Rerun: Great Moments in Sports History - Game 7 of the 1960 World Series

This from last year, slightly edited ... 

Any enemy of the Yankees is a friend of mine. Nothing personal, just normal blood feud stuff, you know, like the Montagues and Capulets, Bloods and Crips, Mac and PC. Last week, the Rangers eliminated the Yankees, so in this World Series I can freely root for both sides.

I grew up in a Red Sox household in the middle of Connecticut, almost midway between New York and Boston. This meant that every day of my life, I endured the incessant put-downs of those fortunate enough to have been born of Yankee parentage. This was the era of Mickey Mantle and Yogi Berra and Whitey Ford. I think after Ted Williams retired, Eva Gabor was the power hitter for the Red Sox.

The Yankees were perennial pennant winners all during when I grew up. This meant every fall I cheered for whoever they went up against in the World Series - the Milwaukee Braves in '57 and '58. The LA Dodgers (alas, no longer in Brooklyn) in '59 - wait, the Yankees weren't in the World Series that year ...

What you are looking at is the equivalent of my Mount Rushmore, Statue of Liberty, Washington Monument, and tribute to the guy who invented peanut butter combined. On the site of the old Forbes Field in Pittsburgh marks the spot where Bill Mazeroski's winning home run landed in the ninth inning of the seventh and deciding game of the 1960 World Series between the Pirates and Yankees.

Without doubt, until the Red Sox actually won a World Series in 2004, this was the greatest moment in all sports history in the entire existence of the universe, including galaxies far away. (Have I made my point?)

This was the Yankees tenth World Series in twelve years, the Pirates first since getting pummeled by Babe Ruth and the Yankees' infamous Murderers Row in 1927. Again, the underdog Pirates were hopelessly outgunned. After squeaking out an opening victory of 6 to 4, the Yankees unequivocally reminded the Pirates who was boss in the next two games with scores of 16 to 3 and 10 to nothing. Then the Pirates squeaked two in a row - 3 to 2 and 5 to 2 - only to be bombarded by the Yankees in the sixth game by a score of 12 to nothing.

If this were five-day cricket, the Yankees would be leading 46 to 17. Instead, the Series was improbably tied at three each. It all came down to the final game. This time, at home, the Pirates mustered the necessary firepower. Trailing 7 to 4 after seven innings, they banged out five runs in the eighth to take the lead. But the Yankees tied the score in their turn at bat in the ninth with two more runs.

I will never forget the moment. Back in those days, they played games in the afternoon, which meant kids could actually watch. I got off the school bus at my friend Kenny's house and together, as his mom looked on, we sat on the edge of our seats as the last part of the game unfolded. It was the bottom of the ninth. First batter up was second baseman Bill Mazeroski. Definitely not a power hitter. One ball, no strikes. We held our breaths. The wind up and the pitch ...

Smack! The camera swung toward the ivy brick wall in left field. The announcer went crazy. It could only mean ...

Home run! Home run! Home run! The Pirates win the Series!

Forbes Field instantly erupted into what was then the loudest spontaneous human-generated sound in recorded history. Mazeroski headed into second, whipped off his cap and swung it round and round in celebration. As his teammates mobbed him at the plate, the Yankees on the field simply stood in their positions in postures of shock and disbelief.

These were the days before instant replay. I didn't need one. My neurons lovingly recorded every frame. My mind is playing back the great moment right now. What a scene. What a memory ...

Sports and Fan Disappointment - A Case Study in Suffering (and as a Red Sox Fan Now Living Near San Diego I Know What I'm Talking About)

We know the condition - Severe Utterly Frustrating Fan Eternity Realization Syndrome (SUFFERS). Those unfortunate enough to have grown up in Red Sox households are especially familiar. The acute version of the illness was the famous ball rolling through Bill Buckner’s legs during the sixth game of the 1986 World Series, which the Mets went on to win. The chronic version is coming to the realization that you are stuck for eternity in a perpetual groundhog day of Bill Buckner moments. Think Curse of the Bambino.

The photo here, from the San Diego Union Tribune, best illustrates “fan blues.” If you do not follow football, allow me to explain: Last Sunday, the local Chargers were heavily favored to defeat the New York Jets in a playoff game. As anyone living in Southern CA could tell you, this was the Chargers’ year. No question about it.

I’m a transplanted New Englander and therefore not a true Chargers fan, but having lived here for three years I got caught up in the moment. Of course the Chargers would win the Super Bowl, I figured. How could they not? Especially with my Patriots out of the playoffs. Okay, maybe the Colts would knock them out of contention and maybe the Packers or the Saints would teach them a lesson.

But the Jets? The pathetic New York Effin’ Jets? Ha! No way!

I will make this brief: The Chargers’ field goal kicker, Nate Kaeding, missed three field goals (three fuckin’ field goals!!!) two from very close range. In one of the attempts, the camera covering the ball’s flight path actually swung over to a different section of the stands where the ball presumably landed. The goal posts were nowhere in the frame.

That summed up the whole day.

According to figures that I am making up as I am going along, there were more reported cases of depression in San Diego the ensuing week than there were new outbreaks of swine flu worldwide. FEEMA and the Red Cross sent in teams of psychiatrists and therapists and social workers, but it was no use. They couldn’t contain the epidemic.

The Chargers have never won a championship. (Okay, back in 1963 in the old AFL, but you just know that doesn't count.) Not back in the Air Coryell/Dan Fouts glory days. Not in the Junior Seau era. Then the realization dawned. Life as a Chargers fan would always be an endless succession of missed field goals. Acute SUFFERS turned chronic, and as we know there is no cure for SUFFERS.

Just ask any Red Sox fan. Not even two World Series wins in three years can ameliorate the condition. It’s no use. Despite clear evidence to the contrary, we just know, deep in our hearts the Red Sox will always find a way to lose. Even Yankees fans feel sorry for us.

Today, four teams are squaring off against each other. Two (hopefully one of them the New York Effin’ Jets) are going to be disappointed. The other two will go to the Super Bowl, where one will be disappointed. Alert FEEMA, alert the Red Cross.

Great Moments in Sports History - Game 7 of the 1960 World Series

Any enemy of the Yankees is a friend of mine. Nothing personal, just normal blood feud stuff, you know, like the Montagues and Capulets, Bloods and Crips, Mac and PC. Last night, the Yankees and Phillies opened the World Series, which makes me a die-hard Phillies fan for the next week.

I grew up in a Red Sox household in the middle of Connecticut, almost midway between New York and Boston. This meant that every day of my life, I endured the incessant put-downs of those fortunate enough to have been born of Yankee parentage. This was the era of Mickey Mantle and Yogi Berra and Whitey Ford. I think after Ted Williams retired, Eva Gabor was the power hitter for the Red Sox.

The Yankees were perennial pennant winners all during when I grew up. This meant every fall I cheered for whoever they went up against in the World Series - the Milwaukee Braves in '57 and '58. The LA Dodgers (alas, no longer in Brooklyn) in '59 - wait, the Yankees weren't in the World Series that year ...

What you are looking at is the equivalent of my Mount Rushmore, Statue of Liberty, Washington Monument, and tribute to the guy who invented peanut butter combined. On the site of the old Forbes Field in Pittsburgh marks the spot where Bill Mazeroski's winning home run landed in the ninth inning of the seventh and deciding game of the 1960 World Series between the Pirates and Yankees.

Without doubt, until the Red Sox actually won a World Series in 2004, this was the greatest moment in all sports history in the entire existence of the universe, including galaxies far away. (Have I made my point?)

This was the Yankees tenth World Series in twelve years, the Pirates first since getting pummeled by Babe Ruth and the Yankees' infamous Murderers Row in 1927. Again, the underdog Pirates were hopelessly outgunned. After squeaking out an opening victory of 6 to 4, the Yankees unequivocally reminded the Pirates who was boss in the next two games with scores of 16 to 3 and 10 to nothing. Then the Pirates squeaked two in a row - 3 to 2 and 5 to 2 - only to be bombarded by the Yankees in the sixth game by a score of 12 to nothing.

If this were five-day cricket, the Yankees would be leading 46 to 17. Instead, the Series was improbably tied at three each. It all came down to the final game. This time, at home, the Pirates mustered the necessary firepower. Trailing 7 to 4 after seven innings, they banged out five runs in the eighth to take the lead. But the Yankees tied the score in their turn at bat in the ninth with two more runs.

I will never forget the moment. Back in those days, they played games in the afternoon, which meant kids could actually watch. I got off the school bus at my friend Kenny's house and together, as her mom looked on, we sat on the edge of our seats as the last part of the game unfolded. It was the bottom of the ninth. First batter up was second baseman Bill Mazeroski. Definitely not a power hitter. One ball, no strikes. We held our breaths. The wind up and the pitch ...

Smack! The camera swung toward the ivy brick wall in left field. The announcer went crazy. It could only mean ...

Home run! Home run! Home run! The Pirates win the Series!

Forbes Field instantly erupted into what was then the loudest spontaneous human-generated sound in recorded history. Mazeroski headed into second, whipped off his cap and swung it round and round in celebration. As his teammates mobbed him at the plate, the Yankees on the field simply stood in their positions in postures of shock and disbelief.

These were the days before instant replay. I didn't need one. My neurons lovingly recorded every frame. My mind is playing back the great moment right now. What a scene. What a memory ...