In 2004, as Yogi famously put it, it
was déjà vu all over again.
The was between Boston and New York
had begun even before spring training when Alex Rodriguez, already considered
one of the greatest players in baseball, became a free agent. The Yankees and
Red Sox opened their pocketbooks and the Bronx beat Beantown again, this time
offering a ten-year $250 million contract. It was classic Steinbrenner and it
pissed off everyone in baseball, not just Boston, but that was the game.
The AL East was a repeat of the war of
the previous year, this time with even more bench clear brawls and all players
openly seething. For the first time as a fan and a viewer I saw just how
visceral that contempt was between the two franchises and particularly given
how last year had turned out, it became real to me in a way it had only been
figurative from all the books and TV clips I'd seen.
I was increasingly becoming immersed
in my passion as a TV critic, though I was still more than five years before
making my first semi-professional attempts. I remember I was distracting during
the early days of the postseason with the new fall schedule, particularly ABC's
Sunday night lineup of Desperate Housewives and Boston Legal. I'd
also been watching the third season of The Wire which, in those
pre-streaming days I tended to watch on Monday nights. I was following most of
my regular shows such as Scrubs, half of what was on the WB and much of
CBS's lineup of procedurals. And at the
time the postseason on baseball was divided between ESPN and Fox with the
American League series on Fox during that period.
So during October I was basically
watching TV with one hand on the clicker; checking the scores between
commercials of one show or the other. That hasn't changed in twenty years until
the World Series. My mother was
following this because once again the Yankees had the best record in the
American league, going 101-61, once again the best record in baseball. This
time the Red Sox were 98-64 which was the second best record in baseball and
third only behind the St. Louis Cardinals who'd gone an impressive 105-57. For
the third consecutive year the Yankees faced the Minnesota Twins and once again
they went through them, albeit in 4 games instead of 3.
Boston was up against the Anaheim
Angels, two years ago the World Champions and now back in the ALCS. In Anaheim
the Red Sox trounced Boston both times with Curt Schilling winning Game 1, 9-3
and Pedro winning Game 2, 8-3. They went back to Fenway for Game 3.
I remember that game vividly. The Red
Sox were ahead 6-1 going into the top of the 7th. Then the Angels
loaded the based with nobody out. Then Timlin walked in a run to make it 6-2.
Then Vladimir Guerrero hit a grand slam to tie the game and Fenway went quiet.
At that moment I was truly a Red Sox
fan in my soul. Because even though the game was tied I could see just how this
would play out. The Angels would take the lead in the next inning, the Red Sox
would lose the clincher, all the momentum would go out of them and Anaheim
would make an incredible comeback. And considering that Boston had crushed
Anaheim's hopes in a similar situation 18 years earlier there would have been a
sad poetry to it.
That feeling was maintained even
though the Angels didn't score and the game went into extra innings. I didn't
know that there was one big difference between 2003 and 2004 and his name was
David Ortiz.
In the tenth Johnny Damon single.
Pokey Reese hit into a fielder's choice. Manny Ramirez struck out. Mike Scosisa
then took Franciso Rodriguez out and brought Jarrod Washburn in to pitch to
Ortiz. The man who was about to become known to the world as Big Papi hit a two
run homer to win the ALDS for Boston.
So for the second straight year the
Red Sox were facing the Yankees in the ALCS. Like I said, déjà vu all over
again.
Whatever hopes I had for Boston
beating New York went out the window in Game 1. Curt Schilling had gone 6-1 in
the postseason and I remembered how much he'd owned the Yankees when he pitched
for Arizona. He was up against Mike Mussina. The scene was set for a pitcher
duel, so naturally it became a blowout.
Schilling sustained a torn tendon
against the Angels and was ineffective. The Yankees took an 8-0 lead as Mussina
pitched 6 perfect innings. Bellhorn' spoiled the party and the Red Sox managed
to get 5 in the seventh. They closed it to 8-7 but then they brought it on
Mariano and hope died. The Yankees finished 10-7.
Game 2 was a pitchers duel between
Pedro and Jon Lieber with the Yankees finally winning 3-1.
Game 3 was scheduled for Friday but
there was a rain out. The next day I was sleeping over at a friends house and
only occasionally looked at the game. I spent most of it wishing for a flood in
what could have been called the Boston Massacre had the term not been more
famously used in 1978. The Yankees won 19-8.
I didn't read was sportswriter Bob
Ryan wrote in the Boston Globe but I would have agreed with it a hundred
percent:
They are down, 3-0, after last night's
19-8 rout and, in this sport, that is an official death sentence. Soon it will
be over, and we will spend another dreary winter lamenting this and lamenting
that."
Which was the logical reaction. The
baseball postseason had existed for 100 years and in that century not a single
team had ever come back from a 3-0 deficit to win a seven game series. And this wasn't any team. This was the Red
Sox, a team who had spent the twentieth century finding ways to snatch
defeat from the jaws of victory. And against the Yankees? The winningest
franchise in baseball history? Who'd won six pennant in eight years? The
franchise that had provided Bucky F---Ing Dent and Aaron F---ing Boone?
No. Get the Fenway organist to prepare
a bevy of funeral marches. This was done. Pay no attention to that long-haired
idiot Johnny Damon, he doesn't know the first thing he's talking about.
I know that Game 4 was the following
day. I was watching Sunday night broadcasting – Desperate Housewives, Boston
Legal – and around 11 pm I finally tuned it. At which point it was over. The Yankees were up 4-3 and Mariano was on the
mound in the 9th. So what if
he walked Kevin Millar?
I had no idea who Dave Roberts was
before Game 4. Nor did I know he'd been trained in baserunning by Maury Wills,
who'd once told him one day he'd have to steal a base with the entire world
watching. Roberts met the challenge and stole second. Bill Mueller hit a single
and Rivera for what was only the second time in my years of watching him blew a
save. The first time had been Game 7 of the Yankees-Diamondbacks World Series.
The game was tied 4-4. I watched the
next three innings from my couch with my parents. Paul Quantrill had come into
relief. Manny Ramirez singled. Ortiz hit the ball:
"Going back at the wall, we'll
see you back her tomorrow night!" I remember the broadcaster saying. (I
can't recall if it was Tim McCarver or Joe Buck.)
They'd staved off elimination in miraculous
fashion. Still it was a deep hole.
Game 5 began at 5:11, less than sixteen
hours after Game 4 ended. It was Mussina versus Martinez, a rematch of Game 2.
The Red Sox took a 2-o lead early in the game but the Yankees would come back
to take four runs in the sixth. Once again the bullpen couldn't hold it. Ortiz
led off the eighth with a home run against Tom Gordon. Millar walked. Unbelievably
Roberts came in again. He went to third on Trot Nixon's single and Varitek tied
the game with a sacrifice.
The game went fourteen innings and I
remember watching most of them the same way every single viewer did: with my
heart perpetually in my throat. Every inning it seemed one team or the other
had a chance to take the lead: every inning the other throttled it.
Finally after what I assume was the
fourteenth inning stretch. Damon and Ramirez both walked. Ortiz came up with
two outs. The at bat was epic: ten pitches and everyone of them you could feel
the Red Sox catch their breath. Finally Ortiz singled the center:
Tim McCarver: "He didn't do it
again, did he? Yes he did!" Fenway
fans started chanting "Who's your Papi?" And from that day to this David Ortiz has
never had to buy a drink in Boston.
Remarkable, astounding. But the Red
Sox were still down 3 games to 2. And they had to clinch the last two games in
Yankee Stadium. Where everything had melted down for them last year.
Now I have to say regardless of his
political views, Curt Schilling should be in the Hall Of Fame. It's not just
that he was a great pitcher; it's that even before 2004 he was one of the
greatest big game pitchers in my lifetime.
Then he takes the mound in Game 6 with a torn tendon sheath in his right
ankle. Which had been sutured in place by Red Sox doctors. In a procedure
they'd only done once before. On a cadaver.
It's not like the bloody sock needs
context but I really think it does. Because somehow Schilling pitched 7 innings
and gave up just one run in the seventh. At which point the Red Sox were up
4-1.
Then in the eighth Bronson Arroyo took
the point. One out. Miguel Cairo doubles. Jeter singles to close it to 4-2.
Everyone watching in Boston is going: "Here it comes."
Then A-Rod grounds to Arroyo. Arroyo
picks up the ball and runs to tag him but A-Rod slaps his arm knocking the ball
loose while the ball rolled down to the baseline Jeter scores.
Now in 2004 there were no challenges,
no replay the way there is now. So when Terry Francona challenged the call there
were no guarantees the umpires would listen to him. And because this was the
Red Sox and given everything that happened to them, history would indicate the
challenge would fail, the call would stand, the Yankees would continue to
rally, the comeback would end here.
And then the umpires made the call. A-Rod was called out for
interference and Jeter was sent back to first.
And as the Yankee fans reacted to this
with the calm and composure they're known for (they started throwing garbage on
the field) that, to coin the spiritual, was the hour I first believed.
Eventually it got so bad that the Yankees were showering field with debris and
Michael Bloomberg had to call the NYPD on to the field in riot gear. The Yankee
fan base had never been in this position in eighty years and certainly not
since 1996. This stuff happened to other teams, not the Bronx Bombers! They
destroyed other teams. The most unprecedented comeback in baseball history, if
not sports history, not against the Yankees!
When Game 6 ended I knew the Yankees
were dead. The momentum was entirely on Boston's side and I knew there was no
way the Yankees could overcome it. The fat lady had already sung even before
the first pitch had been thrown even if the Yankees did get Bucky Dent to throw
it out
And the Red Sox ended the suspense
early. They scored 2 runs in the first on an Ortiz home run because of course. Damon
hit a grand slam in the second and the rest of the game was the Red Sox making
up for 86 years of pent-up aggression. It was 10-3 at the end of night.
I bought a copy of the New York Post
that day for the sports section alone. The headline summed it up: "Hell
Freezes Over."
There was still a World Series to go
and in an alternate universe – really the one that Red Sox had lived in during
the 20th century – the Cardinals who had crushed their hopes in 1946
and 1967 and had won the most games in baseball in 2004 would have done so
here. But the 2004 Red Sox were not just playing baseball; they were exorcising
their demons. And once you've beaten your greatest nemesis for 86 years in the
greatest comeback in baseball history, the Cardinals didn't have a prayer. And
indeed Boston demolished St. Louis in a sweep never trailing in any of the
games.
The entire world was different after
that and I don't just mean sports. The ramifications filtered down to Hollywood
at every level. Just weeks after the
sweep Boston Legal which was written by the native David E. Kelley had
Denny Crane and Alan Shore basically use the Red Sox sweep as an excuse for
Denny's latest shenanigans with William Shatner saying to the judge as he left
"Who's your daddy?" Fever Pitch, the Jimmy Fallon-Drew
Barrymore romcom that was being filmed with Fallon's character being a lifelong
Red Sox fan getting in the way of a romance had to have its ending rewritten
to dealing with the Red Sox's comeback.
And as a fan of Lost, we would learn
that not even on an island where miraculous things happened all the time could
top the Red Sox sweep. When Ben Linus updates Jack on what's happened since the
plane crash and tells him the Red Sox lost the World Series Jack actively
doesn't believe him. He has to show a recording of the final out for Jack to
buy it. And to be clear Jack still doesn't know whether to trust it. The
following season when outsiders reach the island Jack actually asks Frank
Lapidus if the Red Sox won the World Series.
"Don't make me talk about it,"
Frank says. "I'm from the Bronx. I bleed Yankee Blue."
To top it all off the previous October
HBO had run a documentary about the Red Sox called: "The curse of the Babe"
the previous year. One year they updated it with "Reverse of the
Curse." All of the Boston fans who'd been full of gloom and dismay the
previous year were now full of hope and cheer as if the weight of the world had
been lifted from their shoulders.
And I'll be honest. I suspect that weight
was lifted off the shoulders of every single Red Sox player still alive from
that period just a bit if not the same way it had been the fans. For Johnny
Pesky and Bobby Doerr, still around from the 1946 team, to Yaz and Lonborg and
every from the 1967 team to that outstanding team from the entire 1970s, all
the way up to Bill Buckner himself, they no longer had to carry the burden of
having come close and failed. Reconciliation was possible, healing could
finally begin.
As for the Yankees, I will confess it
has been easier for me personally to root for them in the aftermath of being on
the other side of a loss like this. It made them all human in a way that the
four World Series in five years had made them seem like a machine. I can
appreciate their dynasty in retrospect in a way I couldn't when I was watching
it the first time. I can appreciate Jeter and Posada and Petite and Bernie in a
way that was so much more difficult when I watched them win all the time. It
was the first time the Yankee luster had been dimmed in not just my lifetime
but the memory of baseball and while things have been as good for them in the
last twenty years, I can root for them in a way that was more difficult as a
teenager and young adult.
I will close this out with an epilogue
for both Boston and New York and indeed 21st century baseball so far.