Oh, that title? It was 20 years ago today (heh heh)...
As a sports fan, I know I've been blessed. I've got the Yankees of 1977, 1978, 1996, 1998, 1999, 2000, 2009. The Steelers have handed out six Lombardi's in my lifetime, with the latter four meaning the most since I really remember those. The Rangers blessed us in 1994.
The Knicks? Remember when they used to win?
And there have been others that were meaningful. But there was one year -- one ring, if you will -- that was so painful that all I felt was pure relief when it was over.
The 2000 Yankees limped home that season. While they were the two-time defending champions, they limped to the finish line in the 2000 season, going 31-30 from August to the end of the season. There was cause for concern.
They fought the Oakland A's through five games in the ALDS before topping Seattle in the ALCS. Roger Clemens struck out 15 and allowed one hit in a complete game effort in Game 4 but the Mariners won Game 5 to send the Series back to The Bronx.
Trailing 4-3 in the seventh, M's manager Lou Piniella (we love ya' Lou) had lefty Arthur Rhodes on to face David Justice. It didn't end well for Seattle, as brilliantly called by Bob Costas on NBC.
In the end, the Yankees won 9-7 to advance to the World Series again. Over 56,000 at Yankee Stadium savored the moment.
But across town, the Mets were already waiting, having disposed of the Giants and Cardinals on their way to the Subway Series.
A f****** nightmare.
The Yankees couldn't win. Oh, they could win on the field, but they had to. Ask many of those Yankees and they'll tell you how it wasn't fun. The pressure of being THE team with THE owner was intense.
The only person I've heard different from was Bernie Williams, who told me he loved it when I interviewed him.
Personally, I went almost into hiding. I didn't listen to any sports media after the last out of the ALCS until the World Series was over. I listened to classical music in the car every day to and from work.
I was a living stress ball at Yankee Stadium for Game 1. The Yankees had a 2-0 lead on a Justice double in the sixth but Bubba Trammell and Edgardo Alfonzo put the Metsies on top in the seventh. Of course, Timo Perez cost the Mets a run in the sixth -- one of a couple of base running miscues.
(Oh, please tell me how overrated Derek Jeter is. It's laughable.)
I just felt like all the momentum was rolling with the team from Queens. I picked them on the air to win the title.
Game 1 ran into the ninth. Paul O'Neill stepped in versus closer Armando Benitez with one out. O'Neill fought through an at-bat that took over five minutes before taking a 3-2 (FULL COUNT!) fastball outside. O'Neill would eventually score to tie the game and Jose Vizcaino won it with a base hit in the 12th.
Nearly five hours of baseball. I think I got home around 2 a.m.
Of course Game 2 featured the Roger Clemens bat-throwing incident, but the story for me was the Yankees building up a 6-0 lead before the bullpen -- including Mariano Rivera -- struggled a bit to close out. Mo did get the last out to put the Yankees up two games to none but the 6-5 victory was too hair-raising for me.
The Mets grabbed Game 3 at Shea Stadium with two in the eighth to win 4-2. That cut the series to two games to one.
Then the Baja Men did "Who Let the Dogs Out" before Game 4 (embarrassing).
Then Derek Jeter happened. It was the first pitch of Game 4. The Yankees held on for a 3-2 win and a 3-1 lead in the World Series.
Quite often I found myself working on producing videos for the Philip Morris softball league in October, and Game 5 had me sitting in front of a monitor, helping to edit and voice where necessary, while keeping an eye or ear on a TV or radio.
I drove home listening to a chunk of the game as the Yankees tied the game in the sixth. Al Leiter was running on fumes and I admit I kept pleading for Mets manager Bobby Valentine to leave him in, as much as I wanted to see Johnny "From Brooklyn" Franco be the goat (no, not GOAT).
But Bobby V. complied, Al threw his 142nd pitch and Luis Sojo entered Yankees lore.
I watched the ball hop 37 times up the middle (sure, I counted!) and exhaled for a moment as the score grew to 4-2.
But it wasn't over. With one out, Mo walked Benny Agbayani.
I couldn't sit. I'd try, then I'd stand back up.
He got Alfonzo to fly to right.
Two outs. Here comes Mike Piazza.
Whatever you think -- frosted tips, steroids, the battles with Clemens -- the guy could play. He could hit.
Mo reared back with an 0-1 pitch. A cutter.
Piazza swung.
I said, "OK, let's get them in extra innings," as the ball climbed into the sky, looking like it was heading towards Montauk.
S***.
And then?
The ball didn't even get to the warning track (that's the dirt path near the wall, since I'm supposed to explain everything like you're a seven-year-old).
It was over.
Thankfully.
Sometimes, we make deals with the devil. Whatever the case, I was relieved to have it over.
Twenty years ago today.
Oh, and the dynasty began 24 years ago today. That's another night I'll never forget.
A story for another time.
No comments:
Post a Comment