The lead was slim, 3-2, and it was too early in the game. Those life-long "Sox jitters" came back, and I sat on the edge of my seat, guts churning, and worrying. (Little did I know at the time that I'd suffer those Sox jitters for most of the next four nights).
But right then, I didn't have to worry long. Lowe gakked up a triple to Matsui in the top half of the next inning, and was relieved by Mike Timlin. He didn't fare all that well, and by the middle of the 6th, the Yankees had regained the lead. It seemed to me that they had their killer instinct going, and the Sox were indeed going to get swept.
Foulke came in to replace Timlin in the 7th inning, and in retrospect, he did a helluva job, going 3 innings.
I guess now would be a good time for me to belly up to the bar, and take a few lumps. In 2004 I had been a Sox fan for 38 years. I had seen them win the pennant in 1967 by a game, then lose in 7 games to a superlative Bob Gibson and the Cardinals. I'd seen Carlton Fisk blast a home run for the ages in 1975, then lose the 7th game to the Reds. I'd gotten home just in time to see Bucking F-ing Dent deposit the ball in the the left field screen in 1978, and Yaz pop up to end it. And I was sitting in a room in the Willard Hotel in Washington, DC on a night in 1986 when the Sox were within a strike of winning the whole thing, and of course, all I need to say is one word: Buckner.
So, when it came down to the bottom of the ninth inning, with Mariano Rivera coming in to save it for the Yanks, I gave in to the bitter gall that rose up within me. I forgot how Rivera blew a save that lost the 2001 World Series. I forgot Billy Mueller's home run in July that won the game. I lost track of the fact that Billy Mueller would be hitting in the bottom of the 9th. And worst of all, I gave into despair. The overwhelming thought in my head was "I cannot bear to see the smug, smarmy, cocky bastards in pinstripes jumping all over the mound in Fenway park." I got up, I shut the TV off, and I went to bed....
"Out of the depths I cry to you, O God...."
In the depths of despair, I got up and shut off the television. The overwhelming feeling, after the heart-wrenching loss in 2003, and the poor performance to date in this ALCS, was that I couldn't bear to see the Yankees celebrating on the pitchers mound at Fenway.
The next morning I got up, and started to get ready for work. In the light of day, the despair of the previous evening had sort of left, and it was replaced by a kind of "despair hangover", if you will. I had already started to steel myself for the "wait till next year" lines I'd hear from my friends who are Yankee fans. At that point, I did what I couldn't do the night before -- I turned on the TV to watch the Yankees celebrate on the pitchers mound of Fenway Park.
I turned to ESPN, and was waiting for the footage, when I noticed the scrolling banner beneath the screen saying "Schilling, Game 6 if necessary".
From within the fog of my "despair hangover" a thought started to creep forward towards the front of my brain. I thought to myself, "Game 6 if necessary.... that must mean there will be a Game 5!"
I quickly tuned in to NESN Sports Desk and saw the tail end of Big Papi's home run to seal the victory in the 12th.
What I did not see then, I've seen a thousand times since...It sounds so simple.
Millar (or, if you're from Boston, "Millaaah"), worked a walk off the mighty Mariano Rivera. Millar isn't a Hall of Famer, and he tends to be better in the second half of the season (or not, as 2005 proved), but he's a leader in the clubhouse, and keeps the team loose. And oh, one other thing he is not is fleet of foot.
That being the case, Tito promptly substituted Dave Roberts as a pinch runner.
Now, Roberts had come over during the time of the Nomar trade, and was an outfielder. He was fun to watch, and was a favorite with the fans. More importantly, he was also the fastest guy on the Sox.
Everyone in Fenway knew, including Mariano Rivera, that Roberts was going to attempt to steal second.
Writing this now, in retrospect, I'm reminded of Vince Lombardi's Green Bay Packers. They didn't "out-fancy" you on the field. They ran solid, fundamental plays, and just plain out-executed you. Everyone watching, including the defense, knew they were going to run the Packer sweep. And they'd run it. And in the process they'd run right over the opponent.
That's kind of the way it was with Roberts. Everyone, but everyone, knew he was going for second. Rivera threw his way a couple of times to try and keep him close. But the first time Rivera went towards home to throw a pitch, Roberts was off.
The play-by-play simply notes "Roberts stole second." Three words. Only three words. But, in those three words, in the couple of seconds it took for Roberts to haul down to second base, 86 years of history hung, literally, in the balance.
I've watched the replay countless times. It took watching it frame-by-frame for me to see for the first time that, yes, Dave Roberts was indeed safe. I still have problems seeing it for sure in real time. Thank God that the ump saw it right.
When the dust settled, Roberts stood on second, "in scoring position", and there were no outs. If the Sox were going to tie it up, they were in good position to do so. And did I mention that whenever Dave Roberts walks into a bar in Boston, he will never, ever, have to pay for a drink?
Bill Mueller came up. Had I been watching, I surely would have recalled that Bill Mueller stung Rivera with a two run homer back in that watershed game on July 24. Of course, I missed that one too. I heard it on the radio, but had left the house to go pick up pizza, and missed seeing it until the highlights. As much as I love baseball, sometimes when your wife asks you for the third time in that tone of voice if you're leaving to pick up the pizza, you go pick up the pizza and watch highlights later.
So now, with everything on the line, Mueller, the AL batting champion in 2003, had the biggest hit of his Red Sox career, a single back up the middle. The fleet footed Roberts came around to score, and the Sox had new life.
The Sox almost won it in the bottom of the 9th. After a few more Sox came up, Big Papi had a chance to win it with a hit, but popped up. He'd wait three more innings to make up for it.
In the bottom of the 12th, he blasted one into the bullpen, and the Sox had avoided the sweep.
All of this occurred while I was asleep.
[Author's Note] I had felt bad for quite a while that I had not remained steadfast and faithful to my team, but instead chose to turn off the TV when they were down by a run headed into the bottom of the 9th. That changed when I read that Bill Simmons, ESPN columnist and erstwhile "Boston Sports Guy", had been at Fenway Park with his father. They got up to leave, and were under the stands when all the good stuff happened. I've also heard of many other fans doing the same thing. Nowadays, when the Sox are down by one, or even two, heading into the bottom of the 9th, you just know that the Sox are going to come back.
When I arrived at work the next morning, one of those crisp, sunny fall days that only seem to occur in mid-October in New England, the rest of my fellow Sox fans were buzzing. Part of it seemed to be relief that the Sox had avoided the ignominious fate of being swept. The rest of it was the fact that Pedro was pitching that night.
Now, anyone who knows anything about the Sox has probably seen that video clip of Kevin Millar, just before Game 4, saying "Don't let us win tonight. Don't let us win tonight because if we win tonight, we've got Pedro going in Game 5, Schlling in Game 6, and anything can happen in Game 7." I think that there was a part of each one of us that figured that with Pedro on the mound, in Fenway, that the Sox stood a very good chance of winning the game.
For myself, I wasn't even really worried that Mussina was pitching for the Yankees. I figured that he wouldn't be going perfect through six again.
Because the NLCS game was nationally televised at 8pm (or 8:30pm, I can't remember), the Red Sox game was a 5:30 pm start. I figured I could listen to Castiglione and Truppiano on the way home, then watch the game. I also figured, with it being a 5:30 pm start I'd probably get to bed at a decent hour.
All day we'd work, and talk about the Sox, and work, and talk about the Sox. My boss, who hails from England, and who is not a sport nut (or even a casual fan) by any stretch of the imagination, must've been going nuts listening to us go on and on about the Sox. But there was definitely a low key buzz going on, that's for sure!
On the way out to go home, I looked over at my buddy Dave and said "Go Sox!" It was to be our rallying cry over the next few nights.
I came out of work, and the air had that really fresh, mid-autumn feel. You know that Halloween is just around the corner, and that Thanksgiving will be hard on the heels of that, all of which leads into the Christmas shopping season and Christmas itself. It was hard to feel anything at all but anticipation -- anticipation of a wonderful fall and early winter, anticipation of the Red Sox playing at home. Whether or not the butterflies in my stomach were anticipation or nerves was anybody's guess.
I got in the car, tuned into WTIC-1080 AM, which is our local carrier for the Sox, and listened to the start of the game. My thoughts were switching back and forth between Pedro facing the Yanks and the late afternoon sun filtering through the brilliant fall foliage as I made my way back towards I-384 to connect with I-84. It was a great time to be alive!
My stomach was already worked up pretty good. It wasn't so much, at that point, "can we win this thing?", it was more along the lines of "well, we have Pedro pitching, and if he can win, we can at least send things back to the Bronx."
Let's face it. No team in baseball had ever come back from a 3-0 deficit to take a series. Hell, no team had ever even been able to force a seventh game! Nope, the Sox could make it sorta respectable if they won this one. No one was even thinking about them being able to sweep four in a row from the vaunted Yankees. It was still very much (for me at least), let's keep it respectable.
Pedro handled the Yanks fairly easily in the first. He struck out Jeter, walked Rodriguez, struck out Sheffield, and got Matsui to fly out. Great. Good start for Petey.
The Sox put up two in their half of the inning to take an early 2-0 lead. Mussina wasn't close to perfect this time around. A couple of singles by Cabrera and Manny, a couple of walks (one to Varitek with bases loaded) and the Sox put up a couple. Okay, there's a long way to go. And, truth be told, none of us knew how long!
Somewhere after that I got home. My wife was making supper, and I spent some time with her watching the game on the small TV in the kitchen. The Yanks got one back in the top of the second to make it 2-1, and then we settled down to some scoreless ball for a while.
Both teams had their chances over next four innings, although nothing materialized. At one point, I had even thought of going out with my wife and daughters to the party store to pick up some things for Halloween. We'd kicked it back and forth a couple of times, and just before she left, she said to me "You probably really want to stay here and watch this, so go ahead, we'll be fine." I said "Yeah, I do," thinking to myself that I was like a moth drawn to a flame.
I settled into the living room chair, and within a nanosecond was on the edge of it. I'd be on that edge until a commercial came on, and as soon as the game came back on I was back on the edge. The missed chances for the Sox were piling up on me. There were not a lot, but each one, each strikeout, each fly out, haunted me and wrenched at my guts. I knew that it would take more than a one-run lead to beat the Yanks.
The Yanks struck in the top of the 6th, and struck big. A couple of hits, a hit batsman, and the Yanks had loaded the bases. Jeter was up, 0-fer-the-game so far. Never a good thing. His double plated everyone and left him standing on 3rd base after the throw home to try and nab Cairo. The Yanks suddenly had a 4-2 lead.
Just like the night before, it was the top of the 6th, but this time the damned Yankees had a two run lead. The way the Sox were playing, it might well have been insurmountable. About the only good thing was that there were two outs.
Petey certainly made it interesting. If my guts weren't churning before (oh yes, they were) they would be positively turned inside-out before that last out was recorded. With Jeter standing on third base, Petey proceded to hit A-Rod, and walk Sheffield. Matsui was up. For a millisecond, I wondered if this was Game 7, 2003 all over again.
Matsui came through, but for the Sox fans this time, finally lining out to right and ending the inning.
The Red Sox had work to do. But you couldn't tell by the bottom of the 6th, not with a one-two-three inning: Zero runs, zero hits, zero men left on. Not good. Damn! Not good!!!
But Timlin came in after that and held the Yankees.
The Sox threatened fairly large in the home half of the seventh, with a Bellhorn double, and a Cabrera walk, but Manny hit into a 5-4-3 double play, and time was starting to ebb away. I had a momentary flash of Jim Rice hitting into inning ending double plays back in the day. I had to push that out of my mind. Getting late -- gut check time.
The Yanks made it interesting (very interesting) in the top of the 8th inning, with a Miguel Cairo double, and a Jeter sacrifice bunt to move him to 3rd, with just ONE OUT! Timlin managed to strike out A-Rod, but walked Sheffield and was done for the night. Tito went to Sox closer Keith Foulke, who induced Matsui into a harmless fly to left. PHEW! (No, double PHEW).
"C'mon, let's DO SOMETHING you guys!" I was yelling at the TV as the Sox came up in the bottom of the 8th. Just two "ups" left, and you're down by two. Can you fer-eakin' DO SOMETHING!?!?!?!?!?
Somewhere back around the 7th inning, my wife had arrived home from her shopping trip with the girls. She put them to bed in time to join me for the top of the 8th.
"Not good," I said.
"Who's up?", she asked.
"Big Papi."
David Ortiz. The Big Papi.
I swear, in the 2004 post season, it seems like Big Papi could almost just will anything to happen. The Sox needed runs, and Big Papi obliged. The pitch, the swing, the ball traveling out to hit square into the middle of the Volvo sign on top of the Green Monster! WOW! Sox trail 4-3. Okay, I'll take that...
I took a moment to sit back in the chair. I could barely breathe, and alternated between wanting to crawl out of my skin or curl up into a little ball on the chair.
Millar was up next. Mr. "Cowboy Up" drew another walk. In came Dave Roberts to pinch run. I remember thinking to myself "No, history doesn't repeat itself....or does it?"
Millar had done what he needed to to -- get a man on base with no outs, and we had Mientkiewicz for defensive purposes to sub in at first. Ok. Let's get Roberts home.
Trot Nixon came up, and promptly singled, moving Roberts to 3rd base and chasing Tom Gordon (who'd replaced Tanyon Sturtze the inning before) from the game. While Mariano Rivera was warming up, Gabe Kapler came out to run for Trot. Okay, some speed on the bases, no outs, and Jason Varitek coming up. I had a good feeling we could tie it, even if 'Tek hit into a double play.
'Tek did not disappoint, lofting a sac fly to center which scored Roberts. After a Mueller ground out and a Bellhorn strike out the Sox were done for the 8th. But it was a brand new ball game. This time, they tied it up an inning earlier.
The Yankees and the Sox are never content to just play each other. No, they slug it out like two prize fighters, tired of boxing, just going toe to toe, pummeling each other until one cannot answer back, and the game ends. I figured that the next inning was going to be spectacular.
It wasn't. Oh, it was interesting but it was not spectacular.
In the Yanks half of the ninth, they got a runner as far as 3rd base, following a Sierra walk and a Tony Clark double, but Foulke got Cairo to pop out to end the inning, and no runs scored.
At that point, I figured with the heart of the Sox order coming up, it was fairly certain that they could plate a run, win the game, and head to the Bronx. I was starting to believe again in the Sox. I was starting to regain some of that faith that I'd had as a 5th grader when they won the pennant in 1967. Surely they'd wrap it up in dramatic fashion, I thought.
It was dramatic alright -- but it would be five more innings, (half of another game!) before that happened.
Damon singled, but was caught stealing, and Orlando and Manny did nothing. Time to head for extra innings....
Bronson Arroyo, he of the blond cornrows, came in to face the Yanks in the top of the 10th, and turned in a 1-2-3 inning. In the bottom of the 10th, the Sox did nothing, but managed to strand Mientkiewicz at 3rd base. Argghhhhh, it kinda reminded me of the 10th inning in Game 6, 1975 (only then it was Denny Doyle who was thrown out trying to score on a Fred Lynn fly out to left).
Mike Myers (the lefty out of the Sox bullpen, not the actor) pitched to Matsui in the top of the 11th, and induced a strikeout, furthering Matsui's tough evening (just one hit over 7 at bats). Alan Embree took over from there, gave up a single but then retired the side...
Okay, I thought, Phew! Now it is time for the Sox to wrap this thing up.
And they almost did.... In the bottom of the 11th, the Sox put men on 1st and 2nd with no outs, after Mueller and Bellhorns singled. Johnny "Jesus" Damon popped up a bunt to the catcher, and the Sox stranded their two runners when Carbrera hit into a double play... Arghhhhhh!!!!!!
In the top of the 12th, Tim Wakefield replaced Allan Embree. Wake really amazed me in this Series. He gave up a start to pitch some innings to save the bullpen in Game 3. He had pitched in relief in Game 1 as well. Now, in Game 5, in extra innings, he came in to pitch some quality innings. At that point, who knew how long this game was going to go.
He didn't have his personal catcher though, as Tito was not going to sub in Mirabelli for 'Tek, so I remember thinking things might get interesting.
And to be honest, I remember thinking about Aaron Boone's shot to left the year before.
But Wake was stellar. He struck out Tony Clark, and gave up a hit to Cairo, who advanced to second on an error by Manny. With Jeter and A-Rod coming up, I got a little nervous. Despite watching it on TV, listening to the Fox guys do the play-by-play, I could hear Joe Castiglione in my head saying "and the go-ahead run is in scoring position...."
But Wake got Jeter to fly out, and got A-Rod to do the same. Okay, c'mon Sox, can you just WIN this thing?????
Nope... Although it was a bit interesting in the home half of the 12th.
After Manny popped out, David Ortiz drew a walk. Now, I'm not sure if it was a busted hit and run with Mientkiewicz at the plate or what, but next thing I know, Ortiz is taking off, hell bent for leather, down to second base. I'm thinking to myself "What the hell is Big Papi trying to steal for????" And you know, he made it safely. Oh, the ump called him out, but just like with Roberts steal in game 4, I've watched this frame by frame, and he did slide in under the tag. He argued, but to no avail. Mientkiewicz fanned to end the inning.
In spite of the fact that it wrenched my guts into the biggest knot I can ever remember having, and the fact that I was wearing out the front edge of the chair cushion, in retrospect the Yanks half of the 13th inning was pretty entertaining. It really was.
Tim Wakefield throws the knuckleball. Bob Eucker, the broadcaster, once said that the easiest way to catch a knuckleball was to wait until it stopped rolling and pick it up. Wake's normal catcher, Doug Mirabelli, was sitting on the bench, and 'Tek was the other half of the battery this evening.
Wake promptly struck out Gary Sheffield to start the inning, but the 3rd strike was a passed ball, and Sheffield made it to first. Okay. You don't see that often, but can we please get these guys out????
Matsui forced Sheffield with an infield grounder, and then Bernie Williams flied out. Okay, two outs, man on first, this should be pretty simple.
Jorge Posada was up, and another knuckler got by 'Tek. Matsui down to second. I can't remember the last time I saw two passed balls in an inning. The Sox intentionally walked Posada to set up an easy infield play, and Reuben Sierra came up. Oops, here comes the knuckler, and oops, their goes the knuckler... Now it was men on 2nd and 3rd with two out. Can we please get somebody out???? Please?
Yes! Sierra struck out.
It was geting late. The game had been going since 5:30pm, and at this point I'm pretty sure that the Houston-St. Louis game was about over. The Sox and Yanks were still going... The two heavyweights still had enough left in the tank to keep slugging each other in the face.
In the home half of the 13th, the Sox went 1-2-3. In the top of the 14th, Wake put the Yanks down in order as well.
I needed a beer. I wanted a beer. I didn't dare leave my seat.
The Sox had the top of the order coming up in the bottom of the 14th inning, after Bellhorn, who was batting 9th. He struck out. Johnny Damon drew a walk.
At this point, I wasn't getting all excited. Carbrera had hit into a double play earlier in the game, ending a rally, and figured he might do the same here. It was getting late, and the players had to be getting tired. Under the circumstances, Orlando's strike out wasn't great, but at least it did not kill the rally.
Manny worked a walk off Esteban Loiza, who was pitching his 3rd inning of relief. That meant men on first and second with Big Papi coming to the plate. That's always a good thing.
Big Papi's at bat was one of the best I've ever seen. I kept expecting him to hit a home run. Was there any member of Red Sox nation who wasn't? But he kept fouling off pitches, working Loiza. Finally, he did all that he needed to do. He blooped a little single out into center field. The speedy Johnny Damon came tearing around to score, and Big Papi had given the Red Sox their second, extra-inning, walk-off victory in as many nights!
The game that started at 5:30 ended at 11:21pm.... so much for getting to bed early.
And, oh yeah, we're headed to the Bronx!!!
4:20, 5:02, 5:49. Those were the elapsed times of the games that took place in Fenway Park. Add in the extra innings in Game 4 (3) and in Game 5 (5), and you have almost another whole game. The only problem was that the Red Sox only got credit for winning two. They were still down 3-2 in the series.
In Game 6, Curt Schilling was scheduled to start. Questions abounded about his ankle, but the word on the street was that he would be wearing a special boot/shoe made by Reebok. It would support his ankle or something like that. But, on this night, October 19, 2004, Curt Schilling would firmly plant his name into Boston sports lore, along with the names Orr, Russell, Bird, Williams, Yaz, and all the rest.
When Curt Schilling came out to take the mound, he had his regular spikes on, and his sock was bloody. I remember thinking to myself "This can't be good." but before long we were given an explanation. Curt had undergone a radical new operation to stitch his injured tendon into place. Rather, sutures had formed a barrier of tissue to keep his tendon from snapping back when he pitched. Word was that he had tried the special shoe, it had not worked, and Boston team physician Dr. Gil Morgan had come up with the novel idea. The good doctor practiced on cadavers before doing it for real on Curt's ankle. We would soon know how it worked.
Through three strong innings of work, Schilling had given up only one hit, a double to Miguel Cairo. Otherwise, he was flawless, like the Schilling we had come to expect throughout the season, holding the Yankees scoreless.
However, the Sox had not put up any runs either, despite collecting four hits off Yankee starter Jon Leiber. Mark Bellhorn hit into a 4-6-3 double play in the bottom of the second with bases loaded to kill the best chance the Red Sox had to that point. Very quickly though, things would change, and Bellhorn would have a chance to reverse his fortunes.
In the top of the 4th inning, the inning started innocuously enough with Ortiz and Nixon grounding out. With two down, the Sox went to work.
Kevin Millar doubled to left field, and advanced on a wild pitch during Jason Varitek's at bat. 'Tek promptly took advantage of that and singled home Millar with the Sox' first run. But any Red Sox fan would tell you that one run was not going to be enough to beat the Yankees.
Orlando Cabrera promptly singled, advancing Varitek to second. Two on, two out, with Mark Bellhorn coming to the plate. I have to admit, I thought "Oh boy, here's another double play." Instead, Bellhorn caused the first controverial play of the evening when he hit a line drive home run to left field. The ball bounced off a fan wearing a dark shirt, and the umpire called the ball "in play." Tito came out to argue. While he was discussing things with the umpires, the Fox replay clearly showed it to be a home run. But, Major League Baseball does not use replay, so I thought "here we go again, we're gonna get screwed like we always do in these situations." I specifically recalled a phantom tag in the 1999 playoffs against the Yankees.
Much to my suprise, the umpires huddled to discuss it. It was comforting to see that at least they would all talk it over. When the conference broke up, one of the umps twirled his finger in the air, indicating Home Run. The Sox now lead 4-0.
For my money, this was a momentous occasion. Too many times in the past it seemed that these little breaks started to go against the Red Sox. Could the tide be turning? I didn't know, and while I did not exactly feel comfortable with a four run lead, I did feel better than I would have if the ball had been ruled in play and only one run had scored.
After Damon flied out to end the inning, Schilling came back out to pitch, staked to a four run margin. Again, he was stellar. In spite of singles by A-Rod and Sheffield, he held them scoreless through six inning. I was beginning to think that the Sox might actually have a chance of forcing a Game 7, something no other team had ever done after being down 3-0.
In the Yankees 7th inning, Schilling surrendered his first run, a home run by Bernie Williams that made it 4-1. But that homer was sandwiched in between a ground out and an infield pop out. Schilling struck out Ruben Sierra to end the e inning. When he walked off the field, every Red Sox fan knew that we had just witnessed one of the greatest events in Boston sports history. The fellow who had made the Ford commercial, hitchhiking to Boston to break an 86-year old curse, was doing it for real.
After going quietly in their half of the 8th inning, the Red Sox took the field for the home half. Little did they know that fireworks were about to erupt, fireworks that would make for one memorable ALCS game.
Bronson Arroyo relieved Schilling and started off well, striking out Tony Clark. However, he surrended a double to Miguel Cairo, and when Derek Jeter singled, making it 4-2, I began to get that churning feeling in my stomach again. Of course, I'd been on the edge of my seat since the start of the inning. This was getting a bit close for comfort, and A-Rod was coming up. One swing of the bat, one swat, and the game would be tied. A-Rod swatted, but it wasn't as home run swat.
A-Rod hit a soft grounder down the first base line that was fielded by Arroyo. As Arroyo tagged A-Rod, A-Rod swatted the ball out of Arroy's glove, and the ball rolled all the way down the right field line. Jeter raced around to score, making it 4-3, and A-Rod ended up on second. I was going nuts. I knew that you can't swat the ball like that, but Doug Mientkiewicz had screened the first base umpire on the play. Tito came out to argue. The umpires again huddled, and when they broke their huddle, they called A-Rod out for interference, and made Jeter return to first base. It was stil 4-2.
Yankee manager Joe Torre was livid, and so were the New York fans. They responded by throwing debris and baseballs on to the field. It got so bad that NY Police in riot gear were posted around on the field in front of the stands. In spite of all the fuss, Arroyo got Sheffield to pop out to end the inning.
After that, the Sox did nothing in the top of the 9th, and Keith Foulke came on to face the Yankees in their last chance to win the game and the pennant. Foulke mixed two strike outs and a pop out around two walks, and the Red Sox won the game, 4-2.
For the first time in history, a Major League team had fought back to tie a series 3-3 after trailing 3-0. Game 7 was on the horizon, and every Red Sox fan remembered Game 7 from the year before. But, the tide was about to turn.