|
|
Post by kaybli on Mar 29, 2020 17:35:57 GMT -5
Okay, I think we are all going a little crazy without baseball so I thought why not start a fun thread about everyone's favorite baseball memory. I think everyone knows what mine is but let me set the stage. It was a cold October night back in the fall of 2003. I was going through a very tough time in college at Stevens Tech in Hoboken working on my computer science major. I was scared that I was going to fail multiple classes as the courses had gotten very hard.
Anyway, baseball was definitely a respite for my mental health as the ALCS between Boston and the Yankees was going on. The intensity level of the series had been ratcheted up to about an 11 after the Pedro Martinez/Don Zimmer incident. After Game 6 which we lost to Boston, my friend and I decided to try get tickets to Game 7. This was before StubHub and all the online sellers made it easy. We found tickets in the upper tier for $250 each, a lot of money for two college kids, but we decided to buy them anyway. Boy, were we glad we did.
The game started off lousy. In the second inning Trot Nixon hit a two run HR and Johnny Damon scored on an error bringing Boston out to a 3-0 lead. Then Roger Clemens proceeded to give up another HR and then put runners on the corners with no out in the fourth. We were downtrodden for sure. Somehow though Mussina got out of the jam in the inning with a strikeout and a double play. He was one of the unsung heroes of the game.
Another unsung hero was Jason Giambi who had been dropped to seventh amid his struggles. But both his solo HRs kept us in the game. Unfortunately after his second HR in the seventh, Ortiz responded with his own HR in the eight putting Boston ahead 5-2. Then started the bottom of the 8th. Nick Johnson battled but Pedro got him to pop up to short. There were only 5 outs left with a three run deficit. What proceeded next has become my favorite sequence ever.
I still remember the plays vividly. From our seats we saw Jeter hit a flyball that a better fielder could have caught but Trot Nixon let fly over his head for a double. Then Bernie hit a single to CF scoring Jeter. For some inexplicable reason Grady Little didn't pull Pedro who everyone knew would weaken after 100 pitches. Next up, Matsui scotched one down the right field line for a ground rule double. Still Pedro remained in the game. Then Posada blooped one. I will never forget how three Red Sox fielders all went for the ball as it dropped into centerfield. Posada saw no one was covering second and took the base turning towards the crowd and pumping his arms. I've never heard the stadium louder than that as we tied the game. I remember hugging my friend and jumping up and down while yelling "We tied that shit! We tied that shit!"
The next three inning were ones of high anxiety as Mariano did his thing and didn't give up any runs. Everyone wondered how long he could go with the tireless Tim Wakfield pitching for the other side. Rumor is Contreras was due out of the pen to start the 12th and had nothing in his bullpen warmup. It wouldn't matter. All of a sudden, out of nowhere to start the 11th we hear a loud crack of the bat as Aaron Boone belted a knuckleball into the left field seats. Pandemonium ensued. Beer flew everywhere. We were hugging strangers in the crowd. The Yankees had done the impossible and came back to advance to the World Series. The Curse lived on for another year at least.
More than any moment, Game 7 of the 2003 ALCS cemented my crazy fandom for this baseball team. Though I loved the dynasty years from 1996-2001, I think I took that team for granted. After 2003 I really got into all the advanced stats and all. Unfortunately, my friend and I also went to Game 7 of the 2004 ALCS which ended in heartbreak. But the next year 2005, fate decided to have Cashman sign Tony Womack, and I needed a place to complain about the miserable signing. So lo and behold, after getting kicked out of the YESnetwork forums for making fun of Womack too much, I signed up on Pinstriple Plus to continue venting my frustrations on Blomack. 15 years and so many memories later we have our own forum here to talk Yankee baseball! May it come back quick before all of us go crazy! 
Feel free to share your own favorite baseball memory. It doesn't have to be as long as mine. You can just state your favorite moment without explaining it. I think I got a little carried away by the moment.
|
|
|
|
Post by noetsi on Mar 30, 2020 12:54:24 GMT -5
I think the home runs in games 5 and 6 of the 2001 WS or the final late inning comeback against KC in 78 (I think) would probably be it.
|
|
|
|
Post by kaybli on Mar 30, 2020 14:24:46 GMT -5
I think the home runs in games 5 and 6 of the 2001 WS or the final late inning comeback against KC in 78 (I think) would probably be it. Those are good ones for sure! I remember watching games 5 and 6 of the 2001 WS in the freshman dorms at college. The whole floor was going crazy when they happened. |
|
|
|
Post by inger on Mar 30, 2020 14:36:20 GMT -5
I recall seeing Mantle’s 500th HR, and his 18th WS HR. Aaron’s 715th.
Brock’s and then Henderson’s record-settling stolen bases. Baseball has always provided amazing thrills that have been cheapened by the “accomplishments” of McGuire, Sosa, Bonds and their PED-using brethren.
I also will always cherish many of the personal “moments” I’ve had both with a bat and with defensive plays, including the catches and the throws.
To have a favorite is almost impossible on either front. So much joy. So many bid pitches, great running plays, perfectly placed bunts. So many singles at crucial points in games. Fantastic catches, key errors that turned games. Yes, mistakes are often the lynchpin of comebacks.
Chambliss’ HR. Pine tar play. Manager rants vs. umpires. About 60 years of memories. How do I choose? Why choose? Take them all. Take my hours of pouring over statistics, too. That still brings me great pleasure. The arguments over “modern vs. traditional statistics”. Bill James. The old days of the “Sporting News” when they would give so much information that you couldn’t get anywhere else. I used to subscribe, and was so happy to see it on the mailbox. Those Springtime baseball magazines, like Streets and Smith. As imperfect as they were, having been printed before many off-season trades, they served as a harbinger of spring, baseball’s robins.
Reading of the years of Yankee dominance that occurred both before my birth and continuing during my own youth and fandom. The tales of Ruth and Gehrig. Of Cobb and “The Big Train” Walter Johnson, and Christy Mathewson.
Baseball. Baseball is my favorite “moment” all wrapped into one. The only times I’ve felt let down was during the strikes. I still wish everyone could have come to their senses and realized that the game was more important than themselves. And now I think we’re getting to see that. To see that it’s a game, not life itself...If everything else could resume except for sports, we’d be fine, really...
|
|
|
|
Post by desousa on Mar 30, 2020 14:49:05 GMT -5
My favorite non-Yankee baseball memory was seeing Stan Musial hit in a spring training game in 1962. Can remember it like it was yesterday.
|
|
|
|
Post by inger on Mar 30, 2020 15:08:38 GMT -5
My favorite non-Yankee baseball memory was seeing Stan Musial hit in a spring training game in 1962. Can remember it like it was yesterday. I would have loved to see Musial play. Very nice one, desousa... |
|
|
|
Post by kaybli on Mar 30, 2020 15:38:58 GMT -5
My favorite non-Yankee baseball memory was seeing Stan Musial hit in a spring training game in 1962. Can remember it like it was yesterday. Stan the Man! |
|
|
|
Post by kaybli on Mar 30, 2020 15:40:00 GMT -5
I recall seeing Mantle’s 500th HR, and his 18th WS HR. Aaron’s 715th. Brock’s and then Henderson’s record-settling stolen bases. Baseball has always provided amazing thrills that have been cheapened by the “accomplishments” of McGuire, Sosa, Bonds and their PED-using brethren. I also will always cherish many of the personal “moments” I’ve had both with a bat and with defensive plays, including the catches and the throws. To have a favorite is almost impossible on either front. So much joy. So many bid pitches, great running plays, perfectly placed bunts. So many singles at crucial points in games. Fantastic catches, key errors that turned games. Yes, mistakes are often the lynchpin of comebacks. Chambliss’ HR. Pine tar play. Manager rants vs. umpires. About 60 years of memories. How do I choose? Why choose? Take them all. Take my hours of pouring over statistics, too. That still brings me great pleasure. The arguments over “modern vs. traditional statistics”. Bill James. The old days of the “Sporting News” when they would give so much information that you couldn’t get anywhere else. I used to subscribe, and was so happy to see it on the mailbox. Those Springtime baseball magazines, like Streets and Smith. As imperfect as they were, having been printed before many off-season trades, they served as a harbinger of spring, baseball’s robins. Reading of the years of Yankee dominance that occurred both before my birth and continuing during my own youth and fandom. The tales of Ruth and Gehrig. Of Cobb and “The Big Train” Walter Johnson, and Christy Mathewson. Baseball. Baseball is my favorite “moment” all wrapped into one. The only times I’ve felt let down was during the strikes. I still wish everyone could have come to their senses and realized that the game was more important than themselves. And now I think we’re getting to see that. To see that it’s a game, not life itself...If everything else could resume except for sports, we’d be fine, really... You gotta choose one moment as your favorite inger!  |
|
|
|
Post by sierchio on Mar 30, 2020 18:20:14 GMT -5
My favorite baseball memory was my Grandpa taking me to my first practice when I was a kid and absolutely falling in love w/ playing the game. Also, my Grandpa taking me to some baseball convention in NYC and spending the day with him  And every time a baseball would get fouled straight back, my Grandpa shouting "home run" on contact LOL |
|
|
|
Post by inger on Mar 30, 2020 19:03:14 GMT -5
I recall seeing Mantle’s 500th HR, and his 18th WS HR. Aaron’s 715th. Brock’s and then Henderson’s record-settling stolen bases. Baseball has always provided amazing thrills that have been cheapened by the “accomplishments” of McGuire, Sosa, Bonds and their PED-using brethren. I also will always cherish many of the personal “moments” I’ve had both with a bat and with defensive plays, including the catches and the throws. To have a favorite is almost impossible on either front. So much joy. So many bid pitches, great running plays, perfectly placed bunts. So many singles at crucial points in games. Fantastic catches, key errors that turned games. Yes, mistakes are often the lynchpin of comebacks. Chambliss’ HR. Pine tar play. Manager rants vs. umpires. About 60 years of memories. How do I choose? Why choose? Take them all. Take my hours of pouring over statistics, too. That still brings me great pleasure. The arguments over “modern vs. traditional statistics”. Bill James. The old days of the “Sporting News” when they would give so much information that you couldn’t get anywhere else. I used to subscribe, and was so happy to see it on the mailbox. Those Springtime baseball magazines, like Streets and Smith. As imperfect as they were, having been printed before many off-season trades, they served as a harbinger of spring, baseball’s robins. Reading of the years of Yankee dominance that occurred both before my birth and continuing during my own youth and fandom. The tales of Ruth and Gehrig. Of Cobb and “The Big Train” Walter Johnson, and Christy Mathewson. Baseball. Baseball is my favorite “moment” all wrapped into one. The only times I’ve felt let down was during the strikes. I still wish everyone could have come to their senses and realized that the game was more important than themselves. And now I think we’re getting to see that. To see that it’s a game, not life itself...If everything else could resume except for sports, we’d be fine, really... You gotta choose one moment as your favorite inger! If you’re going to put a gun to my head, then I would have say that I enjoy participatory memories over none participatory memories. I’d have to say it was a play I made that my teammates and the opponent that hit the ball were calling “the catch” I made. I was already known as a good fielder with a strong arm when “Bill” hit the ball that day, I was in left field that particular day and I knew Bill to be a pretty strong guy, so was back a couple of steps. The second he made contact I knew Bill had hit the longest shot I had ever seen come of his bat. There was no fence, so if it got over my head, both runners and Bill would all score. The ball was hit directly at me, and I turned and ran as hard as I could, and as straight on the path the ball was hit on. I took one look back to assure I was running on the same path as the ball and to time where I figured I needed to be. I heard the ball sizzling as it went over my head, Never looking. Never slowing down a bit, I thrusted my glove in the air at what I judged to be the right time. I never felt the ball hit in my glove. In fact, I continued to run until I realized that the ball never got past me. It was safely in my glove for the third out. After that play I could often hear the opponents (often it was Bill) say, don’t hit the ball to Ingerson. He catches everything out there. That’s a pretty good feeling to hear that. And it makes the memory more than just a single moment in a way. Bill was killed in his early twenties. He got a nice-paying job as an electric lineman. He touched a 20,000 volt line one day and died instantly. We were on and off friends, sometimes enemies and even co-workers for a while. He lived life full out and took it full on. To here him as one that was cheering for me when playing with me and against me when playing against carried so much more sincerity than to here them from someone who was fully vested as a friend. So there. You made me pick one. I think you can tell it was and remains a moment that was about more than baseball. That was just some hi school guys playing a game, but 50 years later, it’s still way more than a catch. There was a lot of life tied in with it, and that is more of what makes it such a special moment. It ties my favorite sport in with life, and memorializes my opponent at the same time. I have a similar moment with golf, but not right now... |
|
|
|
Post by rizzuto on Mar 31, 2020 6:35:38 GMT -5
Just after turning eleven years old, my sister and I took our first plane ride from Houston to North Dakota, where my brother was stationed in the US Air Force. As bad luck would have it, the day after we arrived, my brother was placed on alert and was sequestered on base for a week.
With my brother gone, there wasn’t much to do (I was the only boy in the house with my sister, sister-in-law, and niece), so I walked to a baseball park nearby where these kids were playing ball. They had enough for two teams but one of the team’s pitchers didn’t show. A few of them walked over to me and asked if I could pitch, and I wanted to play so I said yes. In reality, I had never played organized baseball before and had never thrown off of a mound. I pitched two shutouts that day and had like six hits. They asked if I could show up again tomorrow, and I threw another shutout and had multiple hits.
By this time, word had gotten to their coach about this new kid. At some point he drove up and watched me pitch and play. All the kids were lobbying for me to join their team. The coach asked my name and my age. When I told him I was eleven, his eyes widened. “Eleven! When do you turn twelve?” I explained that I had just celebrated my birthday the week before. “What! All of these kids out here are thirteen or about to turn thirteen!” Unfortunately, it turned out that all league teams had already been drafted and established, and I had to return to Louisiana anyway after a couple weeks. I kept playing practice games with them until my brother drove us back home after the base’s alert finally ended.
I always enjoyed hitting a baseball, but I fell in love with pitching that summer. On the ride back home, we camped in the Black Hills and saw Mount Rushmore, but the clearest memory was my brother driving us off the airbase in his VW van and passing the baseball field, where all those kids were in uniform about to play a league game.
|
|
|
|
Post by kaybli on Mar 31, 2020 8:02:09 GMT -5
You gotta choose one moment as your favorite inger! If you’re going to put a gun to my head, then I would have say that I enjoy participatory memories over none participatory memories. I’d have to say it was a play I made that my teammates and the opponent that hit the ball were calling “the catch” I made. I was already known as a good fielder with a strong arm when “Bill” hit the ball that day, I was in left field that particular day and I knew Bill to be a pretty strong guy, so was back a couple of steps. The second he made contact I knew Bill had hit the longest shot I had ever seen come of his bat. There was no fence, so if it got over my head, both runners and Bill would all score. The ball was hit directly at me, and I turned and ran as hard as I could, and as straight on the path the ball was hit on. I took one look back to assure I was running on the same path as the ball and to time where I figured I needed to be. I heard the ball sizzling as it went over my head, Never looking. Never slowing down a bit, I thrusted my glove in the air at what I judged to be the right time. I never felt the ball hit in my glove. In fact, I continued to run until I realized that the ball never got past me. It was safely in my glove for the third out. After that play I could often hear the opponents (often it was Bill) say, don’t hit the ball to Ingerson. He catches everything out there. That’s a pretty good feeling to hear that. And it makes the memory more than just a single moment in a way. Bill was killed in his early twenties. He got a nice-paying job as an electric lineman. He touched a 20,000 volt line one day and died instantly. We were on and off friends, sometimes enemies and even co-workers for a while. He lived life full out and took it full on. To here him as one that was cheering for me when playing with me and against me when playing against carried so much more sincerity than to here them from someone who was fully vested as a friend. So there. You made me pick one. I think you can tell it was and remains a moment that was about more than baseball. That was just some hi school guys playing a game, but 50 years later, it’s still way more than a catch. There was a lot of life tied in with it, and that is more of what makes it such a special moment. It ties my favorite sport in with life, and memorializes my opponent at the same time. I have a similar moment with golf, but not right now... Pretty cool memory inger! Don't hit the ball to Ingerson! He catches everything out there! |
|
|
|
Post by kaybli on Mar 31, 2020 8:03:56 GMT -5
Just after turning eleven years old, my sister and I took our first plane ride from Houston to North Dakota, where my brother was stationed in the US Air Force. As bad luck would have it, the day after we arrived, my brother was placed on alert and was sequestered on base for a week. With my brother gone, there wasn’t much to do (I was the only boy in the house with my sister, sister-in-law, and niece), so I walked to a baseball park nearby where these kids were playing ball. They had enough for two teams but one of the team’s pitchers didn’t show. A few of them walked over to me and asked if I could pitch, and I wanted to play so I said yes. In reality, I had never played organized baseball before and had never thrown off of a mound. I pitched two shutouts that day and had like six hits. They asked if I could show up again tomorrow, and I threw another shutout and had multiple hits. By this time, word had gotten to their coach about this new kid. At some point he drove up and watched me pitch and play. All the kids were lobbying for me to join their team. The coach asked my name and my age. When I told him I was eleven, his eyes widened. “Eleven! When do you turn twelve?” I explained that I had just celebrated my birthday the week before. “What! All of these kids out here are thirteen or about to turn thirteen!” Unfortunately, it turned out that all league teams had already been drafted and established, and I had to return to Louisiana anyway after a couple weeks. I kept playing practice games with them until my brother drove us back home after the base’s alert finally ended. I always enjoyed hitting a baseball, but I fell in love with pitching that summer. On the ride back home, we camped in the Black Hills and saw Mount Rushmore, but the clearest memory was my brother driving us off the airbase in his VW van and passing the baseball field, where all those kids were in uniform about to play a league game. Great moment, Rizzuto! So you were an unstoppable pitcher? What was your pitching repertoire? Fastball, changeup? |
|
|
|
Post by kaybli on Mar 31, 2020 8:05:11 GMT -5
My favorite baseball memory was my Grandpa taking me to my first practice when I was a kid and absolutely falling in love w/ playing the game. Also, my Grandpa taking me to some baseball convention in NYC and spending the day with him And every time a baseball would get fouled straight back, my Grandpa shouting "home run" on contact LOL Wonderful memories of your grandpa, sierch! |
|
|
|
Post by inger on Mar 31, 2020 10:56:02 GMT -5
Just after turning eleven years old, my sister and I took our first plane ride from Houston to North Dakota, where my brother was stationed in the US Air Force. As bad luck would have it, the day after we arrived, my brother was placed on alert and was sequestered on base for a week. With my brother gone, there wasn’t much to do (I was the only boy in the house with my sister, sister-in-law, and niece), so I walked to a baseball park nearby where these kids were playing ball. They had enough for two teams but one of the team’s pitchers didn’t show. A few of them walked over to me and asked if I could pitch, and I wanted to play so I said yes. In reality, I had never played organized baseball before and had never thrown off of a mound. I pitched two shutouts that day and had like six hits. They asked if I could show up again tomorrow, and I threw another shutout and had multiple hits. By this time, word had gotten to their coach about this new kid. At some point he drove up and watched me pitch and play. All the kids were lobbying for me to join their team. The coach asked my name and my age. When I told him I was eleven, his eyes widened. “Eleven! When do you turn twelve?” I explained that I had just celebrated my birthday the week before. “What! All of these kids out here are thirteen or about to turn thirteen!” Unfortunately, it turned out that all league teams had already been drafted and established, and I had to return to Louisiana anyway after a couple weeks. I kept playing practice games with them until my brother drove us back home after the base’s alert finally ended. I always enjoyed hitting a baseball, but I fell in love with pitching that summer. On the ride back home, we camped in the Black Hills and saw Mount Rushmore, but the clearest memory was my brother driving us off the airbase in his VW van and passing the baseball field, where all those kids were in uniform about to play a league game. Great moment, Rizzuto! So you were an unstoppable pitcher? What was your pitching repertoire? Fastball, changeup? [br Neat story, Rizz. When I was ten I went to my sister’s house in Connecticut for a month. I was bored out of my skull. I never went anywhere or did much of anything there. Trapped in the house with my mother and my sister while here husband was out to sea. I was beginning to get pretty good at baseball, having now been playing since the year before and was growing, getting stronger like a young lad should. When I got home to MD I lied and told my friends terrific tales of how much baseball I had played and how good was beginning to play. When we got together to play it turned out to be true. All it took was for me to get a couple of hits and make a few plays and I started hearing things like, “You really improved in Connecticut, Leon”. “Watch out, he hits a lot better since he got back from Connecticut “. I think all I needed at that point was a little confidence, and it didn’t hurt to give the other kids a reason to back up a step when I came up. Just the year before they were creeping in a couple-three steps when I came to bat. I’m glad you got to play when you went away. You really DID gain confidence through experience...whereas, I gained a psychological advantage that helped me improve... |
|
