was definitely the 2001 World Series. The games were on late here on the East coast. My oldest son and I would stay up late and watch the games. There were so many ups and downs with Kim allowing the Yankees to put a few very important pitches out of the park. My son and I were sitting on the couch watching game 7. I think I was sweating bullets as Gonzo comes to bat. When he hit the ball I picked up my son and jumped around the room with him screaming. It was the most awesome thing I have experienced in my love of baseball and sports. My wife didn’t agree because I woke her up but she was happy for me and the Diamondbacks. I think that game and series will be a hard one to top.

mid-afternoon, my buddy calls me up and says he has an extra ticket to the game. we go, sit in the nose bleeds on the 3rd base side and, of course, go absolutely nuts when luis gonzalez serves a bloop over jeter’s head; jumping up and down, hugging strangers, orgasms, the whole bit.

we walk out of the stadium and plan to observe everyone celebrating, until telemundo sets their camera up directly behind us for their post-game report. hoards of drunk and deliriously happy people run over to wag their “number 1’s” in the camera and shout, while we attempt to escape. in the chaos, i accidentally trip over some guy’s kid, then start looking around for someone to apologize to. everyone is screaming and shouting and celebrating, so when i finally eye the man to whom said child belongs and begin to mouth ‘i’m sorry’ whap! he punches me in the face! i was knocked down and almost trampled by the mob. i stand up hungry for a scuffle, but lost sight of my attacker. my friend, ricky, is able to convince me it doesn’t matter because “we” had just won the “world fucking series!” so we go back to our passive participation in the post-game ado. we take up residence on the fence to watch police try to keep everyone from rushing into sliders without having their id’s checked and the wind blows pepper spray in our faces, so we split, choking and crying but still as happy as can be.

we walk to the car, which we had parked in the lot at the arizona youth theatre (a bit of a walk, but he was teching a show there and so it was free), where we find that his car won’t start. we sit around waiting for AAA, and spot a prostitute giving some guy a beej in a darker part of the lot.

best night ever.

I was the only Diamondback fan in a hundred mile radius I’m sure. I was also 12. I wore that fitted cap that was 2 sizes too large to school earlier that day, withstood the barrage of bandwagon Yankees fans giving me some major grief for the previous night’s blown save. I took it, there was no way anyone was going to hold me down. The team I’d been a fan of since it got its hands on Randy Johnson was finally in a meaningful position. Game 7 was a must win, if it was a loss then I’d already decided I wouldn’t be going to school the next day.

I curled up in my bed with some popcorn later that night prepared for the long haul I knew would be coming. I turned on my TV and after a few innings of watching the house fell dark and silent except for the glow from my TV. I sat there glued to the TV for hours watching refusing to blink. The image that is burnt into my mind is the sight of the 6’ 10” frame of Randy Johnson jogging in from the outfield in the 8th inning. The only other thing that I remember like I had seen it in person was the flare into left field by Luis. I spent the next hour jumping up and down as quiet as I could be (not to wake up the family). I remember jumping on the bed and throwing pillows like I had won the World Series. Needless to say I went to school the next wearing that same oversized hat and a smile as big as my face. My team won, the team I had supported for years not the team that everyone decided to support that week. The Diamondbacks were no longer a “they” to me, the Diamondbacks became a “we”. I’ve become a lifelong fan of the game ever since.

Here’s a link to another place that is selling the DVD set for a little cheaper (not sure of shipping/handling costs).

http://www.baseballdirect.com/world2.html#1765

Born and raised here in Arizona in the late 50’s, 60’s and 70’s my sister seriously couldn’t have cared less about baseball and the little D’Backs team that took root here in AZ until we were given a set of free tickets and attended one game in 2000. Then in 2001 in about June or so we decided to go to another game and became hooked on Gonzo, Fins and all the rest of the team. By the time the playoffs rolled around, we decided to attend each and every home game (and did). Game 7 we sat 20 rows straight up from 1st base to home plate and then up in Section 320 or so. We had bought extra tickets for game 7 thinking that a family member might also want to go, but no one wanted them (wacky family), so I gave them to my boss and she took her 8 year old son with her to the game. Her husband had just passed away on July 6 of a sudden heart attack at 52, so I thought it would be a nice experience for her and her son to hopefuly have an unforgettable night together, win or lose. My sister and I sweated out that game to the very last second when Gonzo hit that bloop single and leaped and jumped sideways down towards 1st base until Jay Bell crossed home plate. I have to say that it was the single most exciting moment of my life before or since! I have never hugged so many total strangers in my life! I screamed and yelled so much there at the end of the game that I lost my voice for the first time ever and somehow feel that my voice has never been quite the same since. We milled around outside the ball park with all the other revelers until exhaustion finally hit from the whole experience and we decided to head home. The honking horns were everywhere, but unfortunately when I went to honk my own car horn as we headed north on 7th Street, I discovered I had no horn as it had blown a fuse. Damn!!! Therefore, I rolled down my window and yelled woo woo for what seemed like miles!! That night was the best. I even bought one of those beer openers from the team store where Schulte proclaims:

Gonzo digs in at the plate
Base hit!
Diamondbacks win!
They’re the World Champions!
Folks, it doesn’t get any better than that!
Honk your horns, stomp your feet, celebrate in Arizona!
The Diamondbacks have won the World Series!

wash your car or something? We’ve got enough long-winded smoke blowing around here without me contributing.

I only have two semi-interesting observations about 2001. The first was that in the house I grew up there were 4 TV’s: one in the living room, one in my bedroom, one in my bro’s, and one in my parents. Each of us was watching the game, unknown to the others, in a separate room, and when Gonzalez hit the single I could hear four different screams from different parts of the house. The second involves a dumbass chemistry teacher who had grown up a Reds fan saying that we were all bandwagon fans (which to an extent we all were) and that we shouldn’t even be watching. I hated that guy.

2001 was great, but I think 2005 was little better when the White Sox won. I had just moved to Scottsdale with my then girlfriend from Flagstaff and we went to Chicago Hamburger Co. for some sliders. I noticed a sign that proclaimed if either the Cubs or the White Sox won the world series the owner would give out free sliders. This was about mid-season, and the White Sox were doing really well. Since the Diamondbacks weren’t doing quite as well, I figured that if I had to root for a team to win it all, it should be the White Sox ‘cos I wanted my sliders, dammit. Imagine my surprise when they did win the whole damn thing, converting me over to following them, all over little burgers.

I have a feeling I’m not going to win this one.

My then wife knew how excited I was about the d’backs and the World Series (my first).
She decided to try and get ticketsf or game 6 ( as games 1 and 2 we werent around for). Being disabled, this wasnt the normal situation of fighting over normal tickets through ticketmaster etc but she had to call and leave a message.So anyway, she left a message and the D’backs called her back to inform her that game 6 was completely sold out, but they did have some game 7 (good seats) still available in the disabled section.
My wife, of course being of good American blood and as such knowing how important baseball is here, told them that no, we wouldnt want game 7 tickets as we only wanted to see game 6 (her thinking being I believe that we’d lose the cash if it didnt go to game 7.. Im guessing).
anyway, my wife called me to tell me they didnt have game 6 tickets straight after, but neglected to mention the game 7 offer until that night when we were home.
After my jaw dropped to the floor ( you can enter your own reaction here), I tried that night and the morning after to get the tickets, but of course they had gone.
So, I think of 2001 as my one chance in life to see my home team live, in game 7 of the World Series, win in the bottom of the 9th inning. Instead I was at home, watching the game I should have seen live and cursing under my breathe :D
Some may wonder if this is related to her being an ex now, but my lips are sealed.

But it was the whole series that was one of the most, if not the most crucial thing in turning me into a baseball fan.

I had watched a couple of innings of baseball on Channel 5 here in the UK once or twice as it was on late on Sunday nights when little else was on but being a big cricket fan I always saw it as ‘glorified rounders’ and never gave it much time as a sport.

But in an unlikely scenario it was GCSE English coursework that drove me head first into the world of baseball as my fellow ‘late shift’ friend on MSN told me to turn on Channel 5 and watch the ‘World Series’ I remember sitting there thinking…Bah! World Series?! but both the teams are from America!

Sceptisism aside I figured it would be a welcome distraction from my real task at hand and gave it a go. From the minute I saw the size of the stadium all full of Arizona fans, and more importantly knew that they were playing the Yankees who due to their success in the UK ‘Townie’ Fashion scene had become a hate figure for all of us who chose NOT be a loud obnoxious trouble making SOB as most who wore a Yankees cap seemed to be (I guess some things are the same both sides of the pond eh ;) ) So with that in mind I decided to throw my weight behind the team in purple and hoped they would hit some homes runs and win the games….however many they needed to win.

It’s amazing as I look back at it now because I had no real idea of the difference between good pitching and bad pitching, the role of defence, what a stolen base was or even how many players were on each team, I could just tell by the excitement of the crowd when someone did something good or bad.

As the series wore on though I began to learn some of the rules and gain a slow appreciation for the two Arizona pitchers by the names of Johnson and Schilling, whilst despairing at someone called Kim who had lost the purple guys the games right at the death in New York.

In truth I missed all of game 6 assuming that New York would probably finish off the Diamondbacks. I was probably playing my N64 battling through Goldeneye but I made special effort to stay up for game 7 as my friend had told me that it would be the decider. Sadly for myself the game looked a bit of a damp squib of a game with nothing spectacular happening at the plate but I managed to stay up just long enough to see Gonzo hit that winning bloop and spark pandemonium.

As I said the series itself means very little to me in terms of baseball action, but to me I’ll always remember it as the very thing that got me INTO the game of baseball in the first place. I think it’s alot like the first time you do alot of things, awkward a bit confusing and you jump to conclusions far too quickly but something about those games sparked something in my sports brain and its something that hasn’t left me since.

The fake reason I gave the tickets to my wife and her sister was because I had attended several Series games over the years (I had), and being an incredibly nice guy, wanted to spread the wealth. (You can see right through that, huh?)

The real reason I didnt go to Game 7 was more sobering. While I wanted my wife to experience it, we decided that, and this probably sounds stupid now, but given the times, we decided that she and I wouldnt attend games togther. We thought if something, err…. explosive happened, it would be better that our son grow up in a single parent home than with none.

So, after she took off for the stadium, I stood on the roof of our house and took home video of the famously quiet B1 stealth biding time over our neighborhood. It was so close, I could hear it hum past our street, before banking into a wide turn and sweeping downtown for the fly by BOB.

So, I watched on TV, with my seven year old, and when Soriano hit the home run, the boy whimpered and crawled in my lap. I had no illusions about Rivera and was gently preparing him for defeat. He didnt understand when Randy came in, so I explained that you go out swinging in Game 7. Especially then, when pride and hope trump daily custom.

That seemed to soothe him and when Grace served his single, the resilient and foolish youth predicted a Diamondback victory. I am a seasoned baseball observer and had no illusions about Rivera. We watched Delucci and Bell and Derek Jeter’s groin. I had no illusions about Tony Womack either, as he fidgeted to the plate. I’m still working through whether that was a great at bat, or just a dream. (Whoever wins the DVD, and it wont be me, because I’m writing this just for fun, should linger on that battle, between Arizona’s whipping boy and the greatest relief pitcher who ever lived. It is extraordinary theatre).

When Womack’s improbable (impossible?) liner touched down, there was no need to wait for Midre Cummings. I shouted four words, eleven times, for a total of forty four:

He blew the save!
He blew the save!
He blew the save!
He blew the save!
He blew the save!
He blew the save!
He blew the save!
He blew the save!
He blew the save!
He blew the save!
He blew the save!

My son’s IQ had risen 40 pts in the space of one at bat! We rose again, moments later, of course, like everyone else. I broke the latch on the screen door as we burst through it, dancing and laughing on the darkened driveway, touching – and teaching – each other. Foolish and young.

I watched ever minute, occasionally jumping to my feet cheering wildly to the disgust of my cats.

Okay, my actual World Series story isn’t all that interesting, and I doubt I’m going to win anyway. But, this morning, I had something happen to me, so I figured I’d at least put it out there.

So, I’m out waiting for the bus this morning to go to work. It was a pretty nice day, but early- there were only two other people waiting there for the bus. I am lucky enough to work at a place that doesn’t really care about dress code, so long as we’re not wearing anything obscene, so I’ve been rocking my 2001 World Series Champions hat most days- means I can take a shower the night before, sleep longer, and just cover up my messy hair. Everyone wins.

Most days, the bus stop is a pretty quiet place- small town, not a busy route, and who’s all that talkative at 6:30 in the morning? This morning, I was listening to my MP3 player, oblivious to the outside world, when one of the other people waiting tries to get my attention. I’m curious, so I pull off the headphones, and he points at my hat. “Are you a Diamondbacks fan?”

I’ve met a couple of D-backs fans up here, largely due to my hat, so I nodded, and said, “Yeah, are you? They’re pretty good this year, you think they might win another World Series? Doubt we’ll get to beat the Yankees again, though, as fun as that was.” Instead of an answer, I just got a “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” paired with a death glare.

Now, let me describe this guy to you. A few inches over six feet, dressed kind of frat boy, hat on backwards, but he was a big guy- I didn’t notice his shirt said “USU Wrestling” until I was under the full force of the glare. For myself, I’m a nerdy guy- glasses, overweight, and my fantasy football shirt really completed the image. It was, to say the least, an awkward moment. The woman who was waiting for the bus kept looking back and forth between us nervously, like we were about gunmen to quickdraw on each other and she was worried about getting caught in the crossfire.

Fortunately, the bus showed up then. I figured it was safe- whatever grudge this guy had, he wasn’t about to start a fight on the bus, right? He seemed to be thinking about it, though. Every time I glanced across the aisle to see him, I’d see the glare was still going top speed. It’s a short bus ride to work, maybe ten minutes, but with this big bruiser glaring at me, it seemed like it was going to take forever.

I was lucky, though- this guy’s stop was before mine. About halfway to work, and he signaled for the stop. As he gets up, some voice in the back of my head takes control, and I give him a grin as he stands up and a “Go D-backs!” He didn’t care for that, obviously, and I got another Death Glare- this one deserves capitalization- before he got off the bus.

I finally let out a sigh of relief- nothing like worrying a guy is going to beat you up to make you look forward to a boring day of work. One of my co-workers who had been sitting a couple of seats back, confused and a bit concerned, moved up next to me and asked “What was all that about?” I could only shrug. “I don’t know,” I replied. “Guy asked me about baseball, and then started trying to make my head explode with his mind.” I looked back out the window to watch the guy walk away, wondering just what he didn’t like the Diamondbacks so much.

And that was when I saw his hat- he wore it turned around, so I didn’t see the Yankees logo on it until he was walking away from the bus.

I had to laugh. Hassling Yankees fans, even unintentionally, always brightens my day.

but here’s really my best WS story—

I didn’t become a true Dbacks aficionado until early in the 2001 season. One of my favorite Dbacks memories involves discretely listening to game 6 of the World Series while in Phoenix watching a friend and teammate of mine in the finals of a debate tournament. While my friend was taking time to prepare for his next speech, I broke the silence to announce the Dbacks’ score to the room (I think it was 10-3 at that time). The previously still room of observers erupted in cheers and high-fives, but my friend was not particularly appreciative of me for interrupting his prep time.

At first I couldn’t really come up with a singular story. I did have the privilege of attending Game 1 with my best friend. We were only slightly nervous after the Yankees scored in the first inning, but when Counsel tied it with a homerun in the bottom of the inning, we both new that things were going to be just fine. I enjoyed every minute of every game that followed leading up to game seven. Sure there were plenty of heartbreaks. Kim managed to do it himself two times. Just blowing those saves made my mother feel sick and gave her nightmares and even made the entire Korean nation cry. Fortunately the Diamondbacks rallied in Game 6 to force a Game 7.

I was just a student living in the dorms of the University of Arizona and I was not going to be stopped from watching Game 7. To take advantage of the large tv in the dorm lobby I reserved it for the evening with the sign "Reserved: Dbacks Game 7." Around game time I was parked right in front and some of the other residents started to mill around and eventually the lobby was packed with people. Most were casual Yankee fans and didn’t know a lot about baseball but they all knew about this game. This was such a great series that no one could avoid talking about it. Unfortunately I seemed to be alone as a die hard Dbacks fan (I know!) so I think I was alone in my prayers after Soriano hit the homerun in the 8th and Randy came in out of the bullpen to clean up. The rest was magic. I jumped straight into the air after Gonzo hit that bloop and then realized there was no one to hug and celebrate with me. Sure there were others there but they just weren’t fans.

Afterwards I went back to my room to find tons of calls on my answering machine (this was before cell phones had permeated everyone’s lives). Everyone of my friends and family had watched and they all wanted to celebrate, as did I. I was so excited I couldn’t sleep. I also wanted everyone in my classes to know who the champs were so I decided to create a shirt. So I pulled out a plain white T-shirt and pulled out a Sharpee and began to write "2001 World Series Champs – Arizona Diamondbacks." It was extremely simple but it got the point across. I received a very large number of compliments the next day and I still have that shirt. To this day it remains the single most important and best "Champions" shirt I own.

The box-sets were waiting for me on our return from California.

Oh, my. :-)))))

During the 2001 World Series I had moved to Florida for a job. I only knew a few people in the area I was to work (and hopefully live) so when a friend of a friend offered me a room in his house, I gladly accepted.

As it turns out, after moving in I quickly learned that I was living with two New Yorkers who were best friends with a family of New Yorkers, and had neighbors that were New Yorkers. Typical South Florida for you.

Culture shock was an understatement, I had never really had much direct exposure to people from that part of the country and holy crap if they weren’t the most obnoxious baseball fans (and maybe people) I had ever interacted with.

My new friends supported the Yankees with the zeal of religious fanatics and viewed any dissension with the appropriate level of disgust, judgment, and anger. Turns out they hadn’t ever really been around people who didn’t love the yankees – so I was a bit of a novelty.

Anyhow the trash talking was intense, even before the WS matchup was set I got it day and night.

So, your little girl baseball team wears purple?
Is there a pool in the outfield so your players can work on their bikini tans?
How does it feel to cheer for a made up baseball team?

... and plenty I just can’t write publicly.

Sure, I was pissed – but what could I say back? My team hadn’t won a million world series, I was hugely outnumbered, and I was the new guy.

The afternoon after the matchup was set I came home to my room completely covered wall to wall with printouts of yankee player photos, yankee logos, yankee this yankee that.

The morning after the Yankees finally won a game my car – a few yankee stickers were placed on my back window. After peeling those off and driving to work, my cubicle had been similarly hit. Brutal.

The “good natured” argument wore off when, after Kim blew two saves my cubicle at work, my bedroom, my bathroom, and the back window of my car was plastered with copy after copy of Kim on the mound DEMORALIZED after blowing a game. You know the picture – I don’t need to link it for you to know EXACTLY the one I am talking about.

This was horrible. Anytime I said anything I got responses, and honestly delivered, like: “America needs New York to win this World Series, otherwise the terrorists win.”

The more I said anything in response, the more fun they had bullying my d-backs. So – I came up with a very simple plan that – if things went well – would totally infuriate my new yorker “friends”.

My mom overnighted me a bunch of dbacks world series stuff she bought. A hat, a cheapo jersey, a t-shirt, a little flag … and for game six I just left all that stuff sit in the living room we were watching the game in. I didn’t put it on, I didn’t make a stink – I just let them sit and stare at it all during the drubbing. Luckily we won, so my plan – in all its simple glory – was in full effect.

I talked a little shit – not a lot – after the win and they really started to light into me. You see Clemons was going to start the next day, Rivera had a sub 1 ERA, the Dbacks had gotten lucky and now it was the time for fate and true baseball talent to take over.

So – game time. I wear all my dbacks stuff sit down on the sofa ready for the game, and let the taunting begin. I just take it. I don’t say ONE WORD the whole first part of the game. This makes my obnoxious NY friends very uncomfortable. They finally figure it out and say “ohhh .. okay you’ll only say something if you guys win – then you will light into us huh—well you better start talking now because that isn’t gonna happen.” No response from me, I tried to be as stoic as possible – and this silence was really driving them crazy.

When we lost the lead in late innings I started to doubt my plan, but I stuck to it. Non stop all I heard about now was Mariano and how America’s team was going to win and all my silence got me was defeat. They started to get to me—I mean these guys were good at pushing my buttons. But I waited.

The moment came. Gonzo is up to bat, he hits in the winning run and the groaning and cursing and (in one situation) screaming began. I stood up.

It got quiet, with one guy saying … “sooo … come on, give it to us!”

I grabbed my beer, chugged what was left, put it down on the coffee table, and … silently, walked out of the room, upstairs to my room and closed the door. Never saying one word.

“What the %#$#!!!”

The yelling started.

My silence infuriated them more than anything I could ever have said. And they were upset for days – as I continued to refuse to talk about the series. Silently smug – knowing that by not saying anything they couldn’t talk about their “27 world series” or tell me that “we bought the world series” or that “we lucked out” .... they never even had a chance.

While the ws win is on of the greatest memories I have … that feeling of complete arrogant one-upsmanship I felt for humilating a room full of Yankees fans in a way they will never forget is priceless. I honestly can’t think of a better setting to enjoy the defeat of the evil empire than the one I was stuck with.

God I love the 2001 D-Backs and HATE HATE HATE the Yankees and their fans.

The playoff run of 2001 was the greatest event in my lifetime as a sports fan. The 5 game classic with St. Louis in the NLDS when Schilling turned in one of the most dominant performances I have ever seen with two complete games; while only allowing one run. The businesslike dismissal of an aging Braves squad in the NLCS to arrange a meeting with the 3x defending World Champion New York Yankees.

I was lucky enough to be going to Game 1 and losing wasn’t even a possibility. We had Curt Schilling going who was on his way to one of the greatest post season performances of all-time. Next thing I know, the Snakes are down one going into the bottom half of the 1st inning. Counsell hits the solo shot to RF (he always came up big when it mattered) to tie the game and Schilling mows the Yankees down as we cruise to an easy win.

Game 2 watched at home and we send the Big Unit out and he pitches an absolute gem. We are going back to New York up 2-0 and I am talking about broom sticks to any New Yorker who comes within eye shot.

Game 3 in the Big Apple, Bush throws out the first pitch and they bring in the Flag from the WTC. It was one of those few times in sports, when the game took on a little extra something for a nation and especially a city that had been through so much. After the pre-game ceremony and to see a city so hungry for a win every D-Backs fan knew this was going to be a tough one. On top of all the emotional momentum on the Yankees side, they also had Roger Clemens (DEVIL) going against Brian Anderson. I was hoping for the best and expecting the worst. Funny thing, Anderson pitched his best game I can ever remember him pitching and the defense letting him down. I can’t remember who made the errors but we took the loss. I wasn’t crushed as this game was one I thought we were going to lose. This was also the first game of the Series I watched at school with my Italian roommate from NY not a good start. On the other hand, anything was better than watching the Mets vs. Yankees Series with him.

Game 4
The reason I hate Tino Martinez to this day. Batista throws a great game (everyone only remembers Randy & Curt for good reason but the whole staff was dirty). We go into the 9th up 2 and the things blows up. Kim gives up the homer to Tino in the gap to tie the game. Jeter homers into the short porch in RF and I am screaming at Kim, the moron who decided to build a 200 ft porch in RF, Tim McCarver, the moron who held up that dumb Mr. November sign, my gloating roommate and the cameraman that keeps showing that stupid sign saying that Aura & Mystique appear nightly. This was bad you got the 3x defending champs on the ropes, SWEEP THE LEG!

The Series tied up at 2 a piece, Brenly sends Schilling to the bump on short rest. The majority of the talking heads were critical of the move. At this point, I was all for it as Schilling was some sort of combination of Bob Gibson, Sandy Koufax and Cy Young. The only other thing I remember is Rod Barajas going yard. I lost it and started yapping at my roommate that the Yankees dynasty was going down at the hands of Rod Barajas!!! The roommate was nervous, I was buzzed and the Snakes were heading home only needing one. Fast forward to the 9th and in comes Kim, again a 2-out, 2-run HR to tie the game this time by the legendary Scott Brosius. Brosius holding the bat up in the air is etched in my memory for life, along with Kim having an emotional breakdown on the mound. Can’t remember anything else after this but we lose in extra innings. It was like I had just been knocked out, 2 blown saves after we had gotten 26 outs. Calling my dad to commiserate after the loss, we were able to talk each other off the bridge after an hour.

Game 6
I didn’t see one pitch of this game. It was on a Saturday and we had a football game in Yuma. We got beat but after the game my dad said I had a ticket to Game 7 if the D-Backs pulled it off. This being the glamorous world of Junior College Athletics we had a 6 hour bus ride back to Thatcher. I had one goal to convince the head ball coach to turn on the bus radio. After some heated negotiations we reached an agreement, my roommate, our qb (only other guy from PHX) and I could ride in the coaches’ van to listen to the game. I have been known to be dramatic but no one in the history of Arizona has ever enjoyed the drive across southern Arizona more than I did that night. We hit everything like we knew it was coming (we did) and 2 hours into the trip I knew I’d be driving to Phoenix as soon as I got to campus. We pulled into Thatcher at 1:30 in the morning, and I was on my way to Phoenix at 1:37. It was Game 7 and the Yankees were going down.

Game 7
My dad and I going to watch Schilling vs. Clemens for it all; I was going on 2 hours of sleep and had never felt better. I was excited to see Danny Bautista in the lineup for Reggie Sanders. Bautista had been raking during the series and I really liked the move. For full disclosure, I had driven everyone nuts all year by comparing Danny Bautista to Bobby Clemente. Despite the fact died Clemente died 10 years before I was born and the only highlight I had ever seen is his 3,000th hit. Clemens and Schilling kept putting zeroes up on the board; this was the way baseball was suppose to be played with 2 great pitchers going toe to toe. We score first, thanks to my boy Bautista’s shot into the gap. He tries to stretch a 2B into a 3B and of course makes the 1st out of the inning at 3B.It is okay because the Yankees aren’t scoring tonight!

Of course the Yankees tie it up and eventually take the lead on Soriano’s 9 iron shot into LF. How the hell did he hit that pitch out? The thing was buried in the dirt. It got real quiet in the BOB, it was like the whole stadium had just walked in on their parents. Then in from the bullpen comes the Big Unit and the only thing missing was the white horse. The whole place went absolutely nuts and started waving those white pom-poms above their heads with an unbelievable vigor. It was 50,000 people telling the Yankees that as long as we had the Unit we weren’t dead yet.

In comes Big Bad Mo Rivera, the guy who hadn’t blown a postseason save since Caesar was in power. His cutter had the ability to turn men into stone if you listened to Tim McCarver, I try not to. My dad and I were optimistic I mean Rivera was due to blow one, right? The Yankee fans in front of us were calling us a fast food franchise and saying that the Yankees weren’t losing to no stinking expansion team. The one thing I felt really good about was Grace was leading off. If I could have chosen anybody on the roster to lead off the inning it would have been Gracie. Smart, good eye, wouldn’t over swing, and if the ball came anywhere close to him he would be willing to dive in front of it to get on base. Grace singles and we have a chance; high fives for everyone in our section. Good times, Rivera throws the ball into CF and Jeter tackles our runner to keep him from advancing. This might just happen! Bell screws up the bunt and the Yankees take down the lead runner. Runners on first & second with one out and up steps Tony Womack; this was going to be an out. It would be up to Counsell to get the tying run in but that would be okay because Counsell is clutch. Holy #^$&!!!!! Womack doubles down the line!!!!!! We just tied the game against Rivera!!!!!! And it was Tony Womack coming up big?? At this point, everyone in our section is to close for high fives. We got to hug!!!! I am hugging everyone in our section like a long lost brother and choking on white pom-poms that are being tossed, waved, or whatever. Counsell gets hit by the pitch and the bases are loaded. Gonzo steps up hits the bloop over Jeter and it is all over. WORLD CHAMPIONS!!!!! Hugging strangers, people on their cell phones calling everyone they know! Next comes the trophy and Co-MVP presentation, we just beat the Frickin’ Yankees!

Walking out the place is going nuts people screaming, shouting, hugging, cops giving high fives and honking their horns!! It was unbelievable.

The ups and downs are what made this Series so great. No one has just one story from the 2001 World Series; everyone has several because each game was so amazing and people watched each game with different people in different settings. My favorite part of the World Series was Game 7 with my dad for obvious reasons. The guy who had raised me a huge sports fan and I saw the climax of the greatest World Series with our team beating the hated Yankees.

It is funny what you remember about the games, seven years later. For some reason the Mr. November sign and Brosius raising his arms stand out. The place going nuts when Johnson coming in. How much fun it was to listen to a game on the radio with friends because you are in the middle of nowhere. My dad honking the horn like a Wildman in the parking lot.

When my dad and I talk about the Series the things we liked best was the feeling of satisfaction. We had been sports fans for all of our lives and our team had never won a Championship in any sport. Season after season would end in frustration, some filled with more pain than others. I mean what rational human invests so much of himself in something he has absolutely no control of? Are all the frustrations (trades, free agent, near misses, Bobby Chiunard, etc.) and seasons that end prematurely worth the trouble? The Diamondbacks winning it all proved to both of us that it was worth every second we spent rooting for the Snakes over the years.

Now my parents have since moved to Dallas but every time I talk to my dad the Snakes come up. I hope one of these days I get to return the favor and take him to see the Diamondbacks in the World Series. I know it is early but hope is running on high.

This got a little sappy for my taste, so I’ll end it on a positive:

Screw the Yankees

October 27, 2001 – sometime shortly after 4pm—

Earliest I can EVER remember arriving at a sporting event of any kind. We parked in the garage across the street from Bank One Ballpark (paid less than $20 for parking – that was surprising). First and only time I had my car searched and had to pop the trunk before entering the parking garage. It was surreal to see literally EVERY seat filled in Bank One Ballpark a good 30 to 45 minutes before the first pitch. To say the atmosphere was electric doesn’t do it justice. This was Game 1. And we had made it to the grandest stage against the greatest opponent – those hated New York Yankees.

Monday – October 22nd, 2001, about 15 to 30 minutes past midnight….. The line continues to wind but the glorious end is finally in sight. I’ve rounded the corner around the north facing side of Bank One Ballpark and now can visibly see the ticket windows. It has been an exhilarating night… have spent the last 4 to 5 hours in line, anxiously waiting…I’m not alone. The mood is festive. I’ve been here since the 5th inning or so of our NLCS clinching game in Atlanta – on a whim, decided to take a chance, hoping we’d get the win and World Series tickets would go on sale. The D-backs win… while the champagne is flowing in Atlanta; I’m one step closer to something I really never thought I’d have the opportunity to do. Buy tickets to see my D-backs in the World Series…for face value, to boot.

My wife and I are sitting in the Diamond Club level, right down the 3rd base line, close to Friday’s. The pre-game festivities seem to go on forever. This was the 9-11 World Series. Appropriately, patriotism ruled the day. I remember specific tributes to the armed forces. Jewell performed the national anthem. I distinctly remember the chills of seeing a huge American Flag unfurled that seemed to cover the entire outfield.

A bit of panic starts to set in as I approach the ticket window. I seriously can’t remember what my spending limits are on my credit card (and was apparently too distracted to think about calling to find out). How many tickets should I buy? Where should I try and sit? I’m not thinking clearly – it’s late…..what if they sell out right before I get to the front of the line?..... My wife isn’t thrilled at what I’m doing – she had the great unexpected fortune of spending the evening at home with small kids having to put them to bed. I’ve called and celebrated with a relative in Boise, Idaho a huge Seattle Mariner’s fan who can’t believe it – I’m in line, about to buy tickets to the World Series!!!...but how many?... I’ve got friends, co-workers, who would all want in if I called them….but what is my credit card limit…arrgh.

The Yankees take the lead in the first inning. This I remember. I also remember Craig Counsell tying it up with a shot to right field in the bottom of the first. GAME ON… This is clearly different from any other game I’ve attended…especially in laid-back Arizona… the crowd seems to be into every pitch… and people are actually paying attention to the game. The floodgates open in the 3rd and 4th innings…. high-fives all around, complete strangers and all. Gonzo…. warning track…wall….TOUCH EM ALL!. We are winning 9 to 1 and freaking going NUTS….. We are beating the tails off those damn Yankees in game 1 of the World Series. I remember heading back to the team shop in-between innings and it was PACKED….at least a 30-min line out the door… (why would anyone want to miss even a half-inning?) I quickly returned to my 3rd base line seat in paradise. Note to self – check back for souvenirs after the game. Our hero Schilling goes 7 awesome innings. The last out is a deep fly by Jorge Posada to center field that is caught near the warning track. GAME OVER! We win.

The moment has arrived….I have officially beaten the sell-out. I still don’t know the limit on my credit card. How many tickets can I buy? You can buy eight. Eight? Really? Can I use my Amex? No, Visa or MasterCard. Grrrrr. (What’s my Visa limit? – much less than Amex) Panic again sets in. But we only have sets of 2 and singles left. I’ve got 2 in the right field bleachers….. I’ve also got 2 down the 3rd base line Diamond Level… How much? $145 each. I’ll take two. That will be $290 dollars. I pass my Wells Fargo Visa under the glass.

As I walk away from the ticket office it really does seem like a dream. There are already hoards of ticket brokers on the other side of the street offering a nice profit for those willing to part….or for those smart enough to buy the maximum ticket allotment. The entrepreneur in me feels twinges of remorse….Later I find my Visa max was only $750 – but I could have also used another debit card. I could have made a pretty buck. But as I head back towards my car – parked on the far East side of BOB in an industrial parking lot…I pass a LOT of fans still standing in line.. And I realize many of them will go home unhappy…but maybe 1 or 2 more true, common-man fan, like me, gets the experience of a life-time. That rationalization helps a bit, yet at this point it’s all a blur…. I’m now the proud owner of 2 tickets to Game 1 of the 2001 World Series.

I can’t bring myself to pander something for what is admittedly an outstanding DVD set. I’ve already told my story and it ain’t all that interesting.

Ah well. Time to start putting some money away.

I have three individual moments from three World Series that cement me as a baseball fan my whole life.

1 – Before I begin, I have to coincide that I was only 6, I didn’t know any better, and the Diamondbacks didn’t exist yet. My dad was a huge Dodger fan. I expect if we ever have a reconcile moment in life, it will be similar to the Sox/Yankees Cap Moment in the new War of Worlds movie, where i’ll slap on my Black D-Backs cap and fling a ball at him with all my might.

It was a weekend I was visiting my Dad, and I was sitting on his lap, having agonized through Dave Stewart’s brilliant performance, and Dennis Eckersly coming in and shutting the ‘Boys in Blue’ down. The whole time, I chanted for ‘Gibson, Gibson, Gibson, Gibson’, literally, without end and with boundless energy. Finally, when he came up in the ninth, I was virtually speechless and stood clinching my souvenir Padres bat (they did spring training in Yuma) over my shoulder and wearing a Dodgers commemorative batting helmet, without the plastic guard and with the pins sticking me in the scalp. I stood in front of my father, who is sitting on the couch, and watched Gibson work the count full … I turned and looked at my dad and said (yelled in a high bitch scream, more accurately) ‘IT’S HOME RUN TIME!!!’ and turned to watch Gibson whack the ball, and listen to that all too familiar-to-me-now crack as the ball sailed off the bat. We spent the next off season pumping our arms in much the same way Gibson did as he approached second base …

2 – The November Series. I had just changed jobs the WEEK of September 11th and was balancing my needs between school and learning a new job (my first bartender gig) during the play off run I largely can not remember. I had to quit school to work a second job, and during game one, working at the restaurant without TV’s, I got the update from the manager that Craig Counsell, the most unlikely D-Back, had hit a lead off home run.

The most important moment of the Series came during Game 7, like everyone else. I had gotten off my shift during the 6th inning, and working at the Sports Bar restaurant, I hurried home to enjoy beers at my own leisure (yes, I was only 20, yes I could bartend, Arizona liquor laws allow that sort of thing, and yes, I had a roommate that bought my underage ass beer). Having worked all day, I hurried to shower during the 7th inning, to come back to fine the Yankees had tied the game.

At this time, in another unusual series of events in that calendar year, a dessert monsoon rolled through Yuma that knocked out power to roughly half the town. My boss at the time will always have a better story, which I will tell later … I was desperately running between my car, the house where I was attempting to get a battery powered boom box to work, and the phone, where my mother was calling me to ask if I was watching what was happening (‘Did you see Miguel come in?’ ‘No, Mom, I don’t have power’ ‘Did you see RANDY come in??’ No, MOM, I don’t have POWER!!!’

Fearful the game would be turned over to B.K., I stayed on the phone with my Mom during the ninth inning as she filled me in on every detail as it happened. I’ll spare you most the commentary, save the final at bat …

‘Gonzo is coming up to the plate … he’s got some dirt on his uniform, I think he got it dirty earlier and … HE DID IT, HE DID IT, HE DID IT!!!’ As I pestered my mother for the details of what had taken place, I realized that I could watch them at any time when the power came on and ESPN was on, and I threw the phone to the ground and ran out to the street of my neighborhood, where people were firing off whatever fireworks they had, toasting with Champagne, and lighting a bonfire in the middle of the road, haltingly attempting to form a D with wet wood …

And C – The 2004 World Series. While I have since moved past my loyalty to the team, at the time, I was good friend with Jack, and Boston Rob (not to be confused with Rob C, another good friend) who were life long Red Sox fans. They were also Marines, Jack working with Crash (Emergency Fireman) and Boston Rob was a MP. I had watched the 2003 series (I.E., The Pedro vs. Zimmer series) and was also a big fan of Curt Schilling, who had left the D-Backs for Boston During the 2003 off season. That spring, Jack and Rob were sent to Iraq for their second tours their, and before they left, Jack asked me to watch after his girlfriend, a life long friend, and Rob asked me to hold his Keychain, trusting me of all his friend in Yuma as we had watched Boone’s homerun sail in 2003, and the utter disgust I showed during that moment …

2004 was a long year, I had moved out of Yuma to Lake Havasu, then to the Valley, and I had a bad fall between the death of a friend and a recovering from being fired that Summer and living off Credit Cards, that forced me to move to Mesa to live with my folks …

I had that Tuesday night of game four off, and watched as Keith Foulke tossed the ball to first base, and fell to my knees in celebration, clutching a OIC (Officer in Command, a Captain Morgan and Sprite, Rob’s favorite drink) and the Boston Red Sox key chain in my hands.

I think we have our next entry for the “Greatest ‘Pits” section. The contest is now closed, so I’m closing the comments on the thread. Winner should be announced later today! Thanks to everyone who shared their experiences.

Wactivist and troubleon14thst were the winners, so I’ve re-opened the comments in case anyone else wants to add to it. I’ll also include a copy of my World Series story, originally posted in the results post. It begins with Game Six, which we saw at Farrelli’s Cinema Supper Club in Scottsdale: they’d suspended their usual “dinner and a movie” program, in favor of “dinner and a World Series game.” As the massacre progressed, and it became clear there would indeed be a Game Seven, a steady stream of customers made their way out to the booth to make reservations for the deciding contest. That included Chris and I.

The next night we reconvened, noting a large number of familiar faces, and settled down to enjoy the game. As I sat there, a thought struck me like a thunderbolt: it’d be a memorable moment to propose marriage. Of course, that’d only be the case if we WON; a loss would be so totally disheartening for us both. But I made a quiet vow to the baseball gods: just let us win this one, and I’ll make an honest woman of Chris. She, of course, had no inkling of this at all.

So, in the early innings, I spent the time between pitches working out what I was going to say: how life here was almost perfect, and only one thing could possibly make it any better, etc. After Bautista doubled Finley home in the sixth, I started practising my speech: however, my matrimonial prospects dwindled as the Yankees first tied the game in the seventh, then took the lead in the eighth. After Rivera fanned our guys in the bottom half of that inning, things looked bleak indeed for wedding-dress suppliers in the Phoenix area.

Of course, we know how this ends. Grace singles; Rivera can’t handle Miller’s bunt; Bell’s bunt fails, but Womack doubles down the line; Counsell takes one for the team. And then, glory of glories, Gonzalez fists one off his knuckles and it floats through the air to land on the shallow outfield grass. Crowd goes wild, strangers are hugged: everyone went through that. But I dropped to my knees, and poured my heart out, telling Chris she was my one true love and asking her to spend the rest of her life with me. It was epic, a proposal that would go down in legend, truly one for the ages.

Unfortunately, due to the frenzied delirium in Farrelli’s at that moment, Chris didn’t hear a word of it.

“Yes, it’s great, isn’t it?” she responded, having taken a brave guess at what she thought I was saying – and, understandably, confusing the hell out of me. Once we’d got past that, I repeated myself – a little louder and closer to Chris, though in my mind, it wasn’t quite as perfect in the rerun as it was the first time around. She didn’t seem to mind in the slightest, however, and in the midst of an ocean of joy, we were perhaps the two happiest people in the state of Arizona that night.