Curt Schilling, he of the bad ankle and the wish to "make 55,000 New Yorkers shut up", was minute to minute as far as pitching was concerned. Warming up in the bullpen prior to the start of the game, no one - and I mean no one - had any earthly clue whether he was going to pitch or not, and that wasn't even taking into consideration how effective he was going to be. In any case, it was no big deal really. Only the hopes, dreams, frustrations, and 86 years of torment were on the line here....so it's not like anyone was counting on him or anything.
Back in Boston early that morning, Dr. Bill Morgan, Red Sox physician and doctors from Massachusetts General Hospital had performed surgery on Schilling, creating an artificial sheath to protect and stabilize the ruptured tendon sheath. The materials they used for this sheath were taken from a cadaver, and the whole deal was stitched together in a way to keep the tendon itself from flopping over the ankle bone, which I can only imagine might hurt a tad. The only medication Schilling could take was a topical anesthetic and probably an Advil or two. The damage was to the right ankle, which is the one he puts all his body weight on and then pushes off of to pitch. The FOX cameras were on him as he nodded to the pitching coach in the bullpen, and everyone knew he was at least going to give it his best shot. The bell was ringing, and it was time to get it going.
A classic game it was not. Not in the suspense-filled extra innings manner in which they had played the last two games in Boston. Whether it was divine intervention, serious guts and determination, or a combination of both, Curt Schilling pitched what could easily be described as the best game of his life. Certainly in New England in 50 years or so, that's what they'll be saying. The now famous visual of Schilling's sock, soaked in blood while he labored through the evening is the stuff of legend, and as a matter of fact the bloody sock is now a display under glass at the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, NY. In seven innings pitched, Schilling surrendered a couple of scattered hits, and one home run to Yankee Bernie Williams. However, the game was not without it's share of drama, for sure.
In the fourth inning, Red Sox second baseman and resident strike out specialist, Mark Bellhorn - incredibly - amazingly - Brett F. Booned the Yankees in their own house. With the pitch count 0 balls and 2 strikes, and looking for all the world like he was going to strike out again - over 200 times this season alone as a matter of fact - Bellhorn sent a screamer to the opposite field and over the left field wall for what looked like a 3-run homer. In the midst of recovering from my mild arrhythmia, I saw the left fielder for the Yankess throwing the ball in, and Bellhorn was stopped at 2nd base.
What's this? I clearly saw that ball go over the wall and hit that fan in the navy blue sweatshirt right in the chest...or did I? Now I wasn't sure.
There is no instant replay used in baseball like it is in football...all decisions are final, and the umpires were all huddled near shortstop discussing what they saw - or thought they saw - all the while trying to do this while Red Sox manager Terry Francona was having a coniption fit trying to convince them they were all going blind. On the TV, the entire country could clearly see the slow motion replay of the moment, and the ball did indeed clear the wall and bounce back onto the field...it hit the person in the blue sweatshirt...who later turned out to be a young teenage girl. Finally, through the haze of screaming, frustration, and probably a bit of panic...the head umpire gave the signal for a home run, setting off the already frustrated Yankees crowd. But the umps got it right, which everyone else in the country could see.
The umps got it right. Thank goodness that would be the last major incident of the night...ummmm...well, not quite.
With the Red Sox leading 4-1, the Yankees mounted a mini-charge in the 8th inning. Schilling was out, replaced by Bronson Arroyo....remember him? The guy who hit A-Rod and started the fight at Fenway? Well, Arroyo comes in, and the Yankees, energized at Schilling no longer being in there, scored a run. With only 1 out, Derek Jeter singled, bringing Alex Rodriguez to the plate. Arroyo and Rodriguez, in their first on-the-field meeting since that fatefull July game.
Business as usual, eh? Not a chance.
A-Rod hit what will someday be known as one of the most famous squibblers in history. With the ball dribbling up between first base and the pitchers mound, Arroyo came off the mound and picked it up with his glove as A-Rod was streaking towards first. Sox first baseman, Doug Makniutsnzzsaxxv was also headed towards the base to cover the eventual throw. Arroyo decided to chase A-Rod down as Mekunkunkkkliysz attempted to get out of the way. As Arroyo stretched out his arm with the glove to tag the Yankee out, A-Rod (wearing some sort of Hamburger Helper looking gloves) slapped the ball out of his glove and proceeded on to first. The ball ended up being kicked by Arroyo, towards the Yankees dugout. Jeter came in to score, Arroyo was on his knees - arms outstretched in disbelief - and Minklszzwwcsxz had run to pick up the ball. A-Rod was standing at second base.
Left to Right: Bronson Arroyo, A-Rod, and Doug Mienkeqaswesztcz
Time was called and once again, the umpires were gathered. Once again, the TV showed that Rodriguez had indeed slapped the ball out of the pitchers hand. I sat there stunned. The last time I had seen someone do that was probably close to 40 years earlier - in a little league game. Never -ever - had I seen, or would even imagine a professional doing such a thing, but here it was. And the umpires were still discussing what to do.
If they let it go, the Yankees would only trail by one and have a runner at 2nd base. If they called interference...well, besides A-Rod being out, I didn't know what the ruling would be. Along with the Red Sox manager and some of the players - Mankirrweczsz among them - more than likely 10 million Red Sox fans nation-wide were screaming at their TV sets.
I know I was.
Finally the umpires broke it up. The head umpire looked at A-Rod and gave him the "out" sign. They pointed into the Yankees dugout and told Jeter to go back to first base. With Joe Torre - the Yankees manager - now storming out of the dugout, Yankee stadium suddenly became an unsafe place to be. The Yankee fans, still enraged about the overturned home run, call lost it. The umpires had changed two calls - and CORRECTLY changed them, by the way - but that didn't matter to the 55,000 assembled. They did not have the advantage of TV replays, and they only knew what they thought they saw. Bottles, balls, mini-bats, and every kind of solid object you could imagine came flying out of the stands. The Red Sox players hurriedly made a safety exit from the field, and riot police were called in to silence the crowd and maintain some order. The riot police stayed for the remainder of the game...a sad testament to how our society can sometimes behave. Unprecedented in American sports, this was the first - and only - time before or since that police dressed in protective riot gear had to remain around the field while play continued. The people of New York City, so strong and heroic three years prior, had stooped to the level of a British or South American soccer hooligan crowd, and the image of that really spoiled an otherwise fun, exciting, baffling, but oh-so-interesting evening. The two teams would meet one more time, tied 3 games apiece, the next evening.
The Yankees were now reeling...while the Red Sox were rolling. I was starting to believe that foot on the neck just may have been replaced with God extending a hand to help us get back on our feet.
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