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Legends of the Fall: Part IV of V

  The fourth contest was washed away by rain, leaving the tabloid vultures to pick at the carcass of Game 3.

 Everyone would have a say.

 There was New York City Mayor Mike Bloomberg, suggesting that Pedro Martinez, now known as an enemy of the elderly, would have been arrested if he pulled his shenanigans at Yankee Stadium.  

There was Pedro, the man himself, maintaining his intent to gently push Zimmer aside.

There was Red Sox manager Grady Little, displaying little tact in declaring the Series a battle upgraded to war.
And finally, there was poor Don Zimmer, crying his eyes out at a press conference, apologizing for his ill-conceived foray into vigilante justice.

 Yes, the circus was definitely in town.

 But, lost in the inane was a definite break for Boston.  

 The 24hour reprieve allowed the Red Sox to tab Tim Wakefield as their Game Four starter, instead of John Burkett, who was shoved back to Game Six, out of sight, out of mind.

Wakefield would oppose a hungry Mike Mussina, attempting to avert a second straight postseason setback, as the Yankees prepared a vice grip on the Series.

When measured in comparison with the theatrics enacted in Game Three, Game Four was a rather mundane affair, a commanding 3-2 Red Sox victory.

 The Yankees were rendered helpless once again by Wakefield and his devilishly dancing knuckle ball, muffled for eight innings.

 Mike Mussina had been excellent, minor imperfections dooming him to defeat. Throttled by Todd Walker and Trot Nixon for home runs, he exited in the seventh having permitted three runs, foiled by Wakefield for a second time.

 It wasn’t the first time Tim Wakefield had humbled a great contemporary in the playoffs. He had similarly vanquished Tom Glavine and the Braves twice in the ’92 NLCS, in a Series his Pirates would eventually lose in heartbreaking fashion.

/

With the Series deadlocked, Game Five starters Derek Lowe and David Wells took center stage. Wells was a pitcher addicted to the limelight, feeding off the ethereal energy of October to forge a deserved reputation as a peerless big game performer. As with Pettitte, Wells’ postseason record included several meltdowns, but these failures were glossed over, overwhelmed by the glory.

 Wells was universally adored by the Yankee faithful, for his carefree disposition was furthest from a façade.  He possessed an uncanny ability to win, uniform sagging sloppily, massive gut rippling, unfiltered humanity steeped in his every action.

  Everyone had faith in Wells. He’d earned it.

The erratic Lowe would attempt to shrug off his Game Two loss and pitch the Red Sox to a 3-2 Series lead.

/

  Derek Lowe was fired up, his sinker flattening in difference to velocity, straight and hittable.

 He would pay for it. It was the top of the second. The scuffling Aaron Boone had just contributed a base hit, loading the bases with two men out.

 For Lowe to escape this mess, he would have to retire Karim Garcia, arriving at the plate, his now familiar mannerisms echoing bad intentions.

 Garcia smacked a single into centerfield, driving in two runs. After another run scoring single, provided by Alfonso Soriano, it was obvious the Yankees were back in control.

Lowe had unraveled, his laborious regular season rising to the surface.  

David Wells would another notch to his belt, further cementation of his legend. There were few better at pitching to the scoreboard, protecting a lead, throwing strikes. With a 3-0 advantage in Game Five, Wells would assault the Red Sox with looping curves and shifting speeds, the innings separating the Yankees from Mariano Rivera melting away.

It was a performance to savor.  

/

 Wells would get the game to Mo, an assist unnecessary.

And while Rivera wasn’t at his bat splintering best, he passed his two-inning test, preserving a 4-2 Yankee win. The final out of the game, Derek Jeter grabbing a Jason Varitek blooper from over his shoulder, his number 2 facing an abandoned shortstop post, only drove the nail deeper. The Yankees returned home with a 3-2 Series advantage, and with Andy Pettitte opposing John Burkett in Game Six, champagne on ice.

The Red Sox were demoralized, but not done.

 /

 John Burkett had seen his prime simmer and set, 2003 his final season pitching in the Major Leagues. He’d been a 22 game winner once, a rock in any clubhouse, providing leadership and guidance. He’d rescued a spiraling career with the Atlanta Braves in 2001, parlaying his renaissance into a multi-year contract with the Boston Red Sox. Burkett went on to allow a frightening number of hits against his innings pitched in 2002, but somehow posted thirteen wins, a figure belying his peripheral numbers. Burkett would see his ERA spike to 5.15 in 2003, riding his run support to another winning record.

  Little had to keep a short leash on Burkett, a quick hook often necessary. But, Grady’s unwavering faith in veterans, as a rule, frequently resulted in Burkett’s demise, left in a batter too late.

In Game Six, the Yankees hoped it would get late early.

/

 Jason Giambi’s first inning trot suggested a rout in the making. But the Yankees’ early one run lead wouldn’t last.

 The Red Sox had stared down oblivion against Oakland, claiming victory after climbing from the darkest of valleys.  

 Now, they needed to recall that resolve, to grind the Yankees into submission.

 They reached Andy Pettitte in the third, silencing a riotous Yankee Stadium with four runs.

 /

Burkett had steadied himself with two scoreless innings. But in the Yankee half of the fourth, his curtain began closing.

 Following a two run double by Nick Johnson, Burkett retired the benign Aaron Boone with a ground out, drawing within one out of keeping himself in the game.  

 And, yet again, Karim Garcia became a major player in the proceedings, slicing a routine ground ball toward Nomar Garciaparra, who promptly made an errant throw to first base.

 There were now men on first and third, with two out, John Burkett running on empty.

 Grady Little, rationalizing that the crafty Burkett still had one out left in his tiring arm, left his starter in to face Alfonso Soriano, who slammed a double to center on a lifeless fastball.

 The Yankees had the lead. The Stadium was shaking.

John Burkett trotted off the mound, head down, one last time.

/

 The pitcher the Red Sox coveted was closing their casket. Jose Contreras had relieved Andy Pettitte in the sixth, striking out the side, dominating.

 The storyline was perfect. The key protagonist in the piqued hot stove play of winter would be the difference in October. It was nothing short of delicious, Contreras finishing the Red Sox, a symmetrical bookend.

The Red Sox had rented out every room in that hotel.

Now, the doors were closing on them.

/

 Jose Contreras had appeared such an indomitable force that there wasn’t much concern within the denizens at Yankee Stadium when the team failed miserably to widen their lead in the sixth. With one out, Soriano on third and Jeter on second, Jason Giambi was blown by Alan Embree, before Bernie Williams grounded out to third.

 The team that wouldn’t die now had a second life.

The Yankees hadn’t learned from the pain of the A’s.  

/

Nomar Garciaparra had been brutal in the playoffs. The Boston Icon was killing the team, with his porous defense and silent bat. In his prime, Nomar could have pulled the Ryan Express with ease, denting the Green Monster with one flick of his lightening quick wrists. But now, sabotaged by injury, Garciaparra could be beaten on pitches he used to annihilate, jammed.

 Nomar’s fourth inning gaffe represented his nadir, the culmination of several weeks defined by horrendous play.

 Now, just as his team had done all year, Garciaparra would climb back on the saddle.

 Contreras fed Garciaparra, smote by smoke all Series, a cement mixing slider

 Garciaparra showed a flash of the form that would have surely had him coasting into Cooperstown, demolishing the delivery.

 Bernie Williams gave chase, but could only watch as the ball smacked off the wall before caroming past him.  

 Nomar, flying around the bases, would reach third easily.

 Hideki Matsui, backing up Williams, scooped the ball, and still believing Garciaparra could be nullified at third, rushed his throw back toward the infield.  

 It may have been the worst throw in Post-Season history, and that was before a mighty wind took hold, sending Matsui’s abysmal heave careening into the box seats down the left field line.  

Garciaparra would be awarded home plate. The Red Sox had cut the Yankee lead to one.

 Suddenly, Contreras wasn’t unstoppable.

These Cowboys didn’t give a damn about symmetry.

/

  The ball landed with a thud, into Johnny Damon’s glove, the 27th out. The Yankees had snatched defeat from the razor sharp jaws of victory. There would be a game 7.

Martinez vs. Clemens.

/

After Matsui’s atrocious, wind swept throw, Jose’s Contreras misplaced his composure, eventually leaving the proceedings, which he had owned minutes earlier, to a chorus of catcalls.

 Fate now aided and abided Boston. It was almost formulaic, when Felix Heredia, another swiveling cog in the Yankees’ questionable bullpen, walked Johnny Damon with the bases loaded, granting the Red Sox a stunning lead.

 There wouldn’t be a Yankee comeback. No inglorious ghosts of Game Six’s past would deny the Red Sox tonight.

Trot Nixon mashed an upper deck, two run tater off Gabe White in the ninth. The Red Sox did what the Yankees couldn’t in the sixth, extending their lead, slaying wills and breaking hearts.

 When Scott Williamson retired Jorge Posada for the ninth’s final prize, what had previously been a dream in Boston was now fragile reality.

This team was different.

By mw2828

Matt Waters is a screenwriter currently living in New York. He has been writing about sports since age seventeen, about the time when it became painfully apparent that his athletic dreams would go unfulfilled, due to terrible luck and an obscene lack of talent. His favorite movie is “The Thin Red Line”. His favorite band is “Modest Mouse”. His favorite sport is baseball! With an exclamation point.

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