By Kiki Arochas, Staff Writer
In high school, I became fast friends with a guy that I am still close with today. We shared a lot of interests, and our sense of humor matched up perfectly. There was one area, though, in which our paths diverged. I loved sports. He loved politics.
We were never able to reconcile that difference between ourselves. I never understood how he could spend so much time invested in how a particular politician was deceiving the masses that day. In the same vein, he never understood how my mood could depend on the outcome of a game between adult men swinging sticks at balls. Heck, he still doesn’t. But I once tried to explain it to him. I broke down one sports memory that constantly replays in my head, a core memory of my childhood. A moment that taught me about the magic that can unfold on the diamond.
I was in fifth grade. My Boston Red Sox had stunned the baseball world with a dramatic single season turnaround, dubbed “Worst to First.” The previous year, they found themselves in last place in the American League (AL) East with a measly 69 wins, 26 games behind the hated New York Yankees. This came off the heels of one of the worst collapses in franchise history (admittedly, there have been many) in which they missed the postseason after being ahead of third place Tampa Bay Rays by 9 and a half games in September. It cost Terry Francona, the beloved manager who helped reverse the curse of the Bambino (the 86 year span in which the Red Sox failed to win a championship) in 2004, his job.
The future, suffice it to say, looked bleak. But then something miraculous happened. Thanks to savvy trading and returning veteran stars, the Red Sox turned it all around, claiming first place in the AL East in 2013, with 97 wins. They made quick work of the Rays, defeating them in four games before facing the powerhouse Detroit Tigers in the American League Championship Series (ALCS).
I don’t use the word “powerhouse” lightly. This team was stacked. A pitching tandem of prime Justin Verlander and Max Scherzer before the NY Mets tried it; MVP Miguel Cabrera, a season removed from winning the Triple Crown; Prince Fielder; 5 batters hitting over .300, a gold glove winning shortstop in Jose Iglesias – we didn’t see teams like this back in the day. This roster had everything. Pitching, hitting, good coaching, a hungry owner and a fanbase who had just lost in the World Series a year prior. And the Detroit Tigers played like it.
After eliminating the Oakland Athletics in a tough five game series, Detroit used that momentum to flatten the Sox in the first game of the ALCS. Don’t let the 1-0 score fool you. The Red Sox were never in this game, having been no-hit for 8 and one third innings. It is hard to describe the dull hopelessness that ecompasses a fan when their team is getting no-hit to non sports fans, and even non baseball fans. It doesn’t matter if you are only down one run, or even tied. Each pitch is magnified, each at bat feels like an eternity, as you’re praying, begging– please just get one hit. Bunt down the third baseline, whatever you have to do; but please, please, don’t be the victim of a no-hitter. I add this context because the Red Sox found themselves in that boat, again, one night later in Fenway Park. A mere game after the bats were helpless for eight innings, history repeated itself, with the Red Sox once again being overwhelmed by Detroit pitching. Cy Young winner Max Scherzer held the Red Sox to no hits over five and two third innings, giving up a measly one run over seven with an absurd 13 strikeouts in the dominant start. Compounding the issue was the fact that Red Sox pitching was unable to keep up with Detroit. After five scoreless frames, Red Sox homegrown starter Clay Buchholtz ran out of steam, first surrendering a solo shot off the lightower to Miguel Cabrera before totally losing control, allowing Detroit’s batters to score four total in the frame. This gave Detroit a menacing 5-1 lead going into the 8th, giving the Red Sox only six outs to overcome the daunting deficit.
Hope was an hourglass on its last few grains of sand for me at that moment. Sitting on my Dad’s bed, I gritted my teeth, slowly coming to grips with the fact that the Red Sox were probably going to drop both home games. That would be a mountainous hurdle to overcome. My Dad laid on the bed, shaking his head. My Mom held her hands together, still holding out hope. Years of being a Red Sox fan had hardened her; she had seen darker days. The Red Sox had come back from the dead before: in 2004, they completed the greatest comeback in baseball history after overcoming a three game deficit over the New York Yankees. But it would have to start now, before time ran out. There was one batter coming up who, if the cards fell the right way, could knock our team back into the game. He’d stared down the abyss before. Maybe, just maybe, he could do it again. Maybe they could do it again.
Enter the bottom half of the 8th, and it was Detroit’s turn to sweat. Legendary Skipper Jim Leyland went to his bullpen, only to be forced to use four arms in the inning. Jose Veras got the first out, only to be pulled after a Will Middlebrooks double. Next came Drew Smyly, who walked Ellsbury after a dramatic full count. Al Alburquerque got a crucial second out, striking out Shane Victorino swinging. But a potentially dangerous situation for Detroit soon turned disastrous when Alburquerque gave up a single to Red Sox legend Dustin Pedroia, loading the bases. And who was on deck? Just the man the Red Sox needed at that moment. The very same batter who had stared down the abyss in ‘04 and didn’t blink. The slugger who had become the heart and soul of Beantown in the wake of the Boston Marathon bombing. The King of Clutch. Big Papi. David Ortiz.
Leyland was out of options. One bad pitch, and this game could be tied. He had already exhausted his bullpen and needed an arm that would get Detroit out of this inning. He went to his closer, Joaquín Benoit, to put out the Red Sox fire. Benoit had an excellent 2013 season, capturing 24 saves with a 2.01 Earned Run Average (ERA). He just needed one out to end the threat. Just one, to escape catastrophe.
I sat up on the bed, my hands as glued to the bed frame as my eyes were to the television. With even a single, this game could completely flip. If Ortiz could hit a homer – but I dared not dream of that – we’d be looking at a tied game. My nails dug deep into the wooden frame. Even my dad was sitting up from his comfortable position, holding my Mom’s hand. This was it.
Here we are at the moment I will never forget. Are you ready? I won’t say what happened. I’ll leave it to legendary Red Sox broadcaster Dave O’Brien, whose call on this play has been echoing in the deepest corners of my brain for as long as I can remember. Welcome to my sports moment.
The big right-hander, Benoit, delivers. Swing and a high deep drive into right field,
that one scalded to right, Hunter on the move, racing back, it’s over his head, it’s gone, it’s into the bullpen, this game is tied! THIS GAME IS TIED! David Ortiz! David Ortiz! DAVID ORTIZ!
The Red Sox would win the game in the 9th, and would go on to win the series and World Series a month later, completing their redemption of the previous year. David Ortiz received the World Series MVP honors, after batting a ridiculous .688 in the Fall Classic.
I’m not sure if the story was enough to persuade my friend that sports are awesome. I am not sure if he could feel the rollercoaster of emotions I felt, the fall and rise that felt almost supernatural. But I know this. Magic is real. It’s right there, on the diamond.