2002 Remembered, part 3

It was an odd feeling going into the World Series before Game 1. The Angels were underdogs in the Fall Classic, which wasn't a surprise considering nobody outside Orange County thought that Anaheim was a favorite to win.

For years, it had been the modus operendi of myself and most Angels fans to expect the worst. The Angels were almost expected to choke in any opportunity they were given to reach for greatness. The All-Star game was the benchmark, the milestone where, once the Angels reached it, would indicate a continuous downhill slide into the cellar. This was never more evident in 1995, where they led the American League West by 11 games in August, only to blow it and force a tiebreaker (which they lost) with Seattle. And any playoff berths they may achieve were doomed to failure, with Donnie Moore's blown save in the 1986 ALCS being the biggest example of that.

During the 2002 World Series, I heard much about "The Curse of the Cowboy," in other words, that it was Gene Autry that cursed this club. I don't ever remember having that feeling. I can remember going to games with my buddies in the late 80's and early 90's, where talk would inevitably turn to "how cool it would be for the Angels to win one before Gene Autry dies." We hated Jackie Autry because she married her way into control of the team, and as unconcerned about winning as opposed to making money. When Dante Bichette was traded for Dave Parker, we nearly gave up. But all this was mere talk; wishful thinking. We never expected the Angels to make it all the way, and were happy just to have a Major League team so close to us. The Red Sox had the Curse of the Babe, the Cubs the Curse of the Billy Goat. We just sucked. But we still loved our team.

So if any curse was on my mind in the World Series as Game 1 started, it was the one being put on it by Joe Buck and Tim McCarver. As an Angels fan, I'm used to bad announcing. Hell, we have Rex Hudler, possibly the worst color commentator since Reggie Jackson and his "BABOOMBA!" home run call made me turn off the TV volume and turn on the radio back in the early 90's when he called Angels games. But Buck and McCarver... This World Series is what made me start hating them both. From the pregame show, you could tell who they were pulling for, especially McCarver, and it wasn't the scrappy small-ball clubled by Mike Scoscia...

But announcers on FOX aren't expected to be clones of Vin Scully, and though Joe Buck shares DNA with the immortal Jack Buck, the apple fell pretty far from the tree, and any words out of his and McCarver's mouths were inconsequential as the game started and the World Series had finally come to Anaheim.

There are only a few moments from that series I remember as they happened. I don't recall much of watching Game 1, other than I watched it with my dad (who, for some unknown reason, was rooting for the Giants.) Looking at the box score now, I remember the home run by Bonds in his first World Series at bat, and the two by Troy Glaus. But it's only the trivial fact that I remember, that the Angels lost the first game of each series that year, not the game itself.

Game two I should remember, as the Angels won it 11-10, but details of the game escape me. I remember the shot of Tim Salmon reacting to Barry Bonds' home run, mouthing "That's the farthest ball I've ever seen hit."

Game three was won by the Angels, and I remember at that time thinking that we might actually be able to do it.

Game four was won by the Giants. No memories of that.

Game five I have two memories of. First, I'll never be able to forget J.T. Snow pulling Darren Baker, San Francisco manager Dusty Baker's three-year-old son, out of the way at home plate. Fox had spent much of the postseason showing the children in the Giants' dugout, showing what a "family club" the Giants were, trying to pull on America's heartstrings and get them to root for the Giants. I remember thinking that seeing so many children in the dugout was ridiculus, that a three-year-old bat boy was not cute, but dangerous. Then it was proven when J.T. Snow damn near killed Darren Baker.

The Giants went on to beat Anaheim 16-4 in Game 5, but I wasn't there to see it. Sometime in the 6th or 7th inning, I'd had enough. I could only stand to see my team getting beat so badly, then I'd had enough. I remember thinking that it was over, that our first trip to the World Series was doomed and that the Angels had once again crashed and burned, only this time dragging millions of people behind them with the promise of hope. I walked out of my dad's room, convinced that he was the bad luck, and spent the next two days expecting the inevitable defeat when the Halos got back home to Anaheim.

Game 6 is why I don't remember much about the prior five games in the 2002 World Series. I watched it in my room, on my television, with my bored-but-feigning-interest girlfriend (now my wife) beside me. I watched as Russ Ortiz pitched 6 1/3 amazing innings, shutting us down and leading the Giants to the inevitable San Francisco victory as they led 5-0. Then, with one out in the 7th, Ortiz gave up back-to-back singles, putting two men on base. Dusty Baker then came out of the dugout, and did something incredibly stupid: As he pulled Ortiz, he gave him the game ball. Right there, on the mound at Anaheim. In front of everybody.

I was apoplectic. At that moment, if I had any psychokinetic powers, Dusty Baker's head would have exploded right there on the field, seemingly without reason, in front of 45,000 shocked fans.

But I saw it. Which means that everybody in that dugout saw it too. And the Giants paid for it.

With two on, one out in the bottom of the 7th inning, Felix Rodriguez was brought in to pitch to Scott Spezio, who after fouling off a seemingly unending string of pitches in one of the most excruciatingly suspenseful at bats since Kirk Gibson in the 1988 World Series, parked one.

I cried.

I don't say that in an exaggerated manner to show the emotion I had while watching that at bat. I say that in a literal sense. I cried. Not teary-eyed, not a single tear of happiness. I broke down into sobs, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. I broke down into sobs for a few minutes, because right then I knew. We were still down 5-3, but I knew at that moment that the Giants were not walking out of Anaheim with a World Series trophy.

The Rally Monkey showed its worth, as the rally continued into the 8th, where Troy Glaus doubled off ace closer Robb Nen to drive in two runs and lead the Angels to the greatest comeback from any team facing elimination in a World Series game.

They should have given us the trophy after Game 6, because there was no way we were losing Game 7. It was almost anti-climactic. San Francisco was demoralized after the Game 6 loss, and when Troy Percival took the mound in the 9th, I was counting the strikes until the third out. And with 2 outs in the top of the 9th, that fly ball into center field landed in Darin Erstad's glove, and I jumped up, raised my arms, and screamed.

The Angels, MY Angels, were World Champions.