Think Papi Thoughts

"You know," my dad's friend Woody said as the ninth inning began, "the Yankees could conceivably come in here for a three game series three and a half games out."

"How do you figure?" my dad replied.

"Well, tonight, we're down to four..."

"We haven't lost yet."

"Well, yeah, but--"

"We haven't lost. yet."

Meanwhile, in the next seat over, I was vociferously questioning the presence of Papelbon in a game in which the Sox were trailing. In the end, I decided to just go with it, because an opportunity to see Cinco Ocho in action isn't something I'm inclined to pass up regardless of the game situation. But still. Given that I'm of the belief that Papelbon should be kept in a glass case in a shockproof underground bumper surrounded by armed guards when he's not pitching, I was torn.

Papelbon got three outs on fourteen pitches, most of them thrown to Delmon Young, who put in an impressive at-bat full of foul balls. In the end, however, Young hit a bounding grounder to Dustin Pedroia, who smothered it with his entire body in the grass just behind second, snapped back to his feet and fired to Hinske for the out. Fenway erupted.

It was odd, just then, as Papelbon came off the field with the whole place on its feet. It was as if he'd just nailed down the save, not preserved a one-run deficit.

Up until then it had been a supremely frustrating game. On top of that, it's been a strange time for me personally of late, and I had so much on my mind today that it was probably the first time Fenway has failed to completely absorb me right away. I greeted the LOB and miserable appearance by Lester as merely par for the course, by the middle innings giving over almost completely to fatigue and apathy. The way Tavarez was performing was something you only fully grasp in retrospect--now you can point to his three innings of hitless relief as the linchpin of the Sox win, but at the time, it just meant the lead stayed tantalizingly close, and yet so frustratingly far from the limp bats of Boston.

Some girls just behind us made a point to emit high-pitched, bloodcurdling, wordless screams toward the field at every imaginable opportunity. They were tap-dancing on my last nerve, to the point where I did something I never do, which is leave the stands during the game. I actually went and stood in line for the ladies' room, which was, in fact, preferable to another second of those girls at that moment.

Even through Papelbon's appearance, I assumed I was there to witness a loss. It wasn't the same as being pessimistic or a sourpuss (and I know I have a propensity for both)--this time, it just felt like a fact. The Sox had had numerous opportunities to tie the game and / or regain the lead and had failed every time. Papi hadn't hit a walkoff yet this season, and somehow, Francona had failed to pinch hit Mike Lowell for Hinske in the eighth (it has since come to my attention that Lowell is sick, but I didn't know that at the time). I'd also seen the Sox lose a one-run ballgame to the Devil Rays already this week; obviously it's possible. "It's just gonna be one of those nights," my dad said often in the early innings, as screaming liners from Papi found infielders' gloves with men on base and Jon Lester threw ball after ball. That's how it felt. Just one of those nights. Just one of those days.

It wasn't until AJ Reyes reached a 3-1 count on Papi with Lugo on first base in the bottom of the ninth that I started to believe we had a chance. If he'd reached two strikes with the same pitch, this entire story goes out the window. But with a 3-1 count, I thought to myself, he would probably feel he had to groove one to avoid a walk and two men on with nobody out.

Fenway had been on its feet since Papi walked from the on-deck circle to the batters' box. Now it seemed the whole place had the same thought-- Here it comes. He's going to have to groove one. We all knew it. We knew this was Papi's pitch.

And yet when the ball came off the bat, my first reaction was to deflate a bit again. The ball was struck hard, but also shot up into the air a mile high, so high that in the first seconds of its flight I thought it was going to be a pop-out. As it continued on a seemingly physically impossible forward trajectory toward the outfield, I amended my assessment to flyout.

The ball actually flew directly over my head, in the right field box right next to Canvas Alley. I watched it the whole way, turning my face toward the sky to follow it as it neared and slowly swiveling my head from left to right, from its rocketing ascension to its long, arcing flight into the right-field corner.

From where I was sitting I couldn't see where the ball landed. Few people in the park actually could, and it turns out the ball just barely cleared the wall. With the strangeness of the ball's trajectory, the crowd wasn't already cheering the way it would have with a no-doubter. Instead, what I remember about those long moments of the ball's progress from the bat of Ortiz to the game-winning walkoff is silence. It was like a movie, where the action goes into slow motion and all sound is replaced by a seashell roar. If I close my eyes, I can still see that ball, so clear against a flat black night sky that I swear I could see the red blur of its stitches as it passed.

The reaction overtook us like a breaking wave, spreading out from the epicenter of the fans with the best view in the corner to the sections around them, and so on, until the chaos crashed over our heads, too, subsuming us in dancing, shouting, laughing, hugging.

I've been at Fenway to witness walkoffs, but never one courtesy of David Ortiz. And it was a different feeling. There was something about it so profound, so intense--even more so than the other walkoffs I've seen. Everyone let themselves go--once the initial uncertainty was broken, absolutely everyone in the park was screaming from their guts. I've never experienced anything like it.

After his teammates mobbed him at home plate and in the dugout, Papi was buttonholed by Tina Cervasio on the warning track. Not a soul had left the stands, and before Tina could ask a question into the microphone, she and Papi just stood there quietly, while the crowd poured out minute upon minute of thunderous ovation.

In a second, the noise would be hushed and Papi would speak. "Tessie" would follow. A long, jubilant walk out to Lansdowne Street punctuated by frequent high-fives with complete strangers was also on the docket. And, of course, an off-day tomorrow and another potentially cataclysmic weekend series with the Yankees.

But first, there were just those moments--that slow-motion miracle of the ball sailing through the air, and all that time that Papi just stood there, listening to Fenway pour out its heart.

Comments

[Caroline]

We were there too (infield grandstand makeshift standing-room style), and--wow, you said it. Once Lugo took base in the ninth I felt like we had a chance to tie it up, since our guys have been able to get to Reyes in the past, and when Papi came up I was thinking that if he could get Lugo over to, say, third, we'd probably tie it up. And then when the count went to three and one, and that ball left the bat--well, now I know what it sounds like when 37,000 people hold their breath.

It was like church. With more beer and screaming.

Our Papi loves us.

[Devine]

Congratulations!

They're fun, huh?

(I'm so glad you got to see this in the middle of a pennant race, the drama that much more heightened.)

[mouse]

There is nothing like an Ortiz walkoff. Watching on TV, I was at first certain it'd be a flyout, since he hit it to the deepest part of the park. But then it bounced off a fan in the first row, and I must've jumped ten feet. I'll never get tired of that feeling.

The best part? Seeing Papi's massive grin as he jumped into his awaiting mosh pit. He's been so strangely "anti-clutch" this year in the late innings, and it's obviously been wearing on him; everything I've read indicates that he feels it's his duty to deliver in those big spots. I think he was as happy about that homer as the fans and his teammates were.

Speaking of which, I love how those kinds of moments bring out the inner child in every one of the players. Like with Buchholz's no-no and the Mother's Day Miracle, the rest of the team couldn't stream out of the dugout fast enough, and they're all grinning and hollering like schoolboys. That sight never gets old either.

[Dawn]

I know what you mean. I watched that game with complete resignation. It felt like a loos before we finished the top of the first. As much as I hate being down, going into the bottom of the ninth, though, it's well worth a Papi walkoff.

I predicted it before it happened. I said to the person I was watching with... or more, under my breath to myself, and to Papi, I guess: "C'mon, Papi... give us just one walkoff this year..."

And wouldn't you know it. =)

[beth]

dawn, it's interesting also to note that you and i both had the same mentality last night, and both of us are depressed pats fans. i think there's a connection to that too, because as silly as it may sound, the pats have REALLY been getting me down this week.

[Texas Gal]

On TV, when the ball first left the bat you could see Papi mouthing, "Stay foul, you son of a bitch, stay foul..."

And then everything changed and he broke into a giant Papi grin.

It was heavenly.

[Texas Gal]

Ah- and I'm not a Pats fan (Cowboys fan, sorry!), so that may have accounted for why I devolved into a sappy mess after last night's game.

[Kaz]

But with a 3-1 count, I thought to myself, he would probably feel he had to groove one to avoid a walk and two men on with nobody out.

Just a small note of accuracy, it woulda been 2 men on with 1 out (Pedroia). Otherwise, yeah, I was in Section 42 and we could see it falling towards us and I had the same problem the outfielder had. We couldn't decide if he was deep enough and whether he was going to need to move right or left to catch it. It was almost impossibly straight down and drifting like crazy in the corner winds. He definitely had a play on the ball, but when it fell 3 feet to his side, we could all see it out there smack a fan's hand and then the top of the wall! Homerun!

I think the entire stadium was just willing it over the wall. It was awesome.