The day was raw and with each run the New York Yankees scored, Fenway Park took on the look and the feel of a dungeon of horrors. Game 3 of the 2004 American League Championship Series seemed to take forever to play.
In fact, it was 4 hours and 20 minutes of misery for Red Sox fans, the longest postseason nine-inning game in history. The Yankees won 19-8 for their third straight victory in the best-of-seven playoff series. One more Red Sox defeat and the string of years since their last World Series championship would stretch to 87.
That was the prelude to the four games that followed when the victorious Red Sox turned baseball history on its head. ESPN broadcast a retrospective of the four games Tuesday night. A colleague urged me to watch. Thanks for the suggestion, I said, but no. I was there.
I sat in the auxiliary press box under the right-field overhang for Game 3 and saw the looks of dismay on the faces of fans in neighboring sections. A fight or two broke out between Red Sox and Yankees fans, but the scuffles were nothing like the bloodletting on the field.
In the bottom of the seventh, Jason Varitek hit a two-run home run. A chant started: “Nine more runs. Nine more runs.”
The 27 combined runs scored was the most in league championship series history. Hideki Matsui had five hits, including two home runs. He drove in five runs and scored five. The pummeling was unrelenting.
Afterward, Red Sox Manager Terry Francona sat in the interview room and said the only things he could: “It was disappointing for everyone, but we’re not done. It starts looking a little daunting if you start looking at too big of a picture. We have to try to keep it simple.”
Sure, Terry. Sure. The Red Sox were one year removed from Grady Little and his ill-fated decision to keep Pedro Martinez on the mound in Game 7 of the ALCS. That night, Francona seemed to be just another version of Little. Or Jimy Williams. Or any of the other managers dating back 86 years.
Tuesday night, highlights from the four games that followed appeared on the big television screens in front of my desk. I remember another scene, before Game 4 started. A tall, lanky figure walked alone across the outfield grass. A sweatshirt hid his number but Red Sox fans recognized him.
“D-Lowe. D-Lowe.” The noise swelled and soon everyone in Fenway was standing. Derek Lowe raised his long right arm and pointed skyward, letting the fans know he heard and understood. As Francona said before Game 4, he didn’t need to drop a rock on the heads of his players to make them understand how deep their hole was.
Lowe’s gesture raises goose bumps now, but not then. You hoped he would quiet Yankees bats. You didn’t know.
“Remember, this game is built on failure, so you build on positives,” said normally quiet third baseman Bill Mueller. “You just keep trying to build.”
I remember glancing through the chain-link fence down to the players’ parking lot that day, or maybe it was before Game 5. Curt Schilling had arrived and he was using crutches. Schilling on crutches on Yawkey Way would have been part of a mind game. Schilling on crutches coming in the back door was something else.
Yet there he was, on the mound for Game 6, bloody sock and all. After the Red Sox won he was questioned about the blood and the pain. He answered, but seemed distracted. Suddenly, he burst out with a different answer.
“I am so (proud) to be part of this team,” he said. He rattled off several names in particular, ending with Mark Bellhorn, who hit a three-run home run that night.
Mark Bellhorn. He tried to act cool, like he’d been in these situations before, and he did pull it off. After 2004 he hit .216, .118, .190 and .071 with the Red Sox, Yankees, Padres, and Reds.
Yes, David (It’s not over ’til the fat man swings) Ortiz was the ALCS hero. Bellhorn, Dave Roberts and Curt Leskanic were among the roll players you can’t forget.
Game 7 was the blowout the Red Sox won. As the game started, I walked among Yankees fans at field level. Johnny Damon hit his second-inning grand slam and for the first time I saw shock and dismay on New York faces.
I was talking to a 20-year season-ticket holder named David Chestnut of Ossining, N.Y.
“This is unimaginable,” he said. “I’m disappointed. I’m embarrassed.”
The series had come full circle.
Staff Writer Steve Solloway can be contacted at 791-6412 or at: ssolloway@pressherald.com
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