The game I’ll never forget

As sports fans, we all have that memory of that one game we went to when we were kids.  We’ll tell the story a million times, and each time we’ll rememeber it as if it were yesterday One of the most memorable Brewer games I’ve attended was in late 1991. The Brewers were hosting the Toronto Blue Jays at County Stadium. The hated Blue Jays were the dominant team in baseball for a couple of years and in first place in our division again. It was the bottom of the ninth inning and the Blue Jays were up by two runs when they brought in their “ace closer,” Tom Henke, to stop the Brewer’s comeback. Henke was an unbelievable pitcher who hadn’t blown a save all year and was next to impossible to score on. The odds were definitely not in our favor. As my best friend Justin, Uncle Darren, and I watched the streams of disappointed fans head up the ramps to the nearest exit, I couldn’t help but feel they were about to miss a spectacular ending to the game.

The first two batters in the inning went down without a fight. Yet I didn’t give up. I knew that this game wasn’t over, and I could see the anticipation in Justin’s eyes too. With two outs and the deck strongly stacked against us, it began. A walk was followed by a seeing eye single and the Brewer’s rally began. There was no one better to step into the batter’s box than Thee Ignitor, Paul Molitor.

The Brewer’s best hitter held the game in his hands. He chose a black barreled, wood colored handle, thirty-three inch Rawlings weapon of mass destruction as his bat. Sitting out in the left field bleachers, I could hear the bat weight slide down his bat and bounce off the on-deck circle as he made his way to the plate. For just a moment, the stadium was so quiet that I could have heard a pin drop. Then the eruption began as his name echoed through the hallowed grounds of County Stadium. We were lucky if there were 4,000 fans left in the park, but we sounded like 50,000 ready to make the stands shake and send the Blue Jays home with a loss.

Paul Molitor was the potential winning run, and as he stood in the chalkless batter’s box, I felt my own pulse quicken and I took a deep breath as if it were me carrying the fans on my shoulders.

The fans could be heard gasping for air as Henke delivered the first pitch. The silence was deafening. A ninety-four mile an hour fastball right down the middle of home plate blew past Molitor. From our seats, well over four hundred feet away, I could hear the whoosh of the bat and feel the breeze as Thee Ignitor nearly fell over swinging with all he had.

Again, not a peep in the place as Henke delivered the 0-1 pitch. Pauley fouled it straight back. He just missed it. The count was 0-2.

He stepped away from the plate for just a second, adjusted his helmet, tightened his batter’s gloves, and dug his cleats into the dirt. I can still see him taking the last deep breath as the next offering was on it’s way. The sound that followed will forever be burned in my memory. The crack of the bat as the ball headed for deep left field. I’ll never forget the sight of the ball glowing against the dark night sky as it sailed over the wall and into the homerun alley between the bleachers and grandstands. I can only imagine the call from the Brewer’s legendary broadcaster, Bob Uecker.

“Get up, get up, get out of here, gone for Molly! And the Brewers have once again done the impossible!”