Hardball Hyperbole: Chapter 17

In today’s edition, Aaron Boone forever stamps his name on the Yankees-Red Sox rivalry and baseball history with as dramatic a home run as has ever been hit.

It was hours before Roger Clemens would throw the first pitch in Game 7 of the American League Championship Series at Yankee Stadium when grounds crew workers back in Boston trooped onto the field at Fenway Park to perform a task that surely had their collective eyebrows arched to the skies in disbelief.

You want us to do what? You can’t be serious!

These weren’t little kids who had no idea of the fate that was about to be tempted, the ghosts that were about to be aroused in the quiet and stillness of that empty bandbox on an otherwise gloriously sunny New England fall afternoon.

These were adults who knew all the gory details of the Red Sox perpetually tortured history. Several of them may not have been alive when some of it went down, but the stories had been handed down from generation to generation.

Johnny Pesky holding the ball too long which allowed St. Louis’ Enos Slaughter to make his mad dash from first base to score the run that decided Game 7 of the 1946 World Series; the pennant chase collapse against the Yankees in the final weekend of 1949; losing to St. Louis’ Bob Gibson three times in the 1967 World Series; Bucky Dent’s home run in 1978; and Bill Buckner’s error in the 1986 World Series.

It was all part of an 85-year horror story since Boston’s last World Series triumph and these dark disappointments plus so many others were as familiar to Red Sox fans as their own telephone numbers; they had them all on speed dial, ready for recitation at a moment’s notice. So imagine what these workers were thinking as they painted the 2003 World Series logo on the grass behind home plate before the Red Sox had actually won the AL pennant.

“That was an omen,” a hot dog vendor on the Boston Common named Linda Robinson told the Associated Press the next morning, hours after the Red Sox had completed their latest sojourn into misery when Aaron Boone hit a walk-off home run in the bottom of the 11th inning to clinch the AL pennant for the Yankees.

In my friend Mike Vaccaro’s great book Emperors and Idiots, which masterfully recounts the rivalry at this time, he interviewed several Red Sox fans about this whole logo stupidity and one named John Miller said, “When I saw that I wanted to vomit.” Another named Mike Carey said, “They couldn’t wait another day, right? Couldn’t wait until we actually won the stupid game, right?” Finally, a Yankees fan named Pete Trinkle said, “That may have been the all-time best bulletin board message in the history of sports.”

Based on what the Yankees were saying in their raucous, champagne-soaked clubhouse, Trinkle may have been on to something. “What are they, nuts?” said Yankees closer Mariano Rivera when he learned of this. “It’s silly. They were believing they were going to win the game. I don’t know what was going on in their minds.”

Look, in reality, painting the logo on the field was obviously a terrible, ill-fated decision, but it had nothing at all to do with what transpired on the evening of Oct. 16, 2003 in the Bronx. And despite what Clemens, George Steinbrenner, and David Wells said about now believing more than ever in the power of the Curse of the Bambino, that had nothing to do with the Yankees incredible 6-5 victory, either.

This game, one of the most memorable battles that has ever been waged on a baseball diamond, the perfect exclamation point to one of the greatest postseason series ever contested, was decided by a series of events over the course of nearly four dramatic and tension-filled hours, the last of which was this:

Boston’s Tim Wakefield threw a knuckleball that didn’t knuckle, and Boone barreled it up and sent it deep into the New York night before it settled into a mass of hysteria in the left-field seats, a walk-off homer that deservedly earned a spot in an elite group of all-time walk-off moments that included Bobby Thomson of the Giants in 1951, Bill Mazeroski of the Pirates in 1960, and Joe Carter in 1993 for the Blue Jays.

The first question asked of Boone at his post-game press conference was, “Aaron, in your life, at any level, anything like this? Anything; little league, high school?”

“That ranks up there,” Boone said as laughter filled the jam-packed room. “No, come on, I still can’t even put it into words. Like Derek (Jeter) told me, ‘The ghosts will show up eventually.’”

It was simply unbelievable if you were a Yankees fan, simply unbearable if you were a Red Sox fan.

As many Yankees poked fun at the Red Sox “Cowboy Up” rallying cry by chanting “Cowboy This,” Karim Garcia swigged some bubbly and said with glee, “They have one more year with the curse.”

Oh, but that almost wasn’t the case. As that paint was drying back at Fenway, the Red Sox built a 4-0 lead in the fourth, and were still up 5-2 going to the bottom of the eighth as Yankee Stadium was in a mournful mood. Losing to the Red Sox, especially in the ALCS, was unfathomable to the spoiled Yankee fans, and now Boston was six outs away from popping its own champagne corks and toasting its greatest triumph, maybe ever.

Think about it. They hadn’t won a World Series since 1918, and that year, the country had more important things on its mind such as World War I and the devastating influenza pandemic, both of which convinced Major League Baseball to shorten its season and play the championship series a month earlier than normal.

Before that, there was interest in baseball, but nothing like it was in 2003, and remember, too, that there really wasn’t much of a rivalry with the Yankees at that time as New York had been a mostly irrelevant franchise.

No offense to the fine fans of that day, most of whom were born in the 19th century, but beating the Yankees, on this stage, with the AL pennant on the line, would have been the Red Sox greatest achievement.

It was right there for the taking, but then Red Sox manager Grady Little made decisions in the fateful eighth inning that likely haunt him to this day, and certainly cost him his job a few days later.

He hopped on his horse, Pedro Martinez, hoping to ride him across the finish line but instead, rode him right into the dirt on that Yankee Stadium mound. Against a wilting Martinez, the Yankees scored three times to tie the game before Little finally made the move Red Sox Nation had been screaming for him to make.

“Pedro Martinez has been our man all year long and in situations like that, he’s the one we want on the mound over anybody we can bring in out of that bullpen,” Little explained.

Before any of that, the Red Sox had complete control of the game. They jumped on Clemens for three runs in the second inning as Trot Nixon followed a Kevin Millar single with a two-run homer to right-center. Then with two outs, Jason Varitek doubled and later scored when Johnny Damon reached base on a throwing error by Enrique Wilson who had started at third base ahead of Boone because Wilson had uncommonly good success against Pedro.

Clemens gave up a leadoff solo homer to Millar in the fourth that made it 4-0, and when Nixon walked and Bill Mueller singled, Joe Torre lifted the Rocket, ending a rather galling outing in such a huge spot.

In came Mike Mussina, and if Boone was the ultimate hero on this night, Mussina was right behind him, followed closely by Rivera. During his Hall of Fame career, Mussina pitched in 560 games counting the postseason and only three of those came in relief. This was the first of those three - in fact it was his first relief appearance since high school - and he was outstanding.

The losing pitcher in Games 1 and 4 steadied the ship when he cleaned up Clemens’ mess in the fourth without allowing a run and went on to throw three scoreless two-hit innings which kept the Yankees alive.

“The guy who stopped the bleeding was Mike Mussina,” Torre said.

With Mussina calming the waters, the Yankees crept within 4-2 when Jason Giambi hit solo homers in the fifth and seventh innings off Martinez. However, Boston answered with a run in the eighth as Torre went to the starting pitcher in relief well once too often. With one out and no one on base, he lifted righty Jeff Nelson and brought in Wells to face David Ortiz and Big Papi took him deep for a solo homer, Boston’s ALCS record-setting 12th of the series, and that felt like a true dagger for the Yankees.

That is until the chaotic eighth inning when Little remained glue in the dugout while watching Pedro melt down before his eyes, the eyes of more than 55,000 in the stadium, and millions and millions on television.

All was fine when he got Nick Johnson to pop out, but then the trouble began to percolate when Jeter doubled to right on an 0-2 pitch and Bernie Williams singled him home with a line drive.

Little went out to the mound and right there, with lefty Hideki Matsui, switch hitter Jorge Posada, and lefty Jason Giambi due up, he needed to lift Martinez who was at 115 pitches. Instead, he in effect let the inmate run the asylum.

“He asked me if I had enough bullets in my tank to get them out and I said yes,” Martinez said. “I would never say no. I tried hard and I did whatever possible to win a ballgame.”

By the time common sense finally prevailed, Little brought in lefty Alan Embree two batters too late. Matsui hit a line-drive ground rule double to right that pushed Williams to third, and both men scored when Posada flared one to center for a game-tying double as the stadium was rocked to its foundation.

“I didn’t think he was losing it,” Posada said. “He made some tough pitches. With one out, I couldn’t strike out. I’ve got to put the ball in play, and that ball found a lot of grass.”

“He had enough left in his tank to finish off Posada,” Little argued. “He made some good pitches to him, squeezed his ball out over the infield and there’s nothing we can do about it now. Pedro wanted to stay in there. He wanted to get the job done just as he has many times for us all season long and he’s the man we all wanted on the mound.”

Martinez was even more defiant than Little about the decision.

“I am the ace of the team, you have to trust me,” he said. “I wasn’t really thinking about pitch counts. This is no time to say I’m tired. There is no reason to blame Grady. He doesn’t play the game. We did. I did. If anybody looks at somebody and points a finger, they can point it at me because I was the one pitching. I was the one who gave up the lead. If you want to judge me for that or curse me or do whatever, I’ll swallow that because I was out there, and I’m responsible for the decisions I make and the pitches I make in the middle of the game.”

After all that, there was still the matter of deciding the AL champion, and Torre put the ball in the hands of his ace reliever, Rivera. Relievers aren’t aces, of course, but in this case, Rivera absolutely was that.

In throwing 48 pressure-packed pitches, his second-most in a postseason game, he worked around a single in the ninth, a two-out double by Ortiz in the 10th, and then had an effortless 11-pitch 11th inning, his first three-inning outing since April 2000.

Boston’s Mike Timlin was perfect in the ninth and Wakefield continued his mastery of the Yankees in this series with a 1-2-3 10th.

On to the bottom of the 11th and pulses were optional by now as the tension in the stadium was indescribable as Boone got set to lead off.

Boone had come to the Yankees in a trade deadline move from the Reds and after a decent couple months during which he hit .254, he was struggling in the postseason at .188 including 2-for-16 against the Red Sox.

But Boone was no slouch because when you put together his 2003 numbers from the Reds and Yankees, they showed 24 homers and 96 RBI. That after a 2002 season when he hit a career-high 26 bombs and drove in 87 runs for the Reds. In other words, this wasn’t Dent up there against Mike Torrez all those years ago.

He had entered the game in the eighth as a pinch runner for Ruben Sierra who had been intentionally walked while pinch-hitting for Wilson, and then Boone took over for Wilson at third base in the ninth.

Boone got into the box for what turned out to be his only at bat in this game, and one of the most unforgettable at bats in Yankees history, knowing what Wakefield would be throwing. Not that it really mattered with knuckleballs; you could never just hone in on a zone with that pitch because of its unpredictability. All you could do was track it as best you can, swing and hope to get good wood on it.

And Boone did. Oh, did he ever.

“I don’t particularly like facing him,” Boone said. “I haven’t squared up too many against him. It’s like a crapshoot. I considered taking a pitch, but then I decided just to put a good swing on the ball. He got it up there. I finally put a good swing on one. I guess it was time. It was nice.”

Pandemonium broke out in the stadium. Many who were there claim the stadium had never been louder, though I have to think the late-inning home runs the Yankees hit in the 2001 World Series against the Diamondbacks had to be in the same decibel neighborhood. Still, it was a roar that spread out across the five boroughs.

“I put in my defensive guy and he hits the game-winning homer,” Torre said. “For three innings I was waiting for Manny to turn his back to the (infield) and it finally happened.”

“So many people today had a huge hand in this, and just to come back, to be in that spot, to get the chance, it’s humbling,” Boone said. “This game humbles you all the time in good ways and bad ways. To be sitting there the whole game, seeing us down, knowing I didn’t do much in this series to help us, and then to get in there and have a hand in it, it’s just awesome. I’m speechless. We’re going to the World Series.”

One more Killer B to add to Boston’s list of all-time villains: Babe, Bucky, Buckner and Boone.

Simply unbelievable. Watch the video as often as you like:

You couldn’t help but feel bad for Wakefield as he made that interminable walk from the mound to the dugout as the celebration was in full throat and the Yankees were mobbing Boone at home plate.

“When he hit it, I knew it was gone,” said Wakefield. “I felt great, I felt I could go ... whatever I had. Unfortunately for everyone, THAT happened. I let us down. We play this game with a lot of emotion. I know it’s a cliche, but we do have a lot to be proud of. Absolutely this was my most disappointing loss. All I can say is I’m sorry.”

Back in Boston the next day, as Linda Robinson was sadly selling her hot dogs and the rest of the city was in mourning, the Red Sox cleaned out their lockers and when they arrived at Fenway, a tarp was covering the ominous World Series logo which now was nothing more than a cruel punch line to the worst possible joke.

When Torre was asked about that patch of unnecessarily painted grass, he said, “That’s okay. It’ll grow out.”

NEXT WEDNESDAY: After their scintillating victory over the Red Sox gave the Yankees their 39th American League pennant, everyone knew a letdown was possible in the World Series against the Florida Marlins, but no one dared to believe the Yankees wouldn’t ultimately prevail, at least until they didn’t.