This Is the Year Red Sox (and Fans) Survive Epic Series

Author: David Lindholm

As I sat before the big screen in The Grille on Monday night, surrounded by about 50 Red Sox fans and a lone Athletics devotee, my mind wandered. First to five days earlier, when Byung-Hyun Kim put two on in the ninth, and Alan Embree allowed the hit to tie the game, setting up the A's 12th inning win. Then I went all the way back to March 31, Opening Day for the Sox. I was sitting in the same room, with many of the same Sox fans, and we watched Boston blow a 4-1 lead in the bottom of the ninth to the Devil Rays, losing the first game by a score of 6-4.

Back to game five, with the Williamson walked the first two batters he faced. Two on, no outs, the A's needing only one of those runners to tie the game, and both to win it and move on to face the Yankees. Then Derek Lowe, who was a phenomenal closer in 2000, a terrible one in 2001, then a masterful starter in 2002, came in to try to stop the bleeding. Hernandez, of course, bunted the runners to second and third. One out. Two in scoring position.

Lowe then came through with a great sinking fastball to strike out Adam Melhuse. Two outs. Then another walk, so the bases were loaded, but it was okay, it set up the force at any base. Terrence Long was up to try to break the A's own streak of failure, as the team had lost in game five of the Division Series for four straight years. Lowe got ahead, 1-2, and then threw another unhittable sinker, this one even nastier than the first, to end the game, and win the series.

To think that a bloop single would have changed everything; that split second where a single action means either the end of the season, or a chance to play the Yankees for a spot in the World Series.

"This is the ultimate," said Boston's General Manager Theo Epstein after the game. "That's baseball right there. That's why it's better than any other game. To have that kind of prolonged intensity. The way we did it was showing character, right down to the last pitch of the game. Very, very fitting."

He's right. Nothing in sports can compare to that spontaneous eruption of joy, the culmination of all the passion that the Red Sox fans had poured into watching that series.

Hugs, high-fives, more hugs. Joy - Even more than in the living room at the Vegas Party on Saturday night after Trot's two-run bomb in game three. Much more than Williamson's 1-2-3 ninth in game four. Even more than after Varitek's homer in the sixth, and Manny's shot, and first ribbies of the series, later in the same inning. Three straight wins! The Yankees next!

Then the phone calls started flying. My sister called from Cambridge, then I called my Dad, a mile and a half down the road in Cornwall. Then friends and family in Maine, New York, Burlington, South Carolina, California, Beijing, Sweden - all over the world. After everyone had shared the moment, my sister called back from Harvard Square.

"This is awesome," she cried. "Traffic is stopped; there are thousands of people in the street. Everyone who was watching the game just came outside, and they're yelling and screaming. Can you hear it?"

She held up her phone, and I listened to car horns, whistles, a trumpet, all with a steady background of chant; the two that I could make out were "Let's Go Red Sox" and "Yankees Suck." "It's awesome," she said. "It's awesome."

I remembered that she was there with her boyfriend from Wales. "Adrian has no idea what's going on," she told me. I could hear him laughing and I pictured him, with a goofy grin, admiring the spectacle.

"Traffic is stopped," my sister continued. "There's a taxi that's honking its horn, and the cops have turned on their lights to try to let the cars through but nobody is moving. Traffic is stopped!"

Then I heard Adrian's voice in the background: "Jane, only two cars are stopped."

"Whatever!" was my sister's quick reply.

I knew what she meant. The game was perfect. Two tired Cy Young winners pitching beautifully, solid defense, great hitting, and dramatics. Johnny Damon's horrific collision with Damian Jackson was the only blemish on an otherwise wonderful game. Pedro was superb, and Zito, on three days' rest, had his curve breaking three feet and his fastball in the nineties. Manny broke out of the slump and Varitek kept getting clutch hits. And the bullpen was great in the eighth, and I can't say enough about Lowe in the ninth.

Bill Simmons, an ESPN columnist and huge Boston fan, phrased the current sentiment perfectly. "I want to call my friends who suffered through all the ups and downs," he says. "I want to accept congratulations from everybody I know. I just want to win. I don't feel sorry for myself, and I don't care about the past, and I don't think I deserve these things any more than Cubs fans, Astros fans, Indians fans or anyone else. I just want to win. And I think every Sox fan feels that way."

Monday night's game was the best baseball game I've ever seen. I'll tell my grandkids about it; telling them about Lowe's tailing fastball, Manny's homer, and Pedro's mastery. They'll hear about the eruption in the Grille, and also about my sister's experience in Harvard Square. I'll remember exactly where I was, and how the game restored my faith in the Red Sox, baseball and all sports. Either that, or I'll tell them how the Sox took apart the Yankees in the ALCS, or how Nomar, Pedro, Manny & Co. earned the World Series.

Because it can only get better from here.