It took nearly six hours and 14 innings, but the Red Sox cleared it happen.
My heart sank when my baseball-loving kid requested when we were going to watch a game again. Then I remembered after the Red Sox won the 2004 World Series I bought the full set of activities on DVD, including the entire American League Championship Series. Having never actually watched any of the discs, I vaguely remembered stashing them in a casket that had somehow met its acces from Philly to Boston by way of various Cambridge accommodations.
Eureka! I still had them.
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We started with Game 4 of the ALCS against the Yankees because even in a quarantine I wouldn’t bother with the first three games. My kid soon became familiar with Papi, Manny, and the whole gang of Geek. He immediately proved his Masshole bonafides, squealing, “Come on Millah! ” when Kevin Millar came up to bat in the one-ninth against Mariano Rivera. For the record, neither my wife nor I have a Boston accent and he doesn’t either. I’d be lying if I didn’t say it was a proud moment.
My wife, incidentally, couldn’t care less about baseball, but she has fond memories of abiding up late with her friends, living and dying with every tone. When Dave Roberts stole second, she screamed like it was happening in real duration.
Game 4 was iconic, of course. The entire sequence is within a experience pod. Starting with Millar’s walk to Dave Roberts’ steal through Bill Mueller knocking the largest Mariano Rivera off the mound with the game-tying single like he was Charlie Brown in a Peanuts strip. And then, much, much later, Big Papi’s home run. Game 6 was even more famous with the whole bloody sock thing, while Game 7 was just pure cathartic release.
But Game 5 — holy shit, Game 5. I “d forgotten” how magically moronic it was. Over 14 innings and almost six hours, it was like watching a slow-motion hallucination narrated exclusively to have appeared in a blissy dream commonwealth where unicorns are real and it ain’t over’ til Big Papi takes a swing.
To set the vistum, Game 4 resolved after midnight, conveying Game 5 has just taken place literally the same day. Your starters were Mike Mussina and Pedro Martinez, becoming perhaps his last-place begins in a Boston uniform.
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The Sox made an early 2-0 produce but couldn’t bust out a big inning against Mussina, who determined down and pitched a gem. Martinez was also addres, but that slope tally was rising higher as we got to the sixth with the Sox guiding, 2-1, which is when I started taking notes.
Martinez is getting up near 100 lurches. I remembered that after 100 pitches he turned into Ramiro Mendoza. Thankfully, Joe Buck is here to remind us. Tim McCarver reputes pitching weighs are overrated and now I’m yelling at McCarver to shut the fuck up.( For future reference, STFUTM will serve as shorthand .)
Earlier, he told an unbelievably random storey about Trinidad Hubbard that made absolutely no impression. Hard to believe, but there really was a point when McCarver was an insightful announcer. Happens to all of them, eventually.
Martinez comes Bernie Williams to pop up, but Jorge Posada reaches on a whimsical infield single and Ruben Sierra follows with another stumble. I’ve seen this movie before. It objective severely. Tony Clark strikes out and now it’s up to Miguel Cairo. Martinez exactly punched Cairo to laden the groundworks. 2004 me is shrieking at Terry “Tito” Francona: “GET HIM OUTTA THERE, FRANCONA.”
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Tito leaves Martinez in to pitch to Jeter and Buck notes that Jeter hasn’t leant his stamp on this series yet. Fucking – god. The inside-out swing. The slicing line drive landing in privilege. Three ranges are going to score. I’ll go to my tomb saying Prime Nomar was better, but it would really help if Captain Intangibles stopped doing trash like this.
Looked like Cairo may have been out at the plate, but it’s real close. You know what this recreation doesn’t have? Replay review. There were at least eight represents by my weigh that would have been subject to replay review and this sport would still be playing if that was the occurrence. We got along fine without inspecting every close play and I would like to return to that nebulous state of affairs when the nations of the world stops burning.
You “know what i m doing” this play doesn’t have? Love on cell phones. Everyone is hanging on every lurch and it’s beautiful. I know this because the broadcast prevents chipping apart to the stands and I’ve seen the same woman clasping her hands in prayer between tones a dozen occasions. Fairly sure I’ve seen her at the Fresh Pond Trader Joes.
LOL, Martinez plunked Alex Rodriguez exactly because he could. McCarver doesn’t like it. STFUTM. Now Gary Sheffield feet to laden the footings. Um, Tito? I think you can go get him now. Francona leaves Martinez in and he gets Hideki Matsui to fly out. Good job, Tito.
The Yankees had a chance to break it open in the eighth, but Mike Timlin does -ARod to pop up with a smuggler on third and one out. This was -ARod’s chance to be a True Yankee and he blew it. Shame, genuinely.
On we go to the bottom of the eighth and it’s time for the WebMD update. Today’s injury is a broken heart. Thanks, guys. Certainly appreciate it.
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Here comes Papi and he takes Tom Gordon over the Monster and off the Volvo sign. I miss the Volvo sign. Now Millar, who sucks another saunter. Dude could take a walk like nobody else. Roberts comes in to pinch ranged and Gordon propels over a half dozen periods. He’s clearly clanged. It’s happening again.
We’ve officially reached the moment where Francona becomes a super genius. Everyone impedes expecting Roberts to steal second, but Tito calls for the hit-and-run and Trot Nixon performs it perfectly sending a line drive single to right midst. God bless that dirtbag right fielder.
First and third , none out and Joe Torre announces on Rivera. Officially this will go down as a blown save when Jason Varitek lofts a sacrifice fly to center to restrain video games, 4-4, but this is on Gordon. No Yankee ever scared me more than Mariano. Salute to him.
When McCarver gets what he considers a profound thought in his head, he slackens his meter for startling influence. Then he repeats himself like he’s delivering a dugout exhortation from Whitey Herzog.
“After 169 plays and eight innings, the Red Sox season come to one inning, ” McCarver tells us before the ninth. “One inning.” Oh Tim, we’re really getting started.
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Keith Foulke is on to pitch the one-ninth. He worked 2 2/3 the night before and will pitch tonight and then again in Game 6. Foulke threw 14 shutout innings during the postseason and was never the same. He “ve been given” his busines for this postseason move and was never properly recognized because he made some crack about love the following season that compelled everyone to turn on him. Here’s to you, Keith Foulke. I “ve no idea” how you ever got anyone out, but you were fingernails.
In the ninth, Tony Clark punched a ball to right that somehow crawled up the short barricade and landed in the stands. Had it stayed in play, Ruben Sierra ought to have been tallied and the game would have been over. Sixteen years later, the universe dislikes Boston and its lead of championships, but in 2004, this was all strange and new. Kind of miss those daylights.
Bronson Arroyo, fresh off get hammered in Game 3, strikes out -ARod and Sheffield en route to a clean 10 th inning. The strike zone, by the way, has been a tad inconsistent. It’s hard to tell because there’s no K-Zone or pitch tracking and again, that’s entirely penalty! Maybe we were better off not knowing everything all the time.
Even though I know how this is going to turn out, I obstruct expecting Papi to thump a home run every time he comes up to touch. Instead, he strikes out.
On we go to the 12 th and it’s Tim Wakefield time. The knuckleballer’s regular catcher/ binky is Doug Mirabelli, but Tito travels with Varitek, who has absolutely no theory how to catch a knuckleball. Super genius.
Cairo singles to left and Manny kicks it like merely Manny can, tolerating Cairo to get to second. My kid suggests his forehead and says, “Oh, Manny.” He doesn’t even know the half of it. Fortunately, Jeter flies out and so does -ARod. Crisis averted.
The Sox have stopped smacking. This seems bad.
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Ah, the 13 th. Nothing bad can happen here. Sheffield is fluctuating for the Mass Pike. He’s legitimately scaring. Somehow, Wakefield strikes out Sheffield with a nasty knuckler that Varitek misplays into a overtaken clod. I remember belief at the time, “This is how it’s going to happen. This is how they’re going to kill us.”
Two outs now and Matsui’s at first. Whoops, another guided chunk. Now he’s at second. Intentional walk to Posada. Everyone at Fenway is anxious as inferno. My wife comes into the room and starts watching. Now she’s nervous.
ANOTHER delivered clod settles smugglers on 2nd and 3rd. Missed opportunity by McCarver to say something acutely stupid like, “Johnny Pesky braced the pellet. Varitek can’t catch the ball.” Actually, that would have been pretty good.
Seriously though, one more miscue from Varitek and he’s Mike Torrez combined with Bill Buckner. Somehow, somehow, Wakefield strikes out Sierra and Varitek miraculously supports on. Fenway erupts. My wife glees. “Mom, you know what’s going to happen, ” my kid says but nothing of us attend. This was the greatest game I ever recognized and even now it doesn’t seem real.
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OK , now the 14 th. Esteban Loiaza is on to pitch for the Yankees and he’s somehow become Whitey Ford. His cutter is filthy. Johnny Damon, who has done absolutely nothing this series, reaps a accompany.
Two outs and here’s Manny. I ever cherished Manny in these recognises because a) he’s a great hitter and b) he’s altogether impervious to pressure. God, this is a great at-bat. He’s fouling off tone tars and laying off sliders just outside the zone. Manny gets his go and whisks to first like it’s a game in June against the Orioles. Here comes Papi.
It made 10 tones for Ortiz to end Game 5 with a bloop single to core off the handle of the bat. He defended off bad cutters and transmit one about 420 paws screaming into freedom that went pollute. My wife is tense. My kid is screeching, “Come on, Papi! ” Finally, the big-hearted being does his thing and Johnny Damon comes home from second with the winning stream.
Buck had a great call. “Damon can restrain right on running to New York.” McCarver immediately blows it by saying, “He didn’t do it again, did he? ” Dramatic pause. “He did.” Thanks, Tim. Oh, and STFU.
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By the acces, there’s no off epoch because there was a rainout prior to Game 4. I “ve no idea” how either one of these squads turned around and played again the next light, but I’d generate anything for another marathon Red Sox-Yankee tournament right about now. Thank Papi, I still have the DVDs.
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