Papi
Page 9
“Because when I went over there, it was like a funeral. And over here, it’s like you guys are ready for a party.”
We were. We were overdue. It happened quickly too. In the first inning, Johnny Damon got on base, stole second, and tried to score on a sharp single to left by Manny. But Johnny hesitated going from second to home, and he was thrown out at the plate. As Yankee Stadium continued to buzz over the play, I swung at the first pitch I saw from Brown and smashed it to right. It left the park fast, and we were up 2–0 in the first. By the second, Brown was out of the game. He turned the game over to Javier Vázquez, who entered with the bases loaded. Johnny was ready for him. He hit a grand slam, which pushed the lead to 6–0.
There was no chance of us blowing a lead on this night. It was an accomplishment simply to force a Game 7, and now we were running away with it. Whether we wanted to or not, we were aware of the history that was being made. No team had ever been down 0–3, only to come all the way back to tie and win the series. We heard about the reports in Boston, how people had gathered in bars and at house parties, how they spilled out into the streets when the game was over. My friend Rubio told me that my trash-talkers from the night before did come back to his café to watch Game 7. And when they saw me hit a home run, they told him that I could have dinner there, on them.
But that wasn’t the reward I was looking for. After an agonizing off-season, we had beaten the Yankees and taken the pennant. We knew that we still had to play the World Series. Yet on October 20, 2004, it already felt like we’d won it.
When I was a Seattle Mariners prospect in Appleton, Wisconsin, my confidence was remarkably high. On and off the field. One life-changing night I approached a local young woman and said, “Do you have a boyfriend? No? Well, you do now.”
Brad Krause / Krause Sports Photography
Five years after the first flight of my life, I was in the majors as a Minnesota Twin. That’s where I first learned a tough lesson: the wrong manager can make your life miserable.
Jed Jacobsohn / Getty Images
I developed some lifelong relationships with Twins players, but the organization never saw me in the same way that I saw myself.
The Sporting News / Getty Images
Pedro’s persistence paid off: he said he thought I could be the team’s next everyday first baseman. He was right. Almost.
Craig Jones / Getty Images
In 2003, I knew that all I needed was a chance to prove myself. I got it in Boston and finished fifth in the MVP race.
Jonathan Daniel / Getty Images
I had a new team in the spring of 2003. With Manny Ramírez, I also had the most demanding workout partner and batting coach of my career.
Boston Globe / Getty Images
Opposing pitchers began to dread the middle of our lineup, and sights like this became common.
Boston Globe / Getty Images
During the height of our rivalry with the Yankees, it was hard to keep your eyes on one thing. As I’m trying to hold back Manny, New York bench coach Don Zimmer is starting to charge toward Pedro Martínez.
New York Daily News Archive / Getty Images
Our battles against the Yankees, like this one in the 2003 American League Championship Series, were lengthy and exhausting.
Jed Jacobsohn / Getty Images
Pedro Martínez, the smartest teammate I ever had, deserved better for his efforts in Game 7 of the 2003 ALCS. As I sat next to him that night, I began to realize just how different it was to be a member of the Red Sox.
Boston Globe / Getty Images
In 2003, Pedro helped me talk my way into the starting lineup. One year later, our celebratory actions spoke louder than our words.
Jim Rogash / Getty Images
The All-Star Game was nothing new to Manny Ramírez in 2004. But for me, the gala in Houston was the first of my career.
Steve Grayson / Getty Images
Our 2004 team was affectionately nicknamed “The Idiots.” It was my second family, and players like Johnny Damon always found a reason for a family celebration.
Julie Cordeiro / Boston Red Sox
I’ve never felt pressure in a baseball game. Not once. It’s part of the reason this became routine in October 2004.
Julie Cordeiro / Boston Red Sox
I knew New England was passionate about baseball, but I still didn’t think we would inspire over 3 million people to attend our 2004 World Series parade.
Cindy M. Loo / Boston Red Sox
My new manager in 2004, Terry “Tito” Francona, impressed me with his willingness to back away from the spotlight. We helped change the way generations of Red Sox fans thought by beating the Yankees for the 2004 pennant.
Doug Pensinger / Getty Images
Theo Epstein, our general manager, listened when I told him that I needed to play. When it came to contracts, though, we didn’t always see things the same way.
Charles Rex Arbogast / AP Photo
I had talked with Pedro Martínez enough to understand how much this World Series game meant to him; he knew it was going to be his last start for the Red Sox.
Rich Pilling / Getty Images
In my prime, I learned to be better at weight training and also to recognize pitches. As a result, the game slowed down for me.
Jack Maley / Boston Red Sox
I was happy that Pedro was rewarded with a lucrative contract for the 2005 season. I was crushed that he had to go to the New York Mets to get it.
Jim McIsaac / Getty Images
Our 2007 team was a perfect blend of experience and youth. We spent the entire season in first place.
Jack Maley / Boston Red Sox
I’ve never had a teammate like Dustin Pedroia, who goes to sleep and wakes up with baseball on his mind. He gave our entire clubhouse a boost in 2007.
Jim Rogash / Getty Images
We found our 2007 playoff identity by erasing Cleveland’s commanding series lead in the ALCS. By the time we got to the World Series against Colorado, we were a charging machine that couldn’t be stopped.
Nick Laham / Getty Images
What a great night it was in Denver: cancer survivor Jon Lester won the game, enabling us to win the World Series.
Christian Petersen / Getty Images
I’ll always remember this night in Denver, when we completed our World Series sweep of the Colorado Rockies. There was beer and champagne here. Later, there was singing in the hotel lobby.
Al Tielemans / Getty Images
Nothing compared to playing in Boston, especially when the season ended with a parade.
Cindy Loo / Boston Red Sox
8
Parade Route and Out
I never considered myself a student of history. That is, until I moved to Boston.
Tiffany has always been our family’s history buff, with a curiosity about how and when places came to be. That was one of the things that got her excited about Boston when we made the move at the beginning of 2003. She knew there would be plenty to discover in one of America’s oldest cities. When I would leave for the park, Tiffany and Alex would explore the city and see many of the historic landmarks for which New England is known.
One of those places is Fenway Park. I guess I never made the connection between Boston baseball and Boston history. I’m not just talking about the legendary men who played for the Red Sox over the years. I’m talking about how much baseball matters to Boston and all of New England. It’s more than just a game there. It’s tradition. It’s community. It’s family. I had heard people say all of those things when I signed with the Red Sox, and I had begun to see just how deep that connection was when we lost to the Yankees in 2003.
I had been devastated, and so were the fans. But their devastation was different than mine. I was hurting, and that made me look forward to the next year, to the future. Their hurt, though, took them back to the past. They didn’t just carry their own pain. They brought along the disappointed hopes of their parents and grandparents, a
unts and uncles, siblings and friends. They looked forward only cautiously, because of past losses to the Yankees and others.
When we returned to Boston after winning the 2004 pennant in New York, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing and hearing. The old city had fresh energy. Even though the New England Patriots had set an NFL record for consecutive wins, most people didn’t want to talk about them. And even though the Red Sox were going to be hosting the first game of the World Series, against the St. Louis Cardinals, that wasn’t the main reason for the lightness in the late October air either. It was all about beating the Yankees, a rare event for the Red Sox with the pennant at stake.
They hadn’t come close in the 1920s and 1930s, when the Yankees appeared in 11 World Series and won eight of them. The Sox had finished ahead of the Yankees in 1946, and just behind them in 1949. Between 1950 and 1966, the Yankees participated in 13 more World Series, and won eight of those. The Red Sox were never a threat to knock them off. Boston went to the Series in 1967 and 1975, losing both in seven games. In 1978, there was a one-game playoff at Fenway against the Yankees. New York won it. Boston was in the 1986 World Series and was one strike away from winning. Instead, the New York Mets won that game and the next one for the Series. In 1999, the Red Sox had the fight to beat the Yankees in the league championship series, but not the talent. Then there was 2003 and, finally, our comeback in 2004.
I listened to the radio and heard how excited people were about what we had done. Some people bragged, but they weren’t the majority. Instead, most fans had a personal story to tell. Those missed opportunities had gotten into their hearts and heads, and many of them had allowed themselves to believe that the Yankees would never be beaten. When it happened, I heard some people say that they wished their grandpa or grandma had been alive to see it. There was joy in some of those voices and relief in all of them. Years of negativity had begun to melt away. It wasn’t just on the radio. It was in letters written to us and to newspapers. It was in conversations around the region, from grocery stores to churches.
Our comeback, our historic comeback, was perfect. No one would have believed the story if you had told them, so I’m glad it played out the way it did. The ending in 2003 made the ending in 2004 twice as good. Although some Red Sox fans refused to breathe until the World Series was officially over, many celebrated as if we’d already won it. I was with the fans on that one. It was hard to blame them for assuming the Cardinals were a footnote to such an incredible story. How could we lose after all that momentum and four straight wins? We’d had to be not only perfect but lucky in those four games against the Yankees, and we were both.
I’m usually the kind of person who “gets it” late. It’s just the way my brain works. I get so caught up in the moment that it takes me a while to appreciate what’s taken place and what it all means. But I wasn’t like that before the World Series. I personally felt unstoppable coming off that Yankee series, where I was named the Most Valuable Player. Our team was also hot. The special part about it was that we were playing the best baseball of our careers and having more fun playing baseball than we had ever had. I had never been so close to winning it all, including my time in the minors. It was a high.
Meanwhile, the Cardinals had a solid team. They had won 105 games in the regular season, and their lineup was stacked. Their pitching was good, even if they didn’t have anyone who could match up with Pedro and Curt Schilling. Our advance scouts were confident that we could shut them down in the World Series with a smart approach, but we knew that already. They weren’t going to beat us four times, especially with us having home-field advantage for the first time in the playoffs.
They made it interesting in a wild Game 1, though. Their starting pitcher was Woody Williams, and even before I got to the plate in the first inning, I could tell he was having a tough time with his grip and location. Manny was batting ahead of me, and with two on, he just missed crushing a homer to right field. It took an amazing play by Larry Walker to catch the ball and keep the game scoreless. But when I got up, Williams let a pitch slip to the inside of the plate and I pulled it to right. I was trying to hit it out, and that’s what happened. We got four runs in the first and eventually took a 7–2 lead. But we had four errors in the game, and St. Louis tied it twice late before we finished them off, 11–9.
We had Schilling going in Game 2, and he took away all drama. He didn’t give up an earned run. We won, 6–2, our sixth consecutive playoff win. I don’t believe any of the guys said it out loud, but we knew it was going to be our last game of the season at Fenway. Pedro and Derek Lowe, both free agents, were scheduled to pitch the next two games.
I hadn’t let it sink in yet that Pedro was a few weeks away from possibly being my ex-teammate. He had gone out of his way to recruit me to Boston and to make me and my family comfortable. I owed him so much that I couldn’t even begin to put it in words. I was torn. I wanted him to get as much money as he could on the open market, as much as he deserved. I was starting to understand that the Red Sox didn’t do things like that. It seemed to me that the team was willing to spend big money, at market value or beyond, on players who had never played in Boston. But there always seemed to be a contract dispute with players who had done well here and proven that they could handle the environment.
Pedro made his start look easy. The Cardinals ran into a couple of outs early in the game, blowing their chance to make Pedro struggle. He pitched seven scoreless innings and gave up three hits. He got all he needed in the first when another player he recruited, Manny, hit a home run. A lot of people don’t realize that in 1999 Manny had approached Pedro and told him that there was a good chance he’d be leaving Cleveland. He told Pedro to let the Boston general manager at the time, Dan Duquette, know about his interest. Just over a year later, Manny made the surprising decision to leave Cleveland and sign with the Red Sox.
One game away from winning the Series, everyone in Boston, including the front office, was happy to still have Manny in town. He had played well all year, and the fans had become attached to him. The same could be said for all of us. The Red Sox had been popular long before we all arrived, but now we had a chance to change the way people thought about the team. We weren’t the unlucky Red Sox. We weren’t making people angry and causing them to lose confidence and hope. We were one good game away from being described as the most significant champions in the history of New England.
As for the last game, honestly, it’s one of the few times when the details didn’t stick with me. I don’t know how long the game was, officially, but it seemed to stretch through the entire night. I just wanted it to be over. I wanted to hug as many people as I could, dance with them, spray a bunch of them with champagne. I felt so blessed. I was on a team that would never be forgotten, and I was playing in a region where they never got tired of talking about and watching baseball. Of course, every player dreams of winning the World Series. But it’s even better when you get there, you’re one game away from winning it, and you’re reflecting on all the steps it took to get there. I had dreamed of getting to the Series before, but I’d never known how to do it. There are so many elements involved. Having talented teammates who also like to have fun. Having the right ownership and management. Working your ass off every day during the season and in the off-season too. Having a little luck.
We had it all in 2004. I’ve never laughed so hard. I’ve never been a part of games that lasted so long and meant so much to literally millions of people. I’d always had confidence in my abilities, but I didn’t realize that being on the right team, in the right city, with the always engaged Boston fans, could push me to be this kind of player. I was 28 years old, and I felt like my best baseball was in front of me.
The season was now in the past. After Keith Foulke got Edgar Rentería to ground the ball back to him, Foulke tossed the ball to Doug Mientkiewicz. For some people, that was just the formality before the celebration on the mound. For me, it was an intersection. Past and present. Doug knew me
before anyone in New England knew my name. He was there in the Twin Cities when we were both a bundle of potential. Tiffany used to joke that the Twins wanted Doug to be me, and me to be Doug. More power from one, more Gold Glove defense from the other. What we both were, on a beautiful Wednesday night in St. Louis, was World Series champions.
I thought we’d never leave the field. There were cameras all around, some belonging to New England TV stations and some from Hollywood. There was a movie, Fever Pitch, being made about the Red Sox. It was a romantic comedy and the two stars, Jimmy Fallon and Drew Barrymore, were on the field. My story seemed to have movie elements, but it was real. I got close to Tiffany, and we shared a kiss. There was no need to say much more than that. We knew how much it meant to both of us.
At 3:30 in the morning, our flight from St. Louis departed for Boston. I remember a few guys playing cards on the plane, and Schilling made everyone laugh by making an announcement like a pilot. The one thing I’ll never forget is seeing Pedro snuggling with the World Series trophy. The plan was for our oldest teammate, 40-year-old Ellis Burks, to carry it off the plane once we landed, but during the flight it was Pedro’s. It seemed to belong there next to him. But this was his next-to-last official act with the Red Sox. In a couple of days there would be a baseball parade and then, finally, he’d be gone.