Aaron Bleepin’ Boone

I’ve been to Beaver Stadium in the middle of a 25,000 “White Out”, I’ve stood with 8,000 soccer fans on the road in a crappy Northern town and seen them get promoted, and I witnessed David Wells throw a perfect game. But I have never experienced a day like the one I experienced in October 2003.
I spent every minute of that day trying to get a Game 7 ticket for the ALCS at Yankee Stadium in 2003. I was virtually in tears, having come up empty at every turn. I tried my aunt, my best friends, and even my fellow sobered drunks in AA. Everyone was coming up dry.

I went down to the Stadium anyway – I had to, right? This was going to be the game I’d never miss. I walked around Yankee Stadium a couple of times trying to score tickets, but to no avail. Worried about missing the start of the game, I hit up Stan’s to join a friend I’d camped with for World Series 2007 tickets. The Yanks trail early, and I’m furious.

I go out for a smoke and come back, only to see someone else I know saying: “Hey, anyone want a ticket to the game?” I jump at the chance, and fork out $120 for the ticket.

I run into the game like I’ve never run before. I’m shaking like a leaf. The police know I’ve bought a scalped ticket, but they don’t care. Nor do.

As soon as I get in, I’m the happiest man in the world. I’m comforted that even if we’ve lost I’ve gone to every postseason game of the 2003 season.

With the Sox up 5-2 in the eighth I’m not a happy guy. David Ortiz has just broken our hopes (as he would in 2004), and I’m in tears.

Then Jeter doubles and Bernie Williams puts him in. Smell that? That’s hope, that is. Then Matsui hits a monster double to put men on second and third. Suddenly all of Yankee Stadium takes a breath. For some reason Pedro Martinez isn’t taken out. I don’t know why not. And quite frankly, I don’t care. Then ‘Jorge’ comes up with a two run single. I can still see it drop into the middle. As Joe Buck says: “Go crazy Folks, go crazy”. I know – because I did.

People talk about destiny and the Yankees and I’ve always refused to believe it. I don’t believe in destiny for anything – but tonight I did.

As soon as Aaron Boone got the bat in his hands and faced Tim Wakefield at the bottom of the tenth, I said: “If Wakefield pitches this inside on Boone he’ll go yard.” I knew precious little about Aaron Boone – except that to throw a ball in on his hands would be folly. Crack! The ball flew off the bat and into the seats, vanishing in outstrectched hands. I hugged just about everybody in the space of a minute. It was one big happy family. Around me were two Red Sox fans who could hardly believe it.
“I should kill myself, but the bus would probably go between my legs”, said one to the other on their way out, making reference to 1986 and all that.

Best game ever? You’d better believe it.