First, let me make clear what I am not asking about.
I'm not asking what season or title meant the most. I think for anyone over a certain age, the answer to that is pretty obvious.
I'm not asking when your were the happiest or most relieved.
I'm not asking when you reflected on your best friends or family members.
Not that those things are mutually exclusive of what I am asking about.
The question is: What was that one moment of euphoria, that one rush of emotion, the biggest single jolt of sportsgasm for you as a Sox fan. Whatever drug gives the biggest rush...what was that moment?
Now sure, some will say that it was when Foulke stabbed the ball and threw it to first. When it was all over. And that is more than understandable, of course. Maybe even a majority will say that.
But that wasn't my biggest SoxGasm. After the exhausting Yankees series, that ridiculous game 7 and the decisive march through the Cardinals, I was pretty confident that the Sox had finally done it before the final out. Yeah, like probably every other Sox fan, I was a bit concerned that Lucy would snatch the ball away from Charlie Brown at the last second, but it was a dull worry. The final out was more a feeling of relief than a jolt of euphoria. Phew, they hadn't blown it!
No, for me the biggest single rush of joy happened when Ortiz took Quantrill deep in the 12th inning of Game Four. I was there. Having gone to the Pats game earlier that day, I was tired. Lots of driving, alcohol, waiting around between games and logstics. I was with my brother and daughter, and that part was more than cool. I had pissed for twelve innings on a cut out of Derek Jeter in the CF bleachers can, laughing about it each time. Not proud to admit this but I had stood on the edge of Fenway watching the bottom of the 9th until Bill Mueller knocked Roberts in and before I raced back to my seat in Section 36 (only several rows closer as a lot of fans had left). And I was standing there in that same spot wondering if the Sox could somehow just win a game against the Yankees for the rest of the night. That night was equal parts terrifying, exhausting and enthralling, as we all know.
Fast forward to the 12th, the notion that the Sox season was in Curtis Leskanic's hands was almost surreal. How he escaped the bases loaded jam in the 11th was beyond my imagination, and the blooper that Posada hit to lead off the 12th -- and who didn't flash backward to Posada's blooper to tie the game off Pedro a year before when that happened? -- made me wonder just how many runs the Yankees were going to score and whether the game would be out of reach before Ramirez came to bat in the bottom of the inning. But Leskanic did the ridiculous and got out of it unscathed, leading to the bottom of the 12th.
After Manny got on, I allowed myself to think that Ortiz was going to win it, right then and there. After all, he was (and still is) a mythic figure, a Beautiful Man. At the same time, these were the Yankees, and they were very much in my head. I had been at the Grady Boner Game and worked in NYC, and was still pretty freaked out by that whole experience. One of the worst things about the year before was that the same daughter had looked and acted almost catatonic from the point that Posada tied the game up until the end of the night. Part of my worry during game 4 was that I was committing parental malpractice by putting her through another potential Sox nightmare. What was I thinking? But still, Quantrill wasn't exactly Rivera, and Tiz was Tiz, and why couldn't he just freaking do it?
When the ball left the bat, I wasn't immediately certain it was going to go out. For one, while it was certainly a shot, it wasn't exactly a screamer. Yeah, any ball that reaches the pen in RF has a lot on it, but I bet if you timed homers to right, this would not have been among the fastest ones out. And even if I'm wrong, it sure seemed like it was in the air for a long time. From my spot in Section 36, I thought that maybe, just maybe, Sheffield would get to it, like Hunter almost did in Game 2 of the 2013 ALCS. But Sheffield got a late break and the ball kept going. Over that criminal's head and into the pen.
Game over! Sox win! Life!
And my biggest single rush of Sox euphoria, ever.
I wish I could bottle that feeling and access it once in a while. As a Boston sports fan, there have been plenty of other redunkulous single moments, but nothing else has topped that jolt for me.
What was yours?
I'm not asking what season or title meant the most. I think for anyone over a certain age, the answer to that is pretty obvious.
I'm not asking when your were the happiest or most relieved.
I'm not asking when you reflected on your best friends or family members.
Not that those things are mutually exclusive of what I am asking about.
The question is: What was that one moment of euphoria, that one rush of emotion, the biggest single jolt of sportsgasm for you as a Sox fan. Whatever drug gives the biggest rush...what was that moment?
Now sure, some will say that it was when Foulke stabbed the ball and threw it to first. When it was all over. And that is more than understandable, of course. Maybe even a majority will say that.
But that wasn't my biggest SoxGasm. After the exhausting Yankees series, that ridiculous game 7 and the decisive march through the Cardinals, I was pretty confident that the Sox had finally done it before the final out. Yeah, like probably every other Sox fan, I was a bit concerned that Lucy would snatch the ball away from Charlie Brown at the last second, but it was a dull worry. The final out was more a feeling of relief than a jolt of euphoria. Phew, they hadn't blown it!
No, for me the biggest single rush of joy happened when Ortiz took Quantrill deep in the 12th inning of Game Four. I was there. Having gone to the Pats game earlier that day, I was tired. Lots of driving, alcohol, waiting around between games and logstics. I was with my brother and daughter, and that part was more than cool. I had pissed for twelve innings on a cut out of Derek Jeter in the CF bleachers can, laughing about it each time. Not proud to admit this but I had stood on the edge of Fenway watching the bottom of the 9th until Bill Mueller knocked Roberts in and before I raced back to my seat in Section 36 (only several rows closer as a lot of fans had left). And I was standing there in that same spot wondering if the Sox could somehow just win a game against the Yankees for the rest of the night. That night was equal parts terrifying, exhausting and enthralling, as we all know.
Fast forward to the 12th, the notion that the Sox season was in Curtis Leskanic's hands was almost surreal. How he escaped the bases loaded jam in the 11th was beyond my imagination, and the blooper that Posada hit to lead off the 12th -- and who didn't flash backward to Posada's blooper to tie the game off Pedro a year before when that happened? -- made me wonder just how many runs the Yankees were going to score and whether the game would be out of reach before Ramirez came to bat in the bottom of the inning. But Leskanic did the ridiculous and got out of it unscathed, leading to the bottom of the 12th.
After Manny got on, I allowed myself to think that Ortiz was going to win it, right then and there. After all, he was (and still is) a mythic figure, a Beautiful Man. At the same time, these were the Yankees, and they were very much in my head. I had been at the Grady Boner Game and worked in NYC, and was still pretty freaked out by that whole experience. One of the worst things about the year before was that the same daughter had looked and acted almost catatonic from the point that Posada tied the game up until the end of the night. Part of my worry during game 4 was that I was committing parental malpractice by putting her through another potential Sox nightmare. What was I thinking? But still, Quantrill wasn't exactly Rivera, and Tiz was Tiz, and why couldn't he just freaking do it?
When the ball left the bat, I wasn't immediately certain it was going to go out. For one, while it was certainly a shot, it wasn't exactly a screamer. Yeah, any ball that reaches the pen in RF has a lot on it, but I bet if you timed homers to right, this would not have been among the fastest ones out. And even if I'm wrong, it sure seemed like it was in the air for a long time. From my spot in Section 36, I thought that maybe, just maybe, Sheffield would get to it, like Hunter almost did in Game 2 of the 2013 ALCS. But Sheffield got a late break and the ball kept going. Over that criminal's head and into the pen.
Game over! Sox win! Life!
And my biggest single rush of Sox euphoria, ever.
I wish I could bottle that feeling and access it once in a while. As a Boston sports fan, there have been plenty of other redunkulous single moments, but nothing else has topped that jolt for me.
What was yours?
.
