With the World Series finally underway - let's travel back in time to twenty Octobers ago.

October 27, 2004


A full, blood-red lunar eclipse, the only one to have ever happened on a clinching game of the World Series. Seemed appropriate to erase 86 years of ajita.

For those of us that were there – the single greatest moment of our sporting lives here in Boston.

I thought hard about writing this. I could re-tell the story of the “Miracle of the Radio”, but I rather felt like revisiting the visceral.

Let’s start in 1974 or 75. A rather young TriSec spent a lot of time in the bleachers at Fenway, watching the greats of the era. Luis Tiant was our favourite then….but of course the bleachers are in straightaway center field, with a great view looking towards the Green Monster, home of the famed Carl Yasztremski. This certainly got me into baseball…and Yaz remains my favourite Red Sock, as well as my favourite ballplayer of all time, forever.

But all those years ended in repeated heartbreak and angst. Bucky Bleepin’ Dent. (Shut up, Raine.) Then there came 1986. I have tried to impress upon Javier what a magnificent failure this was. The Sox were leading the series, 3-2. The Sox were leading game 6, 5-3, in the top of the tenth. The Mets were down to their last batter, and he even had two strikes on him.

You know the rest.

Perhaps the best story of that catastrophe was from my old friend Dennis Miller. (Same name, but not THAT one.) He was headed home, listening to the game on the radio. He got home with just enough time to run upstairs and see the last out – but he told it best. “I took two steps towards my front door, and I heard my roommate suddenly cry out in terror. I don’t know what happened, but I knew it wasn’t good.”

The Sox were their mediocre selves for many years after that. 2003 saw the hated Aaron Boone knock the Red Sox out of the ALCS. (SHUT UP, RAINE.) And 2004 saw us facing elimination again.

Not going to recount what became a catastrophe for Yankees Fans, but two things have stuck with me forevermore from that series.

Midway through, our local TV station did a “man in the street” interview in New York City. A Yankees fan there summed it up perfectly…”I don’t care who we play next. THIS is the World Series”. And then came the improbable, inexplicable, incomprehendable win in Game 7.

We were all on the old forum over at Air America Radio. I still remember like it happened five minutes ago. Unable to process what I had just seen, I stumbled to the keyboard and typed; “Holy Mother of God, what did I just watch?” It was after midnight, it was cold, it was clear. I had to go outside and get some air.

Sitting on my back stoop, famously within sight of Bentley University, the absolute ROAR coming off the campus that night – it sounded like the game had been played on the Bentley Ballfield instead of Yankee Stadium. Even today, thinking about it makes me giddy. I don’t need to watch any video of these games; I can replay them in my head on-demand.

Ah, but there was a World Series to play. The Cardinals were back – our nemesis in 1946 and 1967. Could the Red Sox avoid a letdown after the titanic struggle with the Yankees?
I myself must admit, that with the Sox leading late in Game 4, there was still a dark place in my heart that said, “You know, they could still blow this.”

But they did not.

As Keith Foulke worked the last batter, I pulled a young Javi out of his crib and held him up in front of the TV so he could see the Red Sox win with his own eyes – a hedge against them not winning again for 86 years, so Javi could tell his grandchildren that he was there.

It was a day or two after the parade that I finally had this realization. The Sweep erased all of the bitterness of the preceding 86 years thusly:

Game One made 1946 go away.

Game Two made 1967 go away.

Game Three made 1975 go away.

And for the clincher, to make everything better again, Game Four erased 1986.

Play Ball indeed.