Chile's Corner
ENTER SANDMAN
By Chile Hidalgo
You might remember how in the previous episode of Chile's Corner I made reference to certain songs bringing up certain memories. I'll always associate the song Enter Sandman by Metallica with the ninth inning of Game 7 of last year's ALCS, when Mariano Rivera entered the game with music blaring to attempt to hold the Sox in check and preserve the seven-run deficit for the Yankees going into the bottom of the ninth.
That was the first time I believed the Sox would actually win the series. Every time I hear the song, I remember some of the giddiness and excitement that moment caused. It's pretty sweet.
I had adamantly refused to admit that the Sox might have a chance in Games 4 and 5. In fact, Game 3 had gone so poorly that I refused to watch Game 4. (That is not entirely true -- I flipped the TV on two times. The first time, I watched for about 30 seconds until Mark Bellhorn grounded into a double play. The second time, as I flipped the channel the Yankees were taking a 4-3 lead). When I heard the final score, my first thought was not that the Sox still had a chance but that they averted a sweep. But my Sox hat remained under the bookshelf in the corner of the living room, where I had hurled it in disgust during Game 3 after Ramiro Mendoza's balk, just in case David Ortiz' clutch hitting was somehow connected to my hat's location.
I was at my dentist's office for the start of Game 5. He was visibly annoyed that the Sox had won Game 4. "What's the point? We're all going to get sucked back in and they're going to blow it in Game 7," he said, while probing around inside my mouth with a lot more vigor than necessary.
After the appointment ended, I rushed home to watch Game 5 grudgingly, almost daring the Sox to win just to prove my dentist right. That was the Pedro game, where he knocked down Hideki Matsui with a high heater, after which point the Yankees as a team batted something like .061, scored seven runs in the remaining 27 or so innings, and were manhandled by Curtis Leskanic at various points (fun time trivia question: who has more World Series rings, A-Rod or Curtis Leskanic?). It was also the game where Jason Varitek was forced to catch Tim Wakefield in the 13th inning, one of the most excruciating half-innings of baseball in history. And of course it was the game where Ortiz had the game-winning hit for the second night in a row.
The Yankees seemed to shrug it off, still fully believing they were still in control of the series. Bernie Williams's casual throw back to the infield after Esteban Loaiza (I'd forgotten about the Yankee experiment with Loaiza. That was good times) gave up the game-winning hit to Ortiz seemed to say as much. The players sounded nonchalant about their 0-2 record in chances to eliminate the Sox, their two extra-inning game losses, and Rivera's ineffectiveness. At this point, I even got a little excited about things, and made some cracks about the Yankees' overconfidence. And although I didn't dare think about a Game 7 just yet, one had to notice that if it got that far, the Yankees would have to go with Kevin Brown or Javier Vazquez.
How did the Sox win Game 6? Schilling pitched on one leg. The Sox relied on Mark Bellhorn for their offense. And the umps actually reversed two calls that had gone against the Sox in Yankee Stadium, one of which led to me receiving roughly 100 emails featuring an image of A-Rod swinging a purse at Bronson Arroyo before 10 a.m. the following morning. At this point, everyone was back on the bandwagon. I had so much nervous energy before Game 7 that I walked from Harvard Square to Dave's place in the Fenway in under half an hour (the walk generally took me around 45 or 50 minutes).
Along the way, I passed at least 50 persons who looked like they might've escaped from a mental institution wearing enormous wild grins, grinning even more whenever they saw anyone else grinning, and carrying or wearing various forms of Red Sox paraphernalia (for the record, my Sox hat was still under the bookcase in my living room). There was some cautious horn honking. I don't know how many people thought the Sox would pull it off, but everyone on the street realized they had a shot. I got to Dave's place about 45 minutes before the game and we made a quick run to the liquor store.
On a whim, I picked out a six-pack of Sam Adams Cream Stout. Dave had a couple of Labatt Blues kicking around at his place, and we figured that'd get us and our friend Doug (Gordon, the older brother of up-and-coming Boston newspaper photog David Gordon) through the night. A Johnny Damon grand slam and six runs later, Dave was on his way out the door to pick up a case of the newly-renamed Sam Adams American League Championship Ale. Of course, none of us felt all that comfortable with a seven-run lead. We yelled at the TV after every single close call, nearly soiled ourselves when Pedro Martinez came into the game in the seventh and it looked like the wheels might come off the wagon, and cursed well-meaning friends who were calling us during the game issuing premature congratulations.
You'd have thought that the game was 2-1 and it was the Sox who still had Quantrill and Gordon coming out of the bullpen.
And then Rivera came in to Enter Sandman. That's when things clicked and I realized that the Yankees had one inning left to score seven runs. That the Sox still had Embree and Foulke in their bullpen. That as improbable as it seemed on Sunday, the Sox were going to go to the World Series. That from now on, the Sox would be the team that other teams thought about when down 3-0 and facing elimination; and the Yankees were no longer primarily the "dynasty" and the "26-time champions," but the "worst chokers in the history of sports."
Then Bernie grounded out, Jorge Posada popped out, and Ruben Sierra grounded to Pokey Reese, who threw to Doug Mientkiewicz, and I knew I was definitely was going to have another celebratory Sam Adams American League Championship Ale.
So that's what I think about when I hear Enter Sandman. And that's why I love it.
Dave's World postscript: So you might have noticed the reference to the Labatts sitting in my fridge. Here's the deal with that. If you're a true sports fan, you have your little quirkly things that help bring your team luck, or that you do over and over again, and you have no doubt in your mind that these eccentricities are playing a big role in your team's success. Like Chile with the hat. Chile refused to pick it up because it was sitting there for Game 4, and the Sox won. If you are a real sports fan, you understand the clearcut logic of this: If Chile picked up the hat, the Sox would have lost. That's a proven scientific fact.
Which brings us back to the Labatts. The Sunday of Game 4 was one long day in Dave's World. I freelanced the Patriots-Seahawks game for the Seattle P-I and was whipped by the time I got home. Then I spent most of the night sulking about the fact that the Sox were about to get swept by the Yanks. Hours of torture. Then, of course, the Sox won.
I went to get a Labatt's out of my fridge. There were four. I had one. Didn't think twice about it. Sox win Game 5. I go for a Labatts. Drink it. Go for another. Then it hits me that I've had one Labatt each after Games 4 and 5 and have two left. And it becomes clear I am meant to drink one per game, after each game. Which is exactly what happened. The third Labatt went down after Game 6 and post-Game 7 was the greatest tasting Labatt's ever.
Had I drank two after any game, or skipped not had one after any game, Sox lose. No question about it.
Then there's my friend Bob, who watched the first three games of the ALCS on TV; then had to work for Games 4-7 and listened on the radio. Clear cause and effect. Needless to say, Bob listened to the World Series on the radio.
Chile's Corner 7/31
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