2008 Woodie Awards
"This field, this game"
Andrew Themeles
Issue date: 10/31/04 Section: Sports
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I promised myself I would leave it behind. I won't do it. I promise you I won't do it. But then again...I have to.
There I was in Yankee Stadium for a little game they numbered "7." I was getting a hotdog and Millar hit a solo shot and I was turning to my left and to my right and laughing devilishly to myself as I gazed upon hundreds of Yankee's fans in line for food and beer they were not able to stomach. I thought it was over when everyone else thought it was over. I was making plans to watch the series at the Playoff Palace (a.k.a. South 204, a.k.a. The House of Howlett).
Then it happened. Those chickens I counted never hatched. I watched as the home-run ball went by my face and I was in utter disbelief. I was in the second tier (with tears) about fifteen rows back on the third base line. Time froze, and it was over. If I wasn't seated in front of three U.S. Marines, one of which "jokingly" choked me in the 6th, I would have cried on my girlfriend's lap.
Looking back I wish that I had made an attempt to block the ball from going out by sacrificing myself. It would have been a heroic act that would have ended in the umpire staff ruling it a ground rule double. I'm sure they would have erected a statue of me somewhere, or maybe every time someone did something that ridiculous for the sake of a sports team, they would just say he or she was "pulling a Thems."
The number that no Red Sox fan wants to hear right now is number five. We were five outs away from the 2003 World Series, and we had to struggle with the love-hate relationship we had with the five that graced the back of Boston's former franchise player. Maybe that was the case and maybe now we can look back and not cringe when hearing about the number five. I think we, Red Sox Nation, are done with being bothered by numbers and names. 1918? Bucky? Boone? Babe Ruth...Who is she anyways?!?
So there we were - down three games. We watched game four with a different feeling. There was a calmness that this campus and this Nation had never felt before. Actually, I don't think "calmness" is the word; I believe its "numbness." We were numb. We all assumed it would be the last shot, the one to finish us off. It wasn't over.
There I was in Yankee Stadium for a little game they numbered "7." I was getting a hotdog and Millar hit a solo shot and I was turning to my left and to my right and laughing devilishly to myself as I gazed upon hundreds of Yankee's fans in line for food and beer they were not able to stomach. I thought it was over when everyone else thought it was over. I was making plans to watch the series at the Playoff Palace (a.k.a. South 204, a.k.a. The House of Howlett).
Then it happened. Those chickens I counted never hatched. I watched as the home-run ball went by my face and I was in utter disbelief. I was in the second tier (with tears) about fifteen rows back on the third base line. Time froze, and it was over. If I wasn't seated in front of three U.S. Marines, one of which "jokingly" choked me in the 6th, I would have cried on my girlfriend's lap.
Looking back I wish that I had made an attempt to block the ball from going out by sacrificing myself. It would have been a heroic act that would have ended in the umpire staff ruling it a ground rule double. I'm sure they would have erected a statue of me somewhere, or maybe every time someone did something that ridiculous for the sake of a sports team, they would just say he or she was "pulling a Thems."
The number that no Red Sox fan wants to hear right now is number five. We were five outs away from the 2003 World Series, and we had to struggle with the love-hate relationship we had with the five that graced the back of Boston's former franchise player. Maybe that was the case and maybe now we can look back and not cringe when hearing about the number five. I think we, Red Sox Nation, are done with being bothered by numbers and names. 1918? Bucky? Boone? Babe Ruth...Who is she anyways?!?
So there we were - down three games. We watched game four with a different feeling. There was a calmness that this campus and this Nation had never felt before. Actually, I don't think "calmness" is the word; I believe its "numbness." We were numb. We all assumed it would be the last shot, the one to finish us off. It wasn't over.