He dropped it.
Josh Paul must have mishandled the ball, because A.J. Pierzynski is running to first base and not looking back. The home plate umpire, who just moments before signaled that Pierzynski struck out swinging, is as befuddled as the rest of us watching the game at a sold-out U.S. Cellular field during Game 2 of the 2005 American League Division Series.
I can’t believe it, and neither can my parents. Just when we thought it would be impossible for the Chicago White Sox to win the game before extra innings, there was hope. With two outs and a runner on first, the Sox could beat the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim and take back momentum to bring the series to 1-1.
I was praying for a White Sox win, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t skeptical of their chances. The South Side Hitmen historically weren’t a lucky team in Major League Baseball, considering their long World Series drought and scandal-ridden past. Still, I hoped they would win while I attended the only baseball playoff game of my life.
Sure, I went to many past White Sox games, including a game where three people ran onto the field on Elvis Night, and unfortunately, Dog Day. They were all fun, even when the Sox were so bad that my dad told me, an excited 7-year-old, to “sit down and watch the game!” during “The Wave.” This team was not like those Sox teams of old, however. These guys had a legitimate chance of winning the World Series for the first time in my life, making it the first time I had any legitimate ammunition for my arguments with yuppie Cubs fans (Don’t get me started on the Cubs, because until they break their World Series title drought, they, along with the Bears, are the biggest waste of money and talent in the city of Chicago). I liked every player on the roster, and I believed they, along with Ozzie Guillen (that crazy guy on Twitter), could win this game and eventually end their World Series drought.
The stadium is rocking now. Everyone is on their feet, cheering in unison for the White Sox to pull something out of their bag of tricks for a desperately needed win. When play resumed, Guillen decided to pinch run a speedy Pablo Ozuna for a slightly overweight, not-liked-anywhere-but-Chicago’s-South-Side A.J. Pierzynski. At that moment, Joe Crede walked into the batter’s box.
Crede (who now plays for the evil Minnesota Twins) was a fan favorite, especially with the ladies. Girls wanted to date him and men wanted to be him. It’s hard to think now, however, that any man in the stadium wanted to be in his shoes when he stepped up to the plate.
There were two outs, one man on base, and a scoreboard that read “White Sox: 1, Angels: 1” in the bottom of the ninth. This was the best situation Crede could be in. He was Mr. Clutch to me and my family that season, because it always seemed like he played his best in the ninth inning.
Kelvim Escobar, the Angels’ relief pitcher, delivered the first pitch to Crede. Ozuna took off for second. Paul decided to hold on to the ball, preventing a wild overthrow that could have lost it for the Angels as Sox fans became even more confident that Crede could get a hit and win the game. As the crowd cheered him on, Escobar delivered again.
“BALL!” said the umpire. A cheer rose up from the crowd. That didn’t last long however, because at any moment, Crede could hit an easy pop-up to end the inning. But this was his element. This was what he was born to do. After Crede fixed his batting helmet and returned to the box, he stared down Escobar like a trained killer, poised and ready to take on any challenge that came his way.
And as Escobar delivered his third pitch, no one was ready for what happened next.
Crede unloaded like a coiled spring and sent the ball screaming into the October sky. Everybody held their breath in eager anticipation as the ball soared through the air into left field. Meanwhile, Ozuna was rounding third and wasn’t stopping for anything. The ball was sailing, heading right for the bullpen in left field when…
“IT’S OFF THE WALL! OZUNA SCORES, AND IT’S A WHITE SOX WINNER! YYYEESS!”
I can only imagine what Hawk Harrelson said on TV that night, because I was too busy trying to gain my hearing back while slapping high-fives with every person I passed on the ramps out to the parking lot. Of all the White Sox games I went to, and after every heartbreak I endured in previous years, this one was worth all of it.