[Michael Dwyer-AP]
The game didn’t matter.
It just wasn’t the Yankees’ day. Freddy Garcia only managed to record five outs, giving up five earned runs and seven hits. The Yankees had fallen behind nine to nothing in the fifth inning, and as the seventh began, the deficit was 9-1.
I listened to the first six innings on the radio, hearing John Sterling’s voice grow more and more melancholy as the Red Sox hits kept coming. When the Yankees were down 7-0 in the fourth, Sterling and Suzyn Waldman made a point of saying that the Yankees were not to be counted out yet, that stranger things had happened at Fenway Park.
I scoffed. I thought that they were just trying to keep radio dials turned to WCBS, and returned to my history homework. I turned on Fox during the seventh inning, when my mom told me that Phillip Humber of the White Sox was three outs away from throwing a perfect game. The game was also televised by Fox, and the network sent its Eastern feed to a split screen, with the White Sox-Mariners game taking center stage. After Humber stuck out Michael Saunders to start the ninth inning, the Yankee game was erased from my TV screen. The game didn’t matter. The Red Sox were ahead 9-1. It was over.
I watched Humber retire the next two batters and complete the 21st perfect game in baseball history. He was given a dousing from the water cooler by Alexi Ramirez during his interview with Fox at Safeco Field, and the announcers comments on what a fantastic game they had seen. They signed off, and I was taken back to Boston.
“As you may notice,” said Joe Buck, “the score has changed.”
The next thing I saw was a replay of Nick Swisher belting a home run over the Green Monster in left field to make the game 9-5. There were runners on first and third, and none out.
“The Yankees, with one swing, can make this a one-run game,” said Buck as Mark Teixeira stepped back into the box.
Again, I was skeptical. I had heard announcers mention what a team could do with one swing before, and it almost never happened. But two pitches later, I was proven wrong. A Tex message was sent into the first row of the monster seats.
And so it began. The Yankees went on to stomp on the Red Sox, scoring fifteen unanswered runs to win the game 15-9. I was ecstatic.
But the best part of the game for me was not seeing Derek Jeter slide home with the go-ahead run following a double by Nick Swisher, or seeing pitcher after pitcher implode in front of the Fenway crowd. It was looking at new Red Sox manager Bobby Valentine, as he stared in disbelief when the Yankees tacked on another run, desperately tried to find a pitcher who could hold the flaming Yankee bats down, and absorb a mountain of jeers with every walk back to the dugout. I saw Valentine as the face of a team in turmoil, whose fans were already frustrated after a crippling September collapse and has now been brought to the breaking point.
It was utter fan euphoria. My team had managed to vanquish its rivals in the best possible way, by making the game seem assured, then turning the game into a blowout of their own. The Yankees only won by six, but they might as well have won by twenty. The Red Sox, their manager, and their fans looked pathetic in my eyes.
To Red Sox fans, I understand your pain. I know what it’s like to see my team hold a seemingly unshakeable lead only to have it destroyed in front of our eyes despite all of our efforts, followed by a giddy celebration from our archrivals. But Saturday was one of the best baseball experiences I have ever had, rivaling even September 28th of last year, the epic Game 162.
Saturday was everything I love about baseball, the comeback, the home runs, the cheering and jeering fans, and the game’s utter resistance to predictability, something that John Sterling mentions so often. At Boston’s expense, Saturday was truly amazing.
