Out of the Ashes Part VII (Dreaming)

October 20th, 2004

Game 7 became officially known as “Walking the dog night”. The night before, just before game #6 started, I was talking to my brother on the phone, and he was worried that the Sox were going to win game 6 – making it 3 straight – and then fall in some spectacular fashion as they were predestined to do. I told him that I didn’t believe that any more, but in my heart I knew that was always a possibility. I don’t think I’ve ever been more nervous and as emotionally charged for anything that did not directly involve me as I was that night.

Yankee Stadium was buzzing as the game got underway. Yankee fans were out in full force, with their stupid “Babe-on-a-stick” or “Babecicles” as I liked to call them. It was a picture of Babe Ruth’s head mounted on a flat 12 inch stick, and there were tens of thousands to be seen throughout the stadium, as were the equally idiotic “1918” signs. It had been well documented the last time the Red Sox won the World Series was 1918, and Yankee fans delighted in reminding Sox fans with their babecicles and signs.

Yeah, yeah, 1918; we get it. Yuk yuk. Do you have something new and original? No?

At 8:30 PM the first pitch was thrown. Within 5 minutes, it became apparent what the deal was going to be, as David Ortiz put a huge notch in his Yankee-killing belt, launching a 2-run homer into the right field seats. In the second inning, Yankees pitcher Kevin Brown loaded the bases, and was subsequently replaced by Javier Vasquez. Vasquez’s first pitch to Red Sox center fielder Johnny Damon was sent deep into the New York night for a grand slam that left the stadium in stunned silence. Damon added a 2-run jack 2 innings later, and the score was 8-1 after 4 innings.

I remember sending an e-mail to a friend that said:
Six to nuthin, smuthin!
We need to keep pounding these guys until they are truly dead and gone.
I don’t know what “smuthin” means, but it sounded ok at the time.

I didn’t see any of the Yankees at-bat’s. Each time an inning ended, I would take the dog out with me for a walk on his leash. I carried with me a pocket radio with which to listen to the game. I couldn’t take the pressure, even with an 8-1 lead after 4. So in essence, the dog got over a week of walks in about 3 and a half hours. I’m fairly certain he was exhausted by nights end…I know I was.

In the 7th inning, the Red Sox put Pedro Martinez into the game. To this day, I’m not quite sure why, since he was scheduled to pitch in the upcoming World Series. In any case I was out with the dog, and I could hear the Yankee fans louder than they ever have been chanting “Who’s your daaaaady?” “WHO’S YOUR DAAAADY?”

I remember being angry and yelling into the pocket radio “Get him out of there!!!” Upon reflection later, it did strike me as strange that the Yankee fans, trailing 10-1 at the time, were actually up to it. Usually when you’re getting your ass kicked, you go home or at the very least, you go silent. I guess beer and one last chance to stick it in Pedro’s craw was too much to resist, so they chanted away into the night.

As the clock struck 12:04 on October 21st, 2004, Cinderella’s carriage arrived. Ruben Sierra hit a ground ball to Red Sox second baseman Pokey Reese, who threw the ball to Doug Mionkw…Doug Mankezzex…that guy who now plays for the Royals….and the game was over.

Ding-dong the witch was dead. Everywhere in this country where a Red Sox fan was standing, the desire to dance, to cry, and to scream out to the sheer ecstasy of the moment had overcome us all. For the first time – probably ever – the thought of winning a World Series had become secondary to the moment. We had slayed the dragon; the Evil Empire had been destroyed; the Yankees had been defeated by the Red Sox in the most unimaginable way possible.

If you asked a script-writer to write this for a movie, he would have laughed you out of the room. “Yeah, sure. The Red Sox trail the Yankees by 3 games, and then win four straight to capture the championship? No one will believe that.”

I could tell you now that I called my dad and my brothers and sisters. I could tell you I woke up in the middle of the night, sat on the edge of my bed and cried. I could tell you I recieved probably 100 e-mail at work the next day from current, long time, and long lost friends who wanted to ask me if I was happy or tell me how happy they were for me. I could tell you that I cried at my desk at work probably 10 times that day - and by cry I mean openly wept - the emotion and the thoughts of family and friends completely overwhelming me. I could tell you my sister sent me an e-mail saying one of the doctors who works at her hospital in Maine came in wearing a Red Sox hat and did a hand-stand in front of dozens of medical professionals. I could tell you this and many other things to end this chapter, but I won't.

I know a man who did it better than I could ever think to. His name is Bill Simmons, a young and very talented guy who writes for ESPN.com. Here is what he said, in a nutshell:

I went to my Dad’s house in Boston, the party still raging outside and downtown as far as anyone could see. I walked into the living room, and my dad was asleep in the recliner, TV remote firmly clutched in his hand, the local news running a continuous loop of the game highlights as well as the live party going on in the streets of Boston at that very moment.

“Dad”, I said softy. “You awake?”

“Dad?”

My dad stirred in his chair and opened his eyes. “I can’t believe it”, he said. “I can’t believe we beat the Yankees”.

That’s right dad, and this time it wasn’t a dream.