NEW YORK, N.Y.
The American League Champion Boston Red Sox. It has a nice ring to it, don't you think?
The Sox, of course, could not make it easy on Red Sox Nation, facing the brink of elimination before rallying to do no what no baseball team had ever done before -- overcome a 3-0 series deficit to win a seven-game series. Considering Boston's postseason track record of near misses, it almost had to be this way. To break their longtime championship drought, the Sox would have to do what no team had done before.
The Sox are World Series-bound thanks to series MVP David Ortiz's clutch hitting, Johnny Damon's breakout Game 7, Keith Foulke's sturdy relief and back-to-back heroic pitching performances from Curt Schilling, who was battling a torn tendon in his right ankle, and from Derek Lowe, who was battling both the fatigue of just two days' rest and a 5.42 ERA.
What makes the win even sweeter was that the Sox did it by going through the New York Yankees, who had maintained more than eight decades of superiority over their neighbors in Boston. Closer Mariano Rivera had always been the Yankees' best weapon, especially in the postseason. But in Game 4, the Yankees led by a run, three outs away from advancing to the World Series. An improbable sequence of a walk, stolen base and single tied the game before Ortiz hit a walk-off home run in the 12th. Rivera had been beaten, as he would be again the next day, and the Yankees never recovered.
I have devoted an inordinate percentage of my life to following the Red Sox. Each year's devotion only surpasses the previous. With nightmarish flashbacks to "The Worst Thing Ever" (a.k.a. ALCS Game 7) plaguing me daily, I knew the only way to overcome that loss was to convince myself that this could be The Year. Having gone to spring training (because 162 games just aren't enough), Opening Day and a host of other games, I felt obliged to see the Sox through to the end. The Ticketmaster gods smiled upon me, and to the Bronx I went with my equally devoted brother for Games 6 and 7.
Watching a Red Sox-Yankee game at Yankee Stadium is akin to entering a war zone. It's a nerve-wracking, hoping-not-to-get-killed experience more than a fun adventure. Before Tuesday night's Game 6, my brother and I were subjected to a barrage of verbal abuse unfit for a family audience.
Yet, Wednesday night was different. I've never seen the Bronx so quiet. I was able to walk into the Stadium proudly wearing Manny Ramirez's number 24, and the Yankee fans didn't put up any protest. They were visibly scared from watching the worst collapse in baseball history, if not in all of American professional sports.
The Yankees certainly have a celebrated history of world championships, and they love reminding you of it at every chance they can. With their backs against the wall, they brought out all the stops. To wit, New York invited Red Sox-killer Bucky Dent and Yogi Berra to play pitcher and catcher of Wednesday night's ceremonial first pitch.
Furthermore, the Yankee organization has an unparalleled love affair with its captain, Derek Jeter. But the Jeter worship reached a level of absurdity during Games 6 and 7. In the two games, the Yankee jumbotron subjected the crowd to 31 replays of his running catch in which he then vaulted headfirst into the first few rows of seats in a pivotal midseason win over the Red Sox. New Yorkers have made such a big deal about the play that they seem to believe it was the second most important moment of the last 100 years, slightly behind World War II.
Red Sox Nation got its revenge Wednesday night. In the aftermath of Boston's blowout win, the 2,000 or so Sox fans in attendance congregated behind the Boston dugout, refusing to leave. Our chants of "Let's Go Red Sox" went unmatched. The ushers eventually forced us outside, where the celebration continued next to the Yankee players' parking lot. My brother even gloriously flashed Jeter a choke sign as he sped away from the worst loss in Yankee franchise history.
Revenge was certainly foremost on our minds. The Yankee rally to tie the deciding game of last year's ALCS came with the Sox perilously close to victory, leading by three with five outs to get. Sox fans have had that hanging over our heads ever since.
This time around, with five outs to go, Mike Timlin struck out Alex Rodriguez with no one on base and Boston leading 9-3. In response, the once proud New York Yankee faithful, fearful of witnessing firsthand the final few outs, began to file out of the Stadium. As I scanned the fleeing masses, one man in particular caught my eye. Wearing a throwback Yankee jersey with the number three squarely on his back, he solemnly lowered his head and departed into the New York night. That's right, folks, Babe Ruth has left the building.
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