I could start this story as a nine-year-old boy staying up way past his bedtime on October 25, 1986. I remember my much wiser mother asking "Do you think they're really going to do it?" And me, a not yet embittered child saying "Of course they are!"
Fast forward 16 years and 356 days and the 26-year-old version of me in 2003 had a much better understanding of her skepticism. But still, with a 5-2 lead and Pedro on the hill in the 8th inning of ALCS Game 7, my best friend and I discussed going to Miami for the World Series (the Marlins had already won the National League).
As we sat in the Newes Pub in Martha's Vineyard, we talked about how Series tickets at Fenway would be impossible to get, and wondered if it might be cheaper to go to a game in Florida, even with the plane tickets.
We'd been working as bartenders all summer long and now the tourist season was over. Both of us had time to kill and money to burn--we absolutely would have gone.
Jump ahead exactly one year to the day later, and I was slumped down on a bench outside of the Edgartown bar I worked in. The Yankees had just taken a 13-6 lead in the 5th inning of ALCS Game 3, and they were about to go up 3-0 in the series. A friend of mine came outside to comfort me, and I recall saying something to her along the lines of...
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