My First World Series Game

 

Twenty-three years, many gray hairs, pounds, and one purple collar ago...

Before 1998, I'd never spent triple digits to attend a sporting event.

But I'd also never been to a World Series game.

Up until then, the Fall Classic had been in the Bronx in 1976, 1977, 1978, 1981, and 1996. 

I didn't have any illusions about going to a game. I didn't have any connections or the ability to get Series tickets. Obviously, 1996 was incredible, but I didn't get to the World Series. I went to Game 1 of the ALDS -- a loss to the Texas Rangers.

I'd been to my first playoff game -- Game 1 against Seattle -- the year before. I still remember that fans really didn't know what to do because the Wild Card concept was so new. I called Ticketmaster on a whim that Monday (the day before the game) and got four reasonably-priced tickets in the upper deck. After 14 years of no playoffs, Yankees fans were in a frenzy.

A playoff ticket came to me in 1997 in the rarified air of the lower deck, sitting just a few rows behind royalty in Rachel Robinson and a local businessman named Donald Trump.

I discovered that one way to be in the loop for World Series tickets was to become a Yankees season ticket holder. That didn't mean getting a full 81 game package. It could be had for as little as 13 Friday night games. Tickets were remarkably affordable so I bought two.

Of course, 1998 was an epic season. The Bombers raced to 114 wins and an invoice showed up to purchase two tickets for one predetermined game in each postseason round. In my case, it was the first game at Yankee Stadium. That meant Game 1 of the ALDS (Yankees beat Texas, 2-0), and the ALCS (Yankees 7, Indians 2).

I nervously watched Game 6 of the ALCS at home, with the prized World Series tickets (at $100/each -- expensive for the time) sitting in a FedEx envelope, waiting to see if they'd be necessary.

Yankees 9, Indians 5. It was happening. I was going to the World Series.

My then-brother-in-law drew the other ticket.

October 17, 1998, was a Saturday night. There was a comfortable chill in the air as I made my way into Yankee Stadium. My seats were at the very top of the Stadium on the third base side of home plate. We were literally one row from the top of the place but I didn't care. We were at the World Series.

With the ticket -- larger than a usual ducat -- secured in a lanyard that I wore around my neck and tucked into my jacket, I settled into the seat in plenty of time for the pregame ceremonies, including the introduction of the lineups.

It's hard to explain but there was a different feeling in the air. Among the things I remember is looking at the old out-of-town scoreboard in left field and seeing it dark. There were no other games to talk about.

Tony Bennett -- a musical hero -- sang the National Anthem as the Yankees hosted the San Diego Padres. Sammy Sosa threw the ceremonial first pitch.

It was time to play ball as David Wells fired the first pitch of the game at 8:06 p.m.

The Yankees took a 2-0 lead on a Ricky Ledee double in the second inning before the Padres scored five unanswered off of Wells. The great Tony Gwynn hit a bomb to right and Greg Vaughn homered twice to leave me feeling sick as the Padres led 5-2 after five innings.

Padres starter Kevin Brown had been pretty masterful but, with one out in the seventh Jorge Posada signed and Ledee walked on four pitches. Padres manager Bruce Bochy lifted Brown for Donne Wall to face Chuck Knoblauch.

Of course, many remember Knobby had earned the wrath of Yankees Universe when he argued a call as the Indians scored to win Game 2 of the ALCS. Here, he had a chance to redeem himself.

In the upper deck, I braced against the chill. I had earlier declined to participate in the joint being offered around our row, instead wanting the high of the Yankees winning this game. To do so, Knoblauch needed to answer the bell.

Ding. Knobby lifted a fly ball down the left-field line that went over the fence to tie the game.

We were now on the launch pad of delirium but the Yankees weren't done. Overrated Derek Jeter (HA!) hit the next pitch up the middle. With that, Wall was gone, replaced by veteran lefty Mark Langston, who induced a fly out from Paul O'Neill.

A wild pitch moved Jeter to second before Bernie Williams was intentionally walked. Chili Davis was next and the Chili Dog worked out a full-count walk to load the bases.

Up stepped Constantino Martinez.

Remember, Tino had struggled mightily in the postseason (he was 2-for-19 in the '98 ALCS). Langston worked carefully against the left-handed batter dropping a 2-2 pitch at the knees for strike three.

At least I thought it was but when umpire Rich Garcia didn't punch Tino out, my knees bent and I groaned with a smile. The whole crowd breathed a collective sigh. It looked like a huge break.

For what it's worth, Langston didn't gripe. Catcher Carlos Hernandez also stayed quiet. Bochy looked befuddled in the San Diego dugout.

Regardless, the count was now full. It was a 5-5 game. The Stadium was electric. Ball four meant the Yankees would take the lead. Strike three or any out meant the tie carried into the eighth.

Twenty-one seconds passed between pitches. My heart raced. This was the very reason I wanted those season tickets. This was it.

Langston got his sign and surveyed the runners. Jeter carried the lead run off third with Bernie and Chili behind him.

Langston had to give Tino something in the strike zone. He couldn't miss.

He set and dealt...

and time...

stood...

still...

(Photo: Sports Illustrated)

Then Tino connected.

My body tensed.

It was a rising meteor off the bat. A line drive, heading towards the upper deck.

It's amazing how such a moment can be simply frozen, almost as if things have slowed to a crawl.

Twenty-three years later I can still hear the sound of the 56,712 in attendance. A normally studious fan, I actually tend to be more low-key, enjoying watching the reactions around me.

This was different. This was the World Series.

Delirium. Exaltation.

Grand slam, Tino Martinez. The Yankees took a 9-5 lead.

"Seven runs in the seventh inning in the first game of the best of seven World Series," Michael Kay exclaimed on the radio.

There have been 19 grand slams in World Series history (since 1903) and only two since 1998.

(Photo: Getty Images)

Complete euphoria set in. People were hugging and falling over each other as Yankee Stadium shook. The glorious old girl, opened in 1923 and remodeled in the 70s was literally "shivering in its concrete foundation" as Vin Scully said on TV during Don Larsen's perfect game 42 years earlier.

No, really. I felt it shake. I'd only feel that one other time: when Scott Brosius homered in Game 5 of the 2001 World Series.

The Padres quieted things a bit in the eighth as they closed the lead to 9-6 and the Yankees nearly blew it open in the bottom of the inning before stranding the bases loaded.

Mariano Rivera did his thing in the ninth and it was over.

My photo, as the Yankees get the win

The totality of the memories is hard to top. Sure, I saw the Yankees win it all a year later, beating the Braves to cap a four-game sweep. I saw the Brosius home run and the Bombers outlast the crosstown team in the first Subway Series World Series game in 44 years. I saw a no-hitter. I saw Roger Clemens win 300 games and surpass 4,000 strikeouts. 

I was at Bobby Murcer Day and Mariano Rivera Day and Derek Jeter Day.

I'm fortunate to say, thanks to the season ticket program, that I saw a lot in person.

But Tino hitting the grand slam in my first World Series game might be my favorite moment. The Yankees went on to finish off the Padres in four straight and finish with a record total of 125 wins. They're regarded as being among the greatest teams ever and they top the list of the teams I've seen.

It was remarkable. 

We were spoiled.

It happened 23 years ago tonight -- Oct 17, 1998.