ESPN's Top 100 Moments of past 25 years

Drury37 · June 12, 2004

Games four and five of the 01 World Series will be up high.

On a side note, 01 is the one time the Yankees failed me and I wasn't furious, but very sad.

I agree with 100 % right there. I was not angry after Game 7 of that World Series I was just devestated.

Thanks.

Drury37 · June 12, 2004

as a Knick fan, i refuse to commit...i'm sure Pacer Fan (you know who you are ) will have something to say though!

Miller clobbered Anthony to get the ball back, I swear to god!!!!!!!!!!!!!

but, Ewing missing that fingeroll was unforgivable...

As a Knicks fan I agree and yes Greg Anthony got hammered but no one ever seems to remember that. I was no so angry than when Ewing missed the lay up that just killed me and I just refuse to even talk about that series ever.

Thanks.

Bored · June 13, 2004

#88: Yankees strike again with 9th-inning magic

Rick Weinberg
Special to ESPN.com

He was the last chance for the New York Yankees. He was the only obstacle left for the Arizona Diamondbacks to win Game 5 of the 2001 World Series.

He was hitting just .143 in the postseason. But Scott Brosius, while not a great hitter, had come up with clutch hits before. He proved that in the 1998 World Series, when he was Most Valuable Player.

But on this night in Yankee Stadium, New York needed another miracle -- and the Diamondbacks needed one more out, something they failed to get 24 hours earlier. In Game 4, Byung-Hyun Kim, an out away from a 3-1 victory, allowed a game-tying two-run, two-out home run to Tino Martinez in bottom of the ninth, and then a game-winning homer to Derek Jeter in the 10th inning. The dramatic victory enabled the Yankees to tie the series at 2 games apiece.

THE MOMENT

The clock reads 12:30 a.m. as the sidearming Kim peers in at the sign from catcher Rod Barajas. He is determined to end the game and turn the criticism from possibly blowing the World Series to putting Arizona a step closer to its first world championship of any kind in a professional sport.

Kim is decent closer, but certainly nowhere near the class the great relievers in history, like Goose Gossage, Rollie Fingers, Bruce Sutter or Mariano Rivera, the Yankees' current closer. All season, Kim was a semi-reliable member of a pitifully insipid bullpen, yet Arizona manager Bob Brenly boldly said time after time, "He's my closer, period."

Perhaps still reeling from Martinez's and Jeter's Game 4 homers, Kim gets into immediate trouble in Game 5. Jorge Posada punches a leadoff double into the left-field corner. Kim then falls behind the next batter, Shane Spencer. But Kim rebounds and gets Spencer to ground out. He then strikes out Chuck Knoblauch, setting the stage for Brosius confrontation.

With Brosius batting a buck forty-three, Yankees manager Joe Torre has no alternative but to think about going to his bench for a pinch-hitter. But he quickly rejects the idea. He knows Brosius. He knows what's in his heart, in his mind. "He's delivered time after time for me, for us, over the last few years," he says to himself.

Torre would later say: "Sometimes the matchup doesn't seem right, but you have to know your players, and the opposing players, and make your judgment on that."

He sticks with Brosius.

Martinez had gone to the plate in the ninth inning of Game 4 looking to hit a home run off Kim, but Brosius has no such thoughts. He has not homered since September 21, nearly six weeks ago. All he wants is to hit the ball hard, hit it someplace to "keep the rally going."

Kim's game plan is to keep the ball way from Brosius. He throws a slider at the outside corner. The pitch spins, but it does not bite. It hangs -- belt high. Brosius' eyes widen as he sees the ball spinning toward the middle of the plate, right in his house.

He swings and hammers it. The ball soars toward the left-field seats. As Kim's neck snaps back to watch the ball, hoping and praying that it does not leave the park, Brosius raises his hands in his follow-through, knowing instantly he has tied the score. Yankee players leap out of the dugout, their arms jubilantly raised. They dance in front of the dugout, hugging, screaming, their faces betraying complete incredulity.

Kim, meanwhile, is devastated. He falls to his knee, and drops his head. As Yankee Stadium shakes, and as Brosius triumphantly races around the bases, Arizona first baseman Mark Grace and shortstop Tony Womack race to the mound simultaneously to console Kim, a tortured and broken symbol of pain and agony.

Grace is the first to reach Kim, still bent over, shocked beyond imagination, a devastated 22-year-old far from his home in South Korea. Two blown saves on consecutive nights in the World Series? It had never been before. Kim looks up sadly at Grace, then at Womack. He cringes, and winces, and is on the brink of tears.

"I never felt for a person as much as I felt for him," Grace says today. "You see things on the news, people who've lost loved ones to tragedy, and you want to reach out to them, to hug them, to console them; You cry for them because you feel their pain. Well, when Kim gave up Brosius' homer, only a night after giving up two to lose the game, well, this wasn't death or a fire or a car accident, but I'm telling you I never felt so bad for someone on the field before." Grace holds Kim and tells him, "Everything's going to be all right." Kim leans into Grace, like a son burying his head into his father's chest, a touching human moment that few people have ever witnessed, particularly at this level of competition.

The sports and non-sports world felt badly for Mitch Williams when he relinquished Joe Carter's three-run, World Series-winning home run in the bottom of the ninth inning of Game 6 of the 1993 World Series. The sports and non-sports world felt for Bill Buckner, who sadly ambled off the field, a dejected symbol of failure, after committing an error in Game 6 of the 1986 World Series.

Ralph Branca and Dennis Eckersley are all representative of historic losing moments, but no major-league baseball player ever endured a more heartbreaking 24 hours than Kim. And no franchise had endured a more exhilarating 24 hours than the Yankees. For after Brosius' homer, the Yankees win the game in extra innings to take a 3-2 Series edge.

June 13, 2004

I don't think the Jordan shot over Russell will even be in the top 5. The fact that he came out of retirement and cancelled out that being his final shot has tainted it greatly.

Kirk Gibson HR in Game 1 of the 88' World Series and Tiger Woods winning the Masters will probably be in the top 5.

Bored · June 13, 2004

#87: Jansen falls after learning of sister's death

Rick Weinberg
Special to ESPN.com

Her voice reverberated in his mind as he skated to the starting line for the biggest race of his life -- the 500-meter Olympic competition in the 1988 Winter Games in Calgary.

"I love you too," Jane Jansen Beres whispered to her brother Dan Jansen in one of the last breaths she took. She was suffering from leukemia. She could barely raise her head from the bed she was lying in. She could barely speak.

In just a few hours, Jansen, a world champion speed skater, would head to the starting blocks with the heaviest of hearts. When Jansen hung up the phone, he knew it would be the last time he heard his sister's voice.

Several thousand miles away, in Milwaukee, Jansen's brother Mike, sitting bedside with his cancer-stricken sibling, gave her a kiss on her forehead. A kiss goodbye. "This is from Dan," he told her. She closed her eyes. They would not open again.

Two time zones away, Dan Jansen lied in his bed, thinking about all the wonderful moments he had spent with his older sister. There are 11 Jansen kids. Dan and Jane were the closest. He desperately wanted to be with his sister, not in Calgary, trying to live up to everyone's expectations, trying to capture a gold medal. But he did what his sister wanted him to do -- skate. Skate the race of his life. Skate for the gold.

THE MOMENT

When Jansen slowly glides into the starting block, only seven hours after his sister passed away, he begins hearing the voice, soft, sweet and kind. Lining up against Japan's Yasushi Kuroiwa, Jansen taps his skates lightly on the vanilla face of the spectacular Olympic Oval, adjusts the hood on his sleek aqua and red racing suit and takes a deep breath. His body is there. Not his mind. Or his heart.

But he realizes this is not what Jane would want. He shakes himself, regains his senses, and begins to focus. Time to go for the gold. For Jane.

Jane was a former speed skater too, but there was nothing she loved more than watching her younger brother skate. He was the gifted one. The best of the 11 kids.

Jane's leukemia was detected the year before, in January 1987. Doctors said she needed a bone marrow transplant. Dan wanted to be the one. But he was suffering from mononucleosis. The doctors rejected him. Their sister Joanne wound up providing the bone marrow.

The transplant didn't take. Jane's condition spiraled. When Dan won three gold medals at the World Championships, held in Milwaukee just two weeks before the Olympic Games, Jane smiled proudly. She felt warm inside. Her brother would soon be going for the Olympic gold.

The gun sounds in Calgary and the skaters break out for the first leg. But it's ruled a false start. The skaters are called back and must begin again. Jansen lines up and boom -- he busts out of the block like a blur, a ball of thunder.

He soars toward the first turn and & and & suddenly, shockingly, he loses his balance. He slips. Then falls. And then skids violently into an outer padded wall, a heartbusting scene of agony. As he lay against the wall, a crumbled figure, his thoughts immediately turn to his sister. This is one of the saddest Olympic moments, considering the circumstances, considering Jansen's plight, considering the death of his sister, only hours earlier.

He rises slowly from the ice and begins skating toward the side of the oval. He buries his face in his hands.

EVIL~! alkeiper · June 13, 2004

Perhaps still reeling from Martinez's and Jeter's Game 4 homers

More likely still reeling from the 61 pitches he threw in game 4.

Bored · June 14, 2004

#86: Ray Bourque finally lifts the Stanley Cup

Rick Weinberg
Special to ESPN.com

He played 21 seasons for one team in one city. He was easily one of the greatest hockey players of all time. The ultimate teammate, consummate employee and team leader, the ideal family man, a gem of the community.

Yet there was one component missing in Ray Bourque's career and life: a Stanley Cup.

His team, the Boston Bruins, respected him enough that they couldn't bear the thought of Bourque ending his career without experiencing the elation of winning a Stanley Cup.

Twenty-one seasons with the Bruins began with the hope and dream of reaching the ultimate quest; two actually ending in the Stanley Cup Finals; but none ended in victory. "There were many times," he once said, "when I felt it just wasn't going to happen for me, that I was never going to experience the greatest feeling a hockey player can achieve."

So Bruins management did the unthinkable: knowing the Bruins did not have a legitimate chance to win it all in Bourque's 21st season, they traded him, less than a month before the playoffs, to the Colorado Avalanche.

They reached the Western Conference finals, but lost Game 7 to the Dallas Stars. "I was beginning to wonder, 'Am I cursed or something?'" he told the press.

The Avs stormed out of the gate for the 2000-01 season, cruised through the season and the early playoff rounds, right into the Stanley Cup Finals against the New Jersey Devils. The Avs fell behind in the series, 3 games to 2, and faced elimination in New Jersey, but they battled to win and send the series back to Denver for Game 7. When the Avs built a 3-1 lead in the third period, it became quite clear that the moment had arrived for Bourque, that his story was actually going to have a storybook conclusion.

THE MOMENT

Thirty seconds remain in Game 7. Bourque is on the ice, lining up for what will be the game's - and the season's - final faceoff. The seconds tick away, one after another, and Bourque becomes numb.

"I couldn't breathe," he would say. It wasn't because he is tired. "It was just too much to take. I was trying to hold off the tears and contain my emotions." He feels like his body and mind are going to explode. It is all too much for his emotions, his psyche to handle.

He is so ecstatic that his tears come uncontrollably as the clock ticks down to 0:00 and the celebration begins. The Stanley Cup presentation is one of sport's greatest traditions, and this one is heightened, all because of Bourque.

As NHL commissioner Gary Bettman presents the Cup to Avalanche captain Joe Sakic at center ice, Sakic illustrates the enormous respect everyone has for Bourque by immediately handing The Cup right to Bourque without even taking the traditional captain's spin around the rink.

"I told him on the ice that as soon as I got it, I was going to pass it over to him," Sakic told the media afterwards. "He's the one that deserved to lift it up first."

Even the Devils are moved by the emotion of the celebration, all for Bourque. Petr Sykora weeps as Bourque, glowing like a bright star, is hoisted onto the shoulders of teammates Dave Reid and Adam Foote, and then is handed The Cup.

As he raises The Cup over his head, the weight of 22 years of expectations and broken dreams is supplanted by 34 1/2 pounds of sterling silver. The moment is surreal, the image everlasting.

The final numbers for Bourque's celebrated career are truly staggering, but the one that clearly illustrates how great of a player he was is this: his 1,169 assets are the second highest total in history. Only one player has more: Wayne Gretzky.

"What's amazing is that a lot of people who claim to know so much about the league really don't realize how great of a player Ray Bourque was and how he made others around him better and how he influenced games," Sakic told the media.

When the conversation begins about the NHL's greatest defenseman of all time, the name of Bobby Orr, another Bruin, comes up most often, a player who truly revolutionized the game with his speed, magical puck handling, and shooting accuracy. Many mention Denis Potvin.

But Bourque put up ungodly numbers. He is the NHL's No. 1 all-time scoring defenseman with 410 goals. He's No. 1 is assists with 1,169 and No. 1 in points with 1,579. He second all time in games played with 1,612, only three behind the all-time leader Larry Murphy.

When you lump in all NHL players, regardless of position, Bourque is No. 3 all in games played and No. 8 all-time in points (1,579). He may have waited 22 seasons to win a Stanley Cup, but his playoff performances certainly enabled the Bruins (for at least 20 seasons) to be in position to win The Cup. Bourque, a 19-time All-Star, a NHL record, is the NHL's third all-time leading assist man in the postseason with 139, No. 7 in points with 180 and No. 9 in games at 214. He also scored 41 goals in those playoffs games.

He broke into the NHL in 1979, the same year Larry Bird debuted with the Celtics, in the same arena. The Bruins made it to two Stanley Cup Finals and five Conference Championships, and made the playoffs in every single one of Bourque's seasons but one - 1999-2000, and that's what precipitated the trade. When the Bruins didn't make the playoffs in 1999 for the first time in 33 years, Bourque's performance dissipated too. "I felt my career slipping away, but I knew I still had enough left," he told reporters. But he knew that whatever he had left wouldn't surface unless there was a legitimate chance of winning The Cup. He needed new surroundings.

Boston GM Harry Sinden had five offers for Bourque from teams with reasonable shots at the Cup. The best offer was from Colorado: Brian Rolston, two prospects and a first-round draft pick for Bourque and Dave Andreychuk, a 36-year-old forward. At the time, the Avs were among the league's biggest disappointments; they were just two points removed from ninth place in the Western Conference at the time of the trade.

GMs and coaches around the league predicted that with Bourque the Avs had too many stars that wanted the puck and would crumble. Wrong. The Avs actually did everything to appease their new teammate. Minutes after the deal went down, three Avs, including Patrick Roy, phoned Bourque. Sakic actually offered to give up his captain's C for Bourque. And Adam Deadmarsh, whose pregame ritual required him to be the first player onto the ice after that night's starting goalie, offered to give that honor to Bourque, who held the same superstition. But Bourque, the consummate team player, rejected both offers.

As soon as Bourque took the ice for Colorado, both the player and the team were rejuvenated. "We had new life," Sakic said that night. So did Bourque. The Avs went 12-2-1 after the trade, won the Northwest Division and advanced to the conference finals before losing to Dallas in seven games, a heartbreaking defeat indeed. Bourque was in position to become an unrestricted free agent, but he wanted to stay with the Avs, knowing they gave up so much for him and brought in so he'd fulfill his quest to win a Cup. He signed a one-year deal. Several months later, he was hoisting the Stanley Cup, his dream fulfilled.

nl5xsk1 · June 14, 2004

Bourque got robbed ... while it'd be a lie to say that this was a top 10 or 20 moment, it's certainly too low for how much hype and publicity surrounded it. Especially when just another Yankees comeback was just 2 spots below it.

Bored · June 15, 2004

#85: Bob Knight loses cool, tosses chair

Rick Weinberg
Special to ESPN.com

Every Big Ten Conference basketball game between NCAA national championship contenders is an experience, a happening, and a must-see event. The buzz begins the morning of the game, whether it's in Bloomington, Columbus or Ann Arbor. The intensity grows as the clock moves toward game time. By early evening, students, administration officials, coaches and players are ready to burst.

So when Bob Knight's Indiana Hoosiers took the court against Gene Keady's Purdue Boilermakers on February 23, 1985, electricity permeated throughout jam-packed Assembly Hall in Bloomington, Indiana. The NCAA Tournament was coming up, only a couple of weeks away. So every victory was vital, every performance had to be nearly flawless.

But on this chilly winter night in Indiana, the Hoosiers were flawed, not flawless.

THE MOMENT

The Boilermakers seize a quick lead that rapidly balloons to an 11-2 embarrassment for the Hoosiers on their own floor. It's only four minutes into the contest, and Knight, whose temper tantrums and vile antics have earned him as much attention as his many victories, was seething. You can sense something bad is going to transpire, especially when Knight flies off the bench when a foul is called on Hoosiers guard Steve Alford with 15:59 left in the half.

Fifty-eight seconds later, when a foul is called against Indiana's Marty Simmons, Knight vehemently protests again as he stalks the sidelines -- yelling, pointing, fuming. Then, as Purdue inbounds the ball, another foul is called on Indiana, this time on Daryl Thomas. Knight goes absolutely ballistic, cussing and shrieking at the officials. He is finally hit with a technical by referee Fred Jaspers. Enraged over his team's lackadaisical start and the officials' calls, Knight loses it. He turns toward the Hoosiers' bench, fuming, wanting to take out his rage on someone, something, anything. Instinctively, he picks up a folding chair from the Hoosiers' bench, and just when you think he's going to slam it into the floor, he hurls it across the court, to the utter shock and disbelief of everyone watching.

The chair is heading right toward the wheelchair section of the arena, sliding, twisting and turning across the court, a site so outlandish and so unusual that it's like a mirage. Everyone in Assembly Hall, other than Knight, is incredulous. Knight's own players and staff have seen his uncontrollable rage before -- usually at closed practices. But this is an actual game, being played in front of thousands of people in the stands and many more on TV.

"I was shocked," Purdue's Steve Reid would say later. "I've never seen anything like this happen before."

Every eye in the arena, every eye watching on TV, stares in disbelief as the folding chair careens along the surface of the court. As people in wheelchairs scramble to get out of the way, the chair slows down and comes to a stop, only a few feet away.

People are horrified; there is astonishment, even fear, in the arena as Indiana Athletic Director Ralph Floyd rushes from his seat to the Hoosiers' bench. What will happen next? Will Knight throw another chair? Will he throw all of them? Will people get hurt? Will he attack an official? Is this the moment that his head explodes in front of the world?

Remember, this is the guy who in 1981 shoved an LSU fan into a garbage can in Philadelphia during the Final Four. This is the guy who in 1979 was charged, tried and convicted for hitting a Puerto Rican policeman before a practice at the Pan American Games.

The scene of rage and fear subsides, and after realizing what he had done, and the embarrassment it has caused him, the basketball program, the university, and the fans, Knight gains control of himself, his senses and his emotions, and is escorted off the court.

Sadly, this is not the last of Knight's antics. Far from it. He slams his fist into the scorer's table during a 1987 NCAA Tournament game vs. LSU and is fined $10,000 by the NCAA. In a 1988 national TV interview, Knight says, "If rape is inevitable, relax and enjoy it." He later claims the quote is taken out of context. In 1992, he gives a mock whipping to Calbert Cheaney, an African-American, during practice at the NCAA West Regional in Albuquerque. Knight later apologizes for the racial connotations to the incident. He head butts Sherron Wilkerson while screaming at him on the bench in 1994, later saying it was unintentional. Then, in 2000, a videotape is released showing Knight choking one of his former players, Neil Reed, in a '97 practice.

Ugly incidents all, yet the one that sticks out in the mind of millions, the one that is replayed on TV over and over again, is when Knight shockingly hurled the chair across the court.

alfdogg · June 16, 2004

as a Knick fan, i refuse to commit...i'm sure Pacer Fan (you know who you are ) will have something to say though!

Miller clobbered Anthony to get the ball back, I swear to god!!!!!!!!!!!!!

but, Ewing missing that fingeroll was unforgivable...

No.

It was a flop.

Bored · June 16, 2004

#84: Dean Smith breaks record with 877th win

He never really wanted the record, never really cared about the record. But when you're Dean Smith and you teach the game of basketball as well as he does, and when you coach the game as well as he does, and when you have as much character, class, and integrity as he does, and when the players who play for you respect you as much as they do, victories have a way of piling up.

So even if he didn't want to eclipse Adolph Rupp's NCAA Division I record of 876 victories, it was inevitable. So on the night of March 15, 1997, the record fell, appropriately in the NCAA Tournament, where Smith and his Tar Heels were an annual fixture.

THE MOMENT

As the buzzer sounds at soldout Lawrence Joel Memorial Coliseum in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, signifying the conclusion of North Carolina's 73-56 NCAA East Regional Tournament rout over Colorado, Tar Heels center Serge Zwikker zeroes in on the prized souvenir -- the ball -- and races to midcourt. Colorado's Rick Brownstein holds the historic ball as chaos ensues. Zwikker grabs the ball from Brownstein's grasp, raises it over his head and runs toward the Carolina bench.

He is stopped momentarily by an NCAA Tournament official who says, "Give me the ball. We're going to give it to Coach Smith later." Zwikker snickers and quickly fires back, "No, we're going to give it to him right now.'"

With that, Zwikker races over to Smith. "Coach," he says proudly, extending the ball as a gift, "this is for you."

Dean Smith graciously takes the ball, wearing a humble smile. The stadium is roaring. History is complete. Smith's victory is career No. 877, surpassing former Kentucky coach Adolph Rupp. North Carolina players - present and past - stand and applaud, some with tears in their eyes. Quite a moment to savor, yet it's one Smith simply wants to end. He is, after all, not about personal attention.

But this is one time he can't escape.

Former Tar Heels came from all over the country for this moment. Sitting in the stands are 18 former UNC players, including George Karl, Sam Perkins, Bobby Jones and Mitch Kupchak. The landmark victory they witness is North Carolina's 14th triumph in a row and it lands the Heels in the Sweet 16 for the 15th time in 17 seasons.

The victory didn't come easily. In fact, the Tar Heels, who watched star forward Vince Carter suffer a groin injury in the opening minutes, trailed at the half. But they come storming out for the second half, determind not to let No. 877 wait until the following season; they are not going to lose on this night.

Two minutes into the second half, the Tar Heels go on a tear to take the lead, then they build the edge to six, then blow it open to a 14-point advantage.

Even when the outcome is apparent, even though the victory is complete with a 24-point lead with just under four minutes left, Smith continues to coach, continues to teach his players. He calls a timeout. Not to devise a play to embarrass Colorado even more than the Tar Heels already have. Not to rub it in. He does it to make a point, a statement, only to his players. He informs them that even though the game is over, even though the "W" is in the books, to him the game is scoreless, and that every player on the court will be judged on these final four minutes, not the first 36.

The waning seconds of a blowout do not exist in Smith's world. Not when you're a University of North Carolina Tar Heel. Every Tar Heel -- past, present and future -- knows that. To illustrate his point, when one of the reserves, Ryan Sullivan, doesn't execute a play only a few seconds after the timeout, Smith yanks him right out of the game.

On this historic evening, when he takes over as the NCAA's all-time leader in victories, he calls the timeout in the interest of playing basketball the right way, the only way he knows how to coach.

He doesn't care about garnering more points. He is not attempting to show up the opponent. His mindset is simply this: Play the game the right way. Respect the game, respect yourself, respect your teammates, appreciate the supporters. Play the proper way every practice, every second, no matter the score, opponent, or whether it's preseason or the NCAA tournament. This is the blueprint, the recipe that enabled Smith to win more games than anyone in college basketball.

On this night, Smith is overtaken with emotion, but does his best not to reveal it. Smith thanks the university for sticking with him, he thanks his players, and he reminds the world that it's not about wins and losses, but about the players.

Bored · June 18, 2004

#83 Kobe declares: 'I'm innocent'

Rick Weinberg
Special to ESPN.com

The announcement was chilling. The words simply couldn't be right. Rape. Assault. Felony. But this was not a mistake. Kobe Bryant was being charged with a serious crime. On July 3, 2003, Bryant was charged in Colorado's Eagle County with sexually assaulting a 19-year-old woman on June 30, an offense that could result in a prison term of four years to life.

Disbelief about Bryant's situation led to doubt and questions. Bryant had a gorgeous wife, Vanessa, who had just given birth to the couple's first child, a girl, just a few months earlier.

But according to police reports, these were the facts: At 10 p.m., on June 30, Bryant, accompanied by three friends, checked into the Lodge & Spa at Cordillera, a $300-a-night, 56-room resort located halfway between the small town of Eagle and the ski resort of Vail.

Bryant was scheduled to have arthroscopic surgery on his right knee at the Steadman Hawkins Clinic in Vail on the morning of July 1. Working at was the alleged victim, who reportedly spoke and flirted with Bryant. Then, between 11:13 p.m. and midnight, she went to Bryant's room. While there, the alleged sexual assault occurred.

The next morning, as Bryant underwent surgery, the woman and her parents went to the Eagle County Sheriff's Department to lodge the assault complaint against Bryant. Bryant was interviewed by investigators the night of July 1 and voluntarily provided DNA samples at a hospital the following morning.

On July 3, Eagle County's sheriff obtained an arrest warrant from a district judge without Eagle County District Attorney Mark Hurlbert signing off on it, and the next day, July 4, Bryant was summoned back to Colorado to turn himself in.

After being booked, Bryant posted a $25,000 bond and was released. For more than a week, Bryant was in hiding. Finally, he emerged, going to an awards show with his wife, smiling and waving to fans.

Several weeks later, on Friday, July 19, 2003, Hurlbert held a news conference outside the justice center and said Bryant will be charged with sexual assault.

Four hours later, at Staples Center in Los Angeles, Bryant holds his own news conference. The press room is packed with media. Standing room only. There is a row of cameras stretching from one wall to the other.

THE MOMENT

Bryant emerges from an adjacent room and enters holding hands with his wife. Following closely behind are Bryant's attorneys, Pamela Mackey and Hal Haddon. They sit. The room is tense. Bryant stares at the microphone in front of him. His eyes glisten. He bites his lip. There is near silence in the room. The only sound is that of cameras clicking.

Tears well up in Bryant's eyes. As he begins to speak, his voice quivers. "I'm innocent," he says softly but defiantly. He shakes his head and shifts uncomfortably in his seat as he holds his wife's hand. He purses his lips and says, "I didn't force [the accuser] to do anything against her will. I'm innocent."

He pauses, biting his lip again, his face illustrating anger. "I sit here in front of you furious at myself, disgusted at myself for making the mistake of adultery."

His words are strong, disturbing. He is so infuriated at himself, embarrassed for being so irresponsible. To have put himself in a situation like this, to put his life and career in jeopardy. Bryant squeezes his wife's hands. She gently strokes his arm as she stares into eyes. Vanessa looks away for a beat, sitting there in front of the world, exasperated over this three-week nightmare. Bryant stares at his wife. She turns back to him.

Bryant's wife clasps his right hand in both of her hands, tightly. He gazes into her eyes, apologetically, and tells her, in front of the entire world, "You're a blessing. You're a piece of my heart. You're the air I breathe. You're the strongest person I know and I'm so sorry for having to put you through this, and having to put our family through this."

She does not smile. Her eyes reflect sadness and betrayal, but also a feeling for her husband, knowing what he is going through, having to admit his guilt of adultery, in front of the world.

There are no Laker officials on the dais. No Phil Jackson, the Lakers' coach. None of Bryant's Lakers teammates. He is, essentially, all by himself.

Bryant's attorneys replicate his expression and tone of determination. Mackey says sternly and angrily, "Mr. Bryant is falsely accused of an extremely serious crime, a crime which carries with it the potential of a life sentence. No prosecutor should file charges unless the evidence is so strong that it can be proven beyond a reasonable doubt. The evidence in this case falls far, far short of that standard."

For everyone in the audience, it is stunning to see Bryant, publicly admitting to an indiscretion. He turns again to his wife, his remorse turning to resolve. "My wife and I, and my family, we are going to fight these false accusations," he says. "We have a lot at stake. I have a lot at stake and it has nothing to do with the game of basketball. It has nothing to do with endorsements. Nothing at all. This is about us. This is about our family. ... Shoulder to shoulder, we are going to fight this all the way to the end."

Hogan Made Wrestling · June 18, 2004

#83 Kobe declares: 'I'm innocent'

Rick Weinberg
Special to ESPN.com

The announcement was chilling. The words simply couldn't be right. Rape. Assault. Felony. But this was not a mistake. Kobe Bryant was being charged with a serious crime. On July 3, 2003, Bryant was charged in Colorado's Eagle County with sexually assaulting a 19-year-old woman on June 30, an offense that could result in a prison term of four years to life.

Disbelief about Bryant's situation led to doubt and questions. Bryant had a gorgeous wife, Vanessa, who had just given birth to the couple's first child, a girl, just a few months earlier.

But according to police reports, these were the facts: At 10 p.m., on June 30, Bryant, accompanied by three friends, checked into the Lodge & Spa at Cordillera, a $300-a-night, 56-room resort located halfway between the small town of Eagle and the ski resort of Vail.

Bryant was scheduled to have arthroscopic surgery on his right knee at the Steadman Hawkins Clinic in Vail on the morning of July 1. Working at was the alleged victim, who reportedly spoke and flirted with Bryant. Then, between 11:13 p.m. and midnight, she went to Bryant's room. While there, the alleged sexual assault occurred.

The next morning, as Bryant underwent surgery, the woman and her parents went to the Eagle County Sheriff's Department to lodge the assault complaint against Bryant. Bryant was interviewed by investigators the night of July 1 and voluntarily provided DNA samples at a hospital the following morning.

On July 3, Eagle County's sheriff obtained an arrest warrant from a district judge without Eagle County District Attorney Mark Hurlbert signing off on it, and the next day, July 4, Bryant was summoned back to Colorado to turn himself in.

After being booked, Bryant posted a $25,000 bond and was released. For more than a week, Bryant was in hiding. Finally, he emerged, going to an awards show with his wife, smiling and waving to fans.

Several weeks later, on Friday, July 19, 2003, Hurlbert held a news conference outside the justice center and said Bryant will be charged with sexual assault.

Four hours later, at Staples Center in Los Angeles, Bryant holds his own news conference. The press room is packed with media. Standing room only. There is a row of cameras stretching from one wall to the other.

THE MOMENT

Bryant emerges from an adjacent room and enters holding hands with his wife. Following closely behind are Bryant's attorneys, Pamela Mackey and Hal Haddon. They sit. The room is tense. Bryant stares at the microphone in front of him. His eyes glisten. He bites his lip. There is near silence in the room. The only sound is that of cameras clicking.

Tears well up in Bryant's eyes. As he begins to speak, his voice quivers. "I'm innocent," he says softly but defiantly. He shakes his head and shifts uncomfortably in his seat as he holds his wife's hand. He purses his lips and says, "I didn't force [the accuser] to do anything against her will. I'm innocent."

He pauses, biting his lip again, his face illustrating anger. "I sit here in front of you furious at myself, disgusted at myself for making the mistake of adultery."

His words are strong, disturbing. He is so infuriated at himself, embarrassed for being so irresponsible. To have put himself in a situation like this, to put his life and career in jeopardy. Bryant squeezes his wife's hands. She gently strokes his arm as she stares into eyes. Vanessa looks away for a beat, sitting there in front of the world, exasperated over this three-week nightmare. Bryant stares at his wife. She turns back to him.

Bryant's wife clasps his right hand in both of her hands, tightly. He gazes into her eyes, apologetically, and tells her, in front of the entire world, "You're a blessing. You're a piece of my heart. You're the air I breathe. You're the strongest person I know and I'm so sorry for having to put you through this, and having to put our family through this."

She does not smile. Her eyes reflect sadness and betrayal, but also a feeling for her husband, knowing what he is going through, having to admit his guilt of adultery, in front of the world.

There are no Laker officials on the dais. No Phil Jackson, the Lakers' coach. None of Bryant's Lakers teammates. He is, essentially, all by himself.

Bryant's attorneys replicate his expression and tone of determination. Mackey says sternly and angrily, "Mr. Bryant is falsely accused of an extremely serious crime, a crime which carries with it the potential of a life sentence. No prosecutor should file charges unless the evidence is so strong that it can be proven beyond a reasonable doubt. The evidence in this case falls far, far short of that standard."

For everyone in the audience, it is stunning to see Bryant, publicly admitting to an indiscretion. He turns again to his wife, his remorse turning to resolve. "My wife and I, and my family, we are going to fight these false accusations," he says. "We have a lot at stake. I have a lot at stake and it has nothing to do with the game of basketball. It has nothing to do with endorsements. Nothing at all. This is about us. This is about our family. ... Shoulder to shoulder, we are going to fight this all the way to the end."

Good grief. So I guess the OJ trial or something related (the low speed chase) is going to be in the top 10?

Bored · June 18, 2004

#82: Earnhardt wins the Daytona 500 on his 20th try

Rick Weinberg
Special to ESPN.com

He had won everything in his sport. Except the Daytona 500.

He had won $30 million, 30 Daytona International Speedway races, 70 NASCAR Winston Cup race wins in all and seven Winston Cup titles.

But he had not won the 500. Dale Earnhardt, considered by many as the Great American Racer, had never what many considered the Great American Race.

Everything that could go wrong in the 500 for Earnhardt had gone wrong -- 19 times in fact. Flat tire one year. Running out of gas another. A few crashes. A few brain locks, according to Earnhardt himself. Four second-place finishes.

As the 1998 Daytona 500 race approached, Earnhardt had not been racing very well. He had not won in 59 consecutive races. He was 46 years old. Questions were raised as to whether he would he ever win anything again, let alone the Daytona 500. Some reporters were saying that Earnhardt had lost his audacious nature, his leopard-like reflexes, his desire.

THE MOMENT

It's February 15, 1998. The stands are packed with nearly 185,000 people, many of whom cheer wildly for No. 3, their No. 3, Dale Earnhardt.

Earnhardt has been running strong out front virtually the entire race, and he is holding off challenge upon challenge as he attempts to end years of frustration and attain of his quest of winning Daytona.

On the next-to-last lap, there is a wreck on the backstretch, behind the leaders. That means the last lap is going to be run under caution and whoever crosses the finish line first on this 199th of 200 laps would win.

Cars congregate in a roaring mass behind Earnhardt, banging into each other, clawing and bucking to get to the front. But they can not. Not this time. Not on this day.

Suddenly, Bobby Labonte, the pole sitter, appears out of nowhere. For a moment, it looks like he may become the latest driver to frustrate Earnhardt's quest to win the Daytona 500. Rusty Wallace, Jeremy Mayfield, Ken Schrader and Ernie Irvan also make bids to bury Earnhardt.

But none can. Earnhardt refuses to allow Labonte and the other challengers to overtake him, preventing them from making any maneuver to seize the lead.

"I wasn't thinking about what could happen," Earnhardt would later tell the media. "I was working to keep my car in front until somebody turned me over or we got to the finish line."

Finally, history happens. He crosses the finish line -- first. The crowd goes into hysterics.

The victory sends tremors of joy not only through the crowd, to Earnhardt's devoted throng of black-clad fans, but also through the teams that compete against him for years, the ones who have waged battle against him for decades.

After Earnhardt's victory lap, crew members from opposing teams surge over the pit wall, lining up, one after another, to reach out, to shake his hand and to pound the hood of his black Chevrolet as he drives slowly down pit road toward victory lane.

Earnhardt is so stunned, so touched, by the reaction of opposing teams, his eyes water up. "Daytona is ours! We won it!" he shouts with joy.

On his way to victory lane, Earnhardt joyfully spins his car on the infield grass. Magically, the tire tracks make a giant 3, Earnhardt's famous car number.

Fans race out to the track and pick up some of the grass and dirt that Earnhardt has knocked loose. They put it in their pockets, coolers and backpacks, saving and savoring a piece of the moment. Some even lay down in Earnhardt's tire tracks, to feel the place where he had driven. Some stand in the tracks and have their pictures taken.

Later, in the interview room, Earnhardt pulls a toy monkey out of his uniform shirt, throws it to the floor and shouts, "I finally got that monkey off my back!"

Bored · June 19, 2004

#81: With 'The Shot,' Jordan eliminates Cavs at buzzer

Rick Weinberg
Special to ESPN.com

His credibility, he said, was at stake. He was the best player in the game, hands down, yet he hadn't won an NBA championship. He'd dominate the highlight reels virtually every night from October to May, rack up scoring titles one after another, and yet others would be drinking the bubbly in June. It ate away at Michael Jordan. Every day.

So when Jordan and Bulls met the Cleveland Cavaliers in the first round of the 1988-89 playoffs, Jordan boldly predicted that he would take down the Cavs. Cleveland was astonished at this level of trash talk, of brashness. Jordan, after all, hadn't won a thing. Hadn't even gotten to the NBA Finals, for goodness sakes. Who was this guy to say he'd take out the Cavs, the team that was 37-4 at home, had the league's second-best record and had beaten Jordan six straight times during the regular season. Who was this guy to say he'd take us down?

THE MOMENT

The noise in the Coliseum is deafening in this, the fifth and deciding game of the series. Three seconds remain. Time out on the floor. The Cavs lead, 100-99. Guard Craig Ehlo has just put the Cavs in perfect position to shove it all down Jordan's throat with a driving, uncontested, clutch two-handed layup. As Ehlo would say later, "The layup seemed to be the period to end the sentence."

During the timeout, the Cavs know one thing: the ball is going to Jordan, who already has 42 points. Cavs coach Lenny Wilkens decides to double team Jordan with Ehlo and Larry Nance, a move that will allow Brad Sellers to inbound the ball without a man fronting him.

When he realizes he's not going to be fronted by the 6-foot-10, long-armed Nance, who had been checking and harassing Sellers all night long, Sellers is astonished. "Thank goodness," he mumbles to himself. Without Nance's long arms frantically waving in front of his eyeballs, Sellers has clear court vision.

As Sellers attempts to inbound the ball from midcourt, Ehlo and Nance are all over Jordan, who is stationed down low near the basket. Jordan quickly pops out toward the free-throw line. Nance tries to block his way, while Ehlo gets caught flatfooted. "Michael is so exceptionally quick that before I knew it, he was at the foul line," Ehlo would later say.

Ehlo recovers. He catches up with Jordan, who is supposed to get a back screen from Bill Cartwright and then jump out again. Sellers looks for his second option: Scottie Pippen setting a pick to free up Craig Hodges in the corner. But Pippen is motionless as he watches MJ try to shake free from Ehlo and Nance.

Hodges slices hard toward the baseline. Sellers is just about to fling the ball to Hodges, but he pumps and holds onto the ball. Out of the corner of his eye, Sellers sees a blur. It's Jordan, breaking free from Ehlo and Nance. MJ slips into a crease where Sellers has a path to needle through a pass. Quickly, instinctively, Sellers zips the ball to Jordan.

He takes it on the right wing, far from the basket, and dribbles to the top of the key. Ehlo, off balance, nearly swipes it away. He stumbles, slightly, giving Jordan just the edge he requires to get off his shot. From just inside the circle, Jordan goes up and stays up. Ehlo recovers his balance and goes up too. As Ehlo flies toward MJ, at an angle, in an attempt to block the shot, Jordan swings the ball away from him, hangs in the air, and . . .

He lets the ball fly. The ball goes on a line to the basket and rattles home. Jordan leaps into the air and thrusts his fist one, two, three times in the air, a scene that has become etched in the minds of millions.

It has since became known, in both Chicago and Cleveland, as "The Shot." Ehlo would say he had never heard the Coliseum so loud and then so quiet in such a brief period of time. He is still haunted by Jordan's shot, even today, and the ramifications of it are still being felt, in both cities. "The Shot" was the beginning of the Bulls' rise to NBA supremacy. Sure, they had to wait two more seasons and watch the more talented and tougher Detroit Pistons beat them in back-to-back conference finals, first in six games, then in seven, en route to back-to-back NBA titles. But from then on, it was all Chicago. Three straight NBA titles and six in eight years. Cleveland, meanwhile, was never the same: its brilliant 57-win season was its all-time best. It won 15 fewer games the following season season, then finished with only 33 wins the next season. The franchise remains -- at least until LeBron matures -- haunted by "The Shot."

alfdogg · June 19, 2004

Wow. I thought that would be a lot higher.

therealworldschampion · June 19, 2004

Miller, in one of the most blatant acts of trash talking in history, proclaims on national TV that the Pacers -- who had been eliminated from the playoffs the previous two seasons by the Knicks -- would now likely sweep the Knicks. He then dashes inside the tunnel to the Indiana locker room, shouting, "Choke artists! Choke artists!" -- a phrase that was splashed across the sports pages of the New York tabloids the following morning.

The Knicks? Chokers? Nah, they couldn't possibly EVER choke

Brett Favre · June 19, 2004

Miller, in one of the most blatant acts of trash talking in history, proclaims on national TV that the Pacers -- who had been eliminated from the playoffs the previous two seasons by the Knicks -- would now likely sweep the Knicks. He then dashes inside the tunnel to the Indiana locker room, shouting, "Choke artists! Choke artists!" -- a phrase that was splashed across the sports pages of the New York tabloids the following morning.

The Knicks? Chokers? Nah, they couldn't possibly EVER choke

Shut up. :angry:

June 19, 2004

The sports and non-sports world felt badly for Mitch Williams when he relinquished Joe Carter's three-run, World Series-winning home run in the bottom of the ninth inning of Game 6 of the 1993 World Series.

We did?

The sports and non-sports world felt for Bill Buckner,

We DID?

EVIL~! alkeiper · June 20, 2004

Mitch Williams was the last of the reviled chokers. After that incident, public sentiment grew to feel pity, as they did for Byung Hyun Kim.

June 20, 2004

I didn't feel bad for Kim at all. He got what was coming to him.

iliketurtles · June 20, 2004

Good to see they are at least giving wrestling some credit by just putting it on the list in the first place.

Bored · June 20, 2004

#80: Emmitt Smith breaks Payton's rushing record

Rick Weinberg
Special to ESPN.com

He had all the gifts. The vision. The instincts. The ability to avert direct hits, break tackles and run low to the ground. He had great balance. A burst of power when he hit holes. An unparalleled threshold of pain.

All the gifts.

Yet he was smallish, they said. Only 5-foot-9, only 209 pounds. Wasn't fast enough, either. Didn't think he'd be durable enough, even though durability was the essence of his being in college and high school.

That's why 16 players were selected in the 1990 NFL Draft before the Dallas Cowboys took Emmitt Smith. Sixteen teams passed. Half the league. Amazing.

Fourteen years later, the list of Smith's accomplishments are staggering. Three Super Bowl rings. A record 11 straight 1,000-yard seasons. He ran for 1,000 yards year after year on guts, heart, desire and pride. He was fortunate enough to never have sustained a serious injury, having missed just four starts.

All those 1,000-yard seasons eventually began to add up and before we knew it, Smith had gradually passed everyone on the all-time rushing list, except for Walter Payton, the NFL's No. 1 leading rusher. But the day was rapidly approaching when Smith, the little guy who supposedly couldn't, would overtake the runner many consider to be the NFL's greatest back.

THE MOMENT

On Sunday, October 27, 2002, as the Cowboys face the Seahawks at Texas Stadium, Smith is only 93 yards behind Payton's all-time record of 16,726 yards. Cowboys owner Jerry Jones, anticipating the record being broken, plans a huge celebration and tribute to Smith.

Even though Smith hasn't run for 100 yards in a game all season, Jones has a banner prepared to be unveiled the moment Smith becomes the NFL's No. 1 all-time leading rusher. He has it placed next to the three Super Bowl championship banners captured during The Emmitt Years.

With 10 minutes to go in the game, and Smith only a couple of bursts away from the record, the Cowboys take over at their own 27-yard line. The crowd rises and begins a cheer that grows louder and louder. This is it, they hope. This is the moment. The record-breaking moment.

"I was totally aware of how much I needed," Smith would say later. "When I saw I was 13 yards away, I knew this was the drive that I was going to do it. I was sure. There was no doubt. With the crowd going crazy as it was, I said, 'This is the time.' I had to do it for them, for everyone."

On first down, quarterback Chad Hutchinson hands the ball off to Smith, who bulls his way forward for three yards.

Back in the huddle, Hutchinson, looking directly at Smith, says, "OK. 15 Lead. On two." The huddle breaks and Smith lines up in his customary position. The clock shows 9:10 left when Hutchinson takes the snap and hands the ball off to Smith.

The crowd, the TV cameras, zero in on number 22 as he displays his signature burst off left tackle, hits a small hole, squeezes his way through, cuts left and finds a seam. There's daylight. "Walter," Smith says quietly to himself. "See ya."

His thought, he later reveals, is out of respect and admiration for Payton, not cockiness or disrespect. Smith bounces off one attempted tackle. He chugs along, running low, running square. He receives a crushing block from fullback Robert Thomas. He stumbles, ever so slightly, over the arm of an opponent, yet he quickly places his right hand on the turf, enabling him to keep his balance and keep chugging along until passes Payton.

When Smith is finally brought down, 11 yards later, with the crowd in a frenzy, Smith bounces to his feet. The record is his. Thousands of photo flashes go off in the stands. The game is halted. The celebration begins. Fireworks explode in each end zone.

Smith slowly takes off his helmet and kneels down on the 32-yard line. He then points to the sky for a moment. "For you Walter," he says later, revealing his inner thoughts. He rises and walks over to his mother, Mary, on the sideline. They shed tears of joy, relief and thankfulness. "When I saw my mom's face, that was it," Smith would say. Next, he kisses his wife, Pat, and their three kids, hugs former teammate Daryl Johnston and weeps a little more.

Five minutes pass. The game resumes. Smith returns to yet another standing ovation, and promptly caps the Cowboys' drive with a one-yard burst with 5:35 left, tying the game at 14-14 and extending his NFL record for rushing TDs to 150. He winds up with 109 yards on 24 carries, both season highs. It is his first 100-yard game of the season, and likely the second-to-last of his NFL career.

Nearly the entire crowd of 63,854 remains in their seats for close to one hour after the game. They wait to see Smith re-emerge amid smoke and blue lights from the locker-room tunnel, to catch another glimpse of the new NFL rushing leader on his day, his special moment in time.

Bored · June 21, 2004

#79: Jordan battles flu, makes Jazz sick

Rick Weinberg
Special to ESPN.com

He remembers waking up in the middle of the night, sweating profusely, shaking, and feeling as if he was going to die. "I was scared; I didn't know what was happening to me," Michael Jordan would say.

At first, he thought it was a nightmare. Then he realized it was real, that he was seriously ill. "I felt partially paralyzed," he would later say.

When he lifted himself up from his bed in his Utah hotel room, his head began spinning. He'd never been so nauseated before. He feared that somehow, some way, someone had slipped some kind of drug in something he ate.

It was the middle of the night in Salt Lake City, an off day between Games 4 and 5. The series was tied, 2-2, following Utah's second consecutive win, but how in the world could Jordan play in this condition in Game 5?

Jordan called the Bulls' medical personnel, which came rushing to his room. They determined that he was suffering from food poisoning or an intestinal stomach virus. "There's no way you'll be able to play Game 5," Jordan was told.

Jordan remains in bed for the next 24 hours, missing the Bulls' morning practices the day before and the day of Game 5. He had lost several pounds. He was dehydrated. Then, at 3 p.m., just three hours before tip-off, Jordan rose from his hotel bed and dragged himself to the Delta Center.

THE MOMENT

It's 4:30 p.m. when Scottie Pippen sees Jordan emerge from a side door of the Delta Center. "The way he looked, there's no way I thought he could even put on his uniform," Pippen would say. "I'd never seen him like that. He looked bad -- I mean really bad."

Jordan sequesters himself in a dark room adjacent to the Bulls' locker room. He slowly lies his weak body down. He closes his eyes. He visualizes himself running, shooting, passing, rebounding, dunking. Soon, he emerges from the room, staggering slowly. He puts on his uniform and walks out to the court, weak and pale. "I can play," he tells coach Phil Jackson. "I'll let you know how I'm feeling as the game goes on."

As the game begins, Jordan drags himself up and down the court, running at only 65 percent of his normal speed. He is so dehydrated and fatigued that he is sure he is going to pass out any second. Halfway through the quarter, during a pause in the game, Jordan bends over to rest, pulls on his shorts, closes his eyes and nearly falls over. He has no energy whatsoever.

Later in the first quarter, during a timeout, Jordan slumps into a seat on the Bulls' bench, his arms dangling, his shoulders sagging. "He could hardly sit up," Chicago center Luc Longley would say.

He is essentially useless in the first quarter, but in the second quarter, after Utah takes a 16-point lead, something happens to Jordan physically, emotionally and mentally. He begins running harder, running faster and making shots. Somehow, miraculously, he begins looking like the typically dominant Michael Jordan. He scores 17 points in the quarter. "It was all about desire," he would tell the media. "Somehow I found the energy to stay strong."

At halftime, Jordan is fed fluids and given cold towels. In the third quarter, fatigue and nausea return, dragging him down again, rendering him virtually useless. But early in the fourth quarter, when the Jazz go up, 77-69, Jordan somehow turns it on again, leading a 10-0 run that puts Chicago back on top with five minutes left.

He starts the Bulls' burst with a 12-footer, then Toni Kukoc and Jordan both drill 3-pointers to tie the score at 77. MJ caps the run by putting the Bulls on top, 79-77, with an 18-footer over Bryon Russell. Jordan had 33 points at that stage, a staggering total for someone so ill and weak.

"In the third quarter, I felt like I couldn't catch my wind and get my energy level up," Jordan would say later. "I don't know how I got through the fourth quarter. I was just trying to gut myself through it."

With 3:07 left, John Stockton nails a three for an 84-81 Utah lead. Jordan quickly hits a runner in the lane to make it 84-83. Moments later, Jordan is fouled by Stockton. He makes the first free throw to tie the score at 85 with 46.5 seconds left, but misses the second. Kukoc, however, tips the miss, and Jordan, his instincts still amazingly sharp and his reactions still quick despite his flu-like symptoms, grabs the loose ball and sets up the offense again.

Clearly exhausted, clearly weak, Jordan looks for Pippen posting up Jeff Hornacek. MJ also looks for three-point specialist Steve Kerr, wide open in the corner. Jordan, his arms hanging like a piece of rope, makes a weak fake to Kerr, but then quickly fires a pass to Pippen. Russell quickly moves to double Pippen, 5 for 17 in the game, leaving Jordan open on the perimeter. Pippen quickly fires the ball back to Jordan. The clock shows 0:26. With Stockton's hand right in his face, Jordan launches a shot from beyond the three-point line. The ball hits nothing but string. Bulls, 88-85. His 15th point of the quarter and his 38th of the night. "We never want to double off Michael Jordan in that situation," Utah coach Jerry Sloan would say later.

Utah pushes the ball upcourt, and Stockton breaks down the defense and feeds Greg Ostertag for a dunk, making it 88-87 with 15.2 seconds left. The Bulls quickly inbound the ball and work the ball upcourt to Kukoc, who feeds Longley for a dunk and a 90-87 lead with 6.2 seconds remaining. One possession remains. Utah works the ball around and as the clock hits 0:01, Hornacek heaves a 3-pointer & and misses.

Jordan, who plays 23 of 24 minutes in the first half and 21 of 24 minutes in the second, doubles over, collapsing from emotion and exhaustion.

"That was probably the most difficult thing I've ever done," he would say after the game. "I almost played myself into passing out just to win a basketball game. If we had lost, I would have been devastated." Jackson was almost at a loss for words, but finally told the media, "Because of the circumstances, with this being a critical game in the Finals, I'd have to say this is the greatest game I've seen Michael play. Just standing up was nauseating for him and caused him dizzy spells. This was a heroic effort, one to add to the collection of efforts that make up his legend."

After MJ's epic performance, Pippen would say, "He's the greatest, and everyone saw why tonight."

Bored · June 23, 2004

#78: Canadian figure skating pair robbed of gold

Rick Weinberg
Special to ESPN.com

When Jamie Salé and David Pelletier completed their flawless, skating routine at the 2002 Olympics, the only thought anyone had was "Gold."

There was no doubt about it. Salé and Pelletier, the Canadian skating pair who were lovers on and off the ice, entered the final phase in second place behind Russians Elena Berezhnaya and Anton Sikharulidze. But after the electrifying performance to a romantic "Love Story" routine -- following Sikharulidze's stumble on the landing of a double axel jump there was no doubt that the Canadians had secured the gold medal.

When Salé and Pelletier -- the sport's reigning world champions -- ended their poignant performance that brought the crowd of 16,458 to its feet roaring, Pelletier got down on his knees and kissed the ice in gratitude, joy and relief. TV commentator and former Olympic champion Scott Hamilton roared, "They've won it!"

THE MOMENT

Salé and Pelletier sit side by side, hand in hand, breathing hard, sweating, smiling, anticipating the same score that the crowd is yelling in unison: "Six! Six! Six!" The scores flash up on the big board: Technical merit: three 5.9s and six 5.8s. Their heads drop in shock. Then comes to scores for the presentation portion: four 5.9s and five 5.8s. There is shock in the arena as the final score appears: Russians 5, Canadians 4. The Russians get the gold -- for the 11th consecutive time in the Olympics, no less -- and the Canadians get the shaft.

The arena goes ballistic. The crowd at Salt Lake City boos loudly. The announcers harshly criticize the judges. Commentator Sandra Bezic goes as far as to say, "I'm embarrassed for our sport right now."

The moment is too much for Pelletier to bear. "Your Olympic dreams," he would say, "sometimes turn into Olympic nightmares." Salé takes a different approach, telling the media, "This has made me love the sport even more. Flying through the air, the chemistry I had with Dave ... Our silver medal is worth a gold to us."

As the hours pass in the night, suspicion grows about the voting. It simply doesn't make sense that Salé and Pelletier lost an event they clearly won.

"Robbed!" scream the front-page headlines of Canadian newspapers the next day. The uproar takes on a life of its own and the controversy gets so heated, skating officials are forced to launch an inquiry as to why five judges would award gold to Russia for a challenging but flawed program over a peerless Canadian couple.

Soon, the truth emerges, the culprit surfaces, through guilt, embarrassment, confusion and fear. These emotions belong to French judge Marie-Reine Le Gougne, whose psyche begins crumbling shortly after she had voted against the Canadians. She is verbally attacked by skating officials as she leaves the arena and as she boards a shuttle to the hotel. Her eyes begin to well up. She can't look anyone in the eye. Her face says it all: Guilty.

The following morning, after awaking to vicious criticism on TV and radio shows, Le Gougne returns to the arena for a meeting in which the judges defend their scores from the previous night's competition. Ten judges are in the room. Referee Ron Pfenning of the U.S. duct-tapes the edges of the door in the windowless room so the conversation in the room cannot be overheard.

In the room, the French judge bursts out in a conflagration of rage, emotion and tears. She rambles on and on, almost incoherently, blurting out a confession. Then, in a stunning moment of disbelief, Le Gougne claims she was ordered to vote for the Russians, regardless of the performance, by Didier Gailhaguet, head of the French Skating Federation.

When word leaks out that the competition result is tainted, an intense media frenzy intensifies and consumes the world news. Confessions and retractions rule the ensuing days. Le Gougne is suspended by the ISU. Shortly thereafter, it is decided that the Canadians will receive also a receive a gold medal.

Six days after the Disgrace on Ice, the Olympics prepare for another gold medal ceremony. A blue-carpeted podium is set up. Berezhnaya and Sikharulidze approach the podium, wearing gold medals around their necks. Salé and Pelletier follow. No medals hang from their necks.

The ceremony begins. Salé and Berezhnaya walk to the podium, trailed by Pelletier and Sikharulidze. Holding hands as they climb to the top of the podium, Salé and Berezhnaya smile glowingly in this bizarre Olympic moment. The couples stand as an Olympic official loops a gold medal around Salé's neck, and then one around Pelletier's. He then gives the four skaters a yellow bouquet. They wave toward the crowd.

The Russian anthem is played, with Berezhnaya and Sikharulidze spiritedly singing along. The Canadian anthem follows. Salé sings while Pelletier stands nervously still, smiling, relieved, and proud. Justice has been served.

All four hug and exchange kisses and pose for photographers. Salé bites her medal, making certain it's real. She laughs. So does Pelletier.

Bored · June 24, 2004

#77: Louganis gashes head on board, wins gold

Rick Weinberg
Special to ESPN.com

The reverse 3½ somersault in the tuck position is the "Dive of Death" -- the most difficult platform dive. Every diver who has comtemplated it knows the danger, the fear, the horrific visions of disaster as they stand atop the world, anticipating tumbling down at a speed of 65-70 mph.

No one knew it better than Greg Louganis. He was on the steps of the tower during the 1983 World University Games when Soviet diver Sergei Chalibashvili was about to attempt the reverse 3½. Louganis stood there, refusing to watch. He actually looked the other way. He was holding his hands over his ears, fearing Chalibashvili might not be able to clear the tower on the dive, and that he would hear the dreadful sound of head meeting concrete.

Louganis' fears were realized, as Chalibashvili's head struck and shook the platform. His body tumbled through the air, head over feet, uncontrollably, and he crashed in the water. Blood quickly filled the pool. Doctors and medical personnel rushed to the scene. It didn't matter. Chalibashvili was gone.

Moments later, there stood Louganis, in the very same spot where Chalibashvili had stood, having to continue the competition, having to dive into bloody water with the same reverse 3½.

Louganis often had nightmares of the time he had slammed into the platform during a competition in the Soviet Union in 1979. He was unconscious when he hit the water. He had to be pulled out of the pool and was out for 20 minutes. "It's always there in the back of your mind, but you have to be brave, confident," he has told the media. "You have block it out."

THE MOMENT

It's the 1988 Summer Olympic Games in Seoul, September 19, Day 4 of the 3-meter springboard competition, the preliminary round that determines which divers move to the medal round.

Louganis is leading the 11-dive preliminary springboard event as he steps up for his ninth dive. He walks to the end of the springboard. The crowd is silent. Louganis stands straight up, perhaps a little too straight. He then bends and whips himself off the board and flies into the air.

As he hangs in the air, high above the crowd, twisting and turning, he realizes he should have pushed away a little more, just to give himself a little more distance from the board. As he begins to descend, he realizes he is over the board, not far enough away from it. The crowd sees how close he is. They anticipate trouble. They cringe. So does Louganis' coach, Ron O'Brien.

As Louganis spins downward, the back of his head slams against the board. The shock is felt throughout the crowd. As Louganis tumbles toward the water, helplessly, the crowd hopes and prays. Louganis crashes into the water, awkwardly. People in the crowd hold their hands over their faces, aghast. Medical personnel quickly surround the pool, prepared for the worst.

Suddenly, Louganis emerges to the surface, stunned and dazed, but conscious. He is helped out of the pool. Dr. James Puffer of UCLA, the U.S. Olympic Committee physician, examines Louganis' head. Louganis pushes him away. "Just stitch it up," he tells the doctor. "I've got two more dives."

Puffer puts four temporary stitches in the top of Louganis' head. The 9th-round scrape drops Louganis from first place to fifth place. Thirty minutes pass until his next dive; it's the one that will determine whether he advances to the medal round.

He emerges for his dive to the delight of a crowd screaming, "USA! USA!" A diver of precision, Louganis completes a startling reverse 1½ somersault with 3½ twists -- his best dive of the day. Despite a 3.3 degree of difficulty, Louganis makes it look easy.

In the final round, amidst the roar of the crowd, Louganis completes his dive, securing his place in the medal round the following day with 12 other divers in a field that started with 35 competitors.

Shortly after his last dive, Louganis is taken to a local hospital to get five stitches to last through the rest of the Games -- he hopes. His sights are now set on the gold medal, which he won at the previous Olympics, in 1984, in Los Angeles. He is determined to become the first diver to win both the springboard and platform competition in back-to-back Olympics.

The following morning, Louganis appears for the medal round with two shaved spots on his head where he had hit the end of the board. He is nervous. He is unable to erase from his mind the previous day's horror. The challenge, he says, is psychological.

"When I hit the board, it shook my confidence," he admits to the press. He has more jitters than he can ever recall. He knows he has to be sure to get his hands over his head; if he doesn't break the water with his hands, he knows he can bust open the stitches and damage his head further.

He goes out for the gold medal round knowing he has to do three takeoffs exactly the same as the same one he hit the board on. "Try that and you'll find out how mentally tough you are," his coach, O'Brien, would later say.

On his second dive, Louganis successfully completes a reverse, but the question is how he will handle his ninth dive -- the same one that resulted in his head injury. Dive No. 9 arrives. He contemplates his move, standing at the end of the board. He takes two deep breaths. He then takes an extra moment to concentrate, to focus, to obliterate any fear from his mind. He knows the world is watching, waiting. He tells himself, "You've done this before. You will do it again."

He jumps ... he twists in the air ... he turns. His motion is perfect. The crowd roars. He flies through the air and heads downward and lands perfectly in the pool, with virtually no splash. He emerges from the water grinning. The scores are posted: they all range from 8.0 to 9.0.

Louganis does not falter once in the 11-dive program. He totals 730.80 points to win the gold, and China's Tan Liangde, the diver who finished second to Louganis in the 1984 Olympic Games, takes the silver with 704.88 points.

As Louganis stands atop the awards stand, the Olympic gold medal for men's springboard diving around his neck, he listens as "The Star-Spangled Banner" reverberates through the Chamshil Indoor Swimming Pool. He relishes the moment, his conquest over pain and pressure complete.

Bored · June 24, 2004

#76: Winslow helped off field after Chargers' OT win

Rick Weinberg
Special to ESPN.com

The first sign of serious trouble came near the end of the third quarter, shortly after Chargers tight end Kellen Winslow caught a 25-yard touchdown pass to give San Diego a 31-24 lead. As an exhausted Winslow walked to the sidelines, he felt his thigh cramp up. Then he felt his calf cramp up. He hobbled to the bench, ready to collapse.

Winslow wasn't the only one. The heat and humidity had turned the Orange Bowl in Miami into an outdoor sauna. This January 2, 1982, NFL playoff game between the Dolphins and Chargers is considered one of the greatest in league history. This game went on for 4 hours and 45 minutes, and left 90 players dragging their tongues across the hot turf.

The game started out as a rout. San Diego jumped out to a 24-0 lead, but the Dolphins rallied to tie it at halftime. The Chargers regained the lead in the third quarter, 31-24, on a Dan Fouts to Winslow TD. But the Dolphins come right back when quarterback Don Strock, playing for the injured David Woodley, hit reserve tight end Bruce Hardy for a 50-yard touchdown. The game was tied at 31.

THE MOMENT

The clamor in the Orange Bowl in the fourth quarter is so deafening, it sounds as if a space shuttle is about to take off. It gets even louder when Lyle Blackwood picks off a Fouts pass, setting up Tony Nathan's touchdown run that gives Miami a 38-31 lead.

After Miami forces the Chargers to punt on the next possession, Winslow is barely able to walk to the sideline. He not only has cramps in his thigh and both calves, he now has one in his lower back -- perhaps the worst spot of all to develop a cramp because it's difficult to stand and to bend over. "I felt paralyzed," he would say later on.

Winslow had entered the game in terrible shape to begin with; he has a bruised left shoulder, a strained right rotator cuff, and a sore neck, which he suffered while compensating for the other injuries. His condition is so bad that he required help to put on his shoulder pads before the game.

Now, here he is, having to be helped to the bench again by teammates. Team trainers surround him like a pit crew: one massages his calves, another rubs his back, and another pours fluids into his mouth. But he continues on.

With five minutes to play and Miami leading 38-31, Strock leads a scintillating, clock-eating drive that moves the Dolphins to the San Diego 21-yard line. All the Dolphins need to seal the victory is a field goal. But on second and seven, Andra Franklin takes a handoff and plunges up the middle into a wall of bodies. As he falls, the ball is ripped from his tight grip by San Diego lineman Louie Kelcher, giving San Diego possession.

The oppressive heat takes its toll on the Miami defense, which is now gasping for air and unable to provide any kind of a pass rush. This allows Fouts to put together a magnificent drive; he connects with Charlie Joiner for 14 yards, Wes Chandler for 6, Joiner for 5 and then 15 more, a dead-tired Winslow for 7, and Chandler for 19, bringing the ball to the Miami 9.

On first-and-goal, Fouts drops back, scrambles and lobs the ball toward the corner of the end zone to Winslow, who leaps but can't get high enough to snare the ball. Just as the ball sails over Winslow's outstretched fingernails, Chargers rookie running back James Brooks, who had instinctively run to the back line of the end zone behind Winslow, snags the ball for the tying touchdown with 55 seconds left. "One of the all-time brilliant heads-up plays," Fouts would later tell the media. "In the hundreds of times we'd run that play, I'd never thrown to anybody back there."

On the ensuing kickoff, Chargers coach Don Coryell calls for a squib kick, hoping the Dolphins will fumble. Fouts tries talking him out of it, wanting to bury the Dolphins deep in their own territory. Coryell goes with the squib. The Dolphins handle the ball, and start at their 40. There are 52 seconds on the clock.

Strock's first-down pass is nearly picked off. His second pass is intercepted, by Willlie Buchanon, who fumbles it right back to Miami. The Dolphins drive into field-goal range and with four seconds remaining, Uwe von Schamann -- the AFC's most accurate kicker -- runs out to attempt a 43-yard field goal.

Winslow, slumped on the bench trying to hold down liquids, slowly walks back on the field to try and block the kick. He has never blocked a field goal in his career. He can hardly stand, much less jump. Teammates try to prevent him from going on the field. He pushes them aside.

"Get me some penetration," Winslow yells to teammates. As the ball is snapped, Winslow summons everything he has left in his weak, deflated body. His 6-foot-6 body jumps as high as it can. As the ball is booted, Winslow tips the kick with the pinkie finger on his right hand. The field goal attempt is no good, forcing the game into overtime.

After his block, Winslow lays on the ground, unable to celebrate because he is unable to move. He is carried off the field, his body in spasm from his calves to his neck. Coryell approaches OT as if Winslow is unable to play, but amazingly, the Chargers' tight-end staggers back onto the field after San Diego wins the coin flip.

The Chargers rapidly move downfield and Coryell calls for Rolf Benirschke to kick a 27-yarder. Benirschke hadn't missed from inside the 30 all year. There's one problem: San Diego's field goal unit is late getting onto the field, forcing a quick snap. With his rhythm off, Benirschke hooks his kick left. And the game goes on, into the night.

Deadlocked at 38, neither team is able to sustain a drive on their two ensuing possessions. Nine minutes into overtime, Strock moves Miami downfield, setting up von Schamann for a 34-yarder. Across the field, Benirschke keels on the sideline. "It was like watching your own execution," he would say later. Amazingly, von Schamann flubs the kick. And the game goes on.

Next, Fouts drives San Diego downfield, hitting Brooks and Chandler twice in a row, and then connecting with Joiner for 39 yards. The Chargers are at the Miami 10-yard line. Fate presents Benirschke with another chance. With San Diego's field goal unit ready this time, Benirschke's kick is perfect -- ending this epic game, and silencing the exhausted, sweaty crowd of nearly 50,000.

The scoreboard flashes, San Diego 41, Miami 38. Linemen on both teams lay on the ground, motionless. As players from both teams struggle to their feet, Winslow, who caught 16 passes for 166 yards, takes three wobbly steps, then falls. His body temperature is 105 degrees. It's later revealed that he lost 13 pounds during the game. He is helped up by two teammates and staggers slowly off the field, flanked by teammates, holding him up -- an image that reflects the true essence of the game.

The Czech Republic · June 25, 2004

The TV version of the Louganis thing seemed to dwell more on him being HIV positive than the text one.

Bored · June 25, 2004

I'm sure Chris Berman has input on what he says in the narrative so knowing him he probably insisted on mentioning Louganis being HIV positive even though it had nothing to do with the moment.

#75: Theismann's career ends with gruesome injury

Rick Weinberg
Special to ESPN.com

There have been some horrific injuries in the history of sports. Then there is the one Joe Theismann suffered during a Monday Night Football game on national television, an injury so gruesome and revolting that even people who relish blood, guts and gore, were forced to turn away.

THE MOMENT

It's Week 11 of the 1985 season in the nation's capital, and the Redskins are playing a Monday Night game at home against the Giants, one of their fiercest rivals. Forty-three seconds into the second quarter of a scoreless game, Joe Theismann calls a trick play: a flea-flicker.

Theismann hands the ball off to running back John Riggins, who barrels toward the line, comes to a screeching stop and tosses the ball back to Theismann, who starts to run. Everyone watching senses the play isn't going to gain much yardage because Harry Carson, one of the Giants' star linebackers, gets to Theismann quickly. But Theismann, typically, squirms away from Carson's grip, as always digging for a few extra yards.

The Giants' Lawrence Taylor, a Hall of Fame linebacker who is 245 pounds of steel and the team's most feared athlete, catches up to the scrambling Theismann. He slows him down and then pulls him down. Then, Gary Reasons, another Giants' linebacker, comes rushing in, falling on top of the pile Taylor had just created.

When Reasons crashes into the hill of bodies and pads, it causes Theismann to fall in a twisted, awkward manner. His leg becomes twisted sideways and pinned beneath him, as he crumbles to the turf.

Suddenly, there is a crack. Everyone around the pile hears the gruesome sound. Theismann feels a sharp sensation shooting through his body. The stadium falls deafly silent. All eyes turn to the pile of players. They wonder who is the unlucky player. Suddenly, Theismann unleashes a bellowing scream, and Taylor jumps up from the stack, looks at Theismann and starts yelling for the Redskins' medical crew.

The TV camera zooms in and gets closer & closer & and boom -- there it is. One of the most hideous sights in sports history. There is Theismann, withering on the ground, his leg behind him. The bone in his leg is gruesomely visible. Everyone in the stadium and watching on TV turns queasy -- or they turn away, unable to look at the terrible sight. Taylor holds his head in disbelief. "When I heard a crack, it went right through me," Taylor would say after the game. "It felt like it happened to me. It made me sick."

Theismann had suffered an open fracture of the tibia or shinbone. The fibula -- the long, thin outer bone running between the knee and ankle -- broke through his skin. The compound fracture results in the broken edges of a bone being pushed through the skin. ''His leg was just hanging there," Taylor said. "It was the ugliest thing I'd never seen."

The sight of the unflappable and boisterous Theismann writhing on the ground is stunning. Theismann is one of the grittiest and toughest players in the league.

Redskins fans adore their quarterback, who has been a fan favorite from the moment he took over the reins, in 1979, at the age of 29. Two seasons later, he was the NFC top-rated quarterback. He led the 'Skins to a 27-16 Super Bowl victory over Miami. He was the toast of the nation's capital. He had missed just one start in his eight years as the Redskins' No. 1 QB and had made 163 straight starts. He was 36.

When it is revealed the Theismann's career is over because of the injury, the respect he had earned from both teammates and opponents surfaces. The definitive comment of respect came from one of Theismann's fiercest rivals, Dallas Cowboys lineman Randy White, who would say, "He played you to the end. Always. Every game, every down. He was the ultimate competitor."

Bored · June 27, 2004

Call me crazy but I'd think more people remember Theismann's injury more than this.

#74: Van de Velde triple-bogeys on the 18th hole

Rick Weinberg
Special to ESPN.com

Tournament officials had already engraved his name on the championship trophy. There was just one hole to go. Just one. Jean Van de Velde of France had such a huge advantage going into the final hole at the 128th British Open that he could shoot a double-bogey and still walk away with the championship. The gallery cheered as he walked to the box, saluting the man they assumed would be the new British Open champ.

But what transpired was what many consider the worst collapse in sports history. Worse than the 1964 Philadelphia Phillies, who blew the National League pennant after leading by 6½ games with 12 games left. Worse than Greg Norman, who entered the final round of the 1996 Masters with a six-shot lead but shot 78 and lost to Nick Faldo by a staggering five shots. Worse than the Houston Oilers, who blew a 35-3 lead and lost to Buffalo in the 1992-93 AFC playoffs. Worse than the 1986 Boston Red Sox, who were one strike away from winning their first World Series since 1918 but blew a two-run lead in Game 6 of the Series, lost the game, and then lost Game 7.

THE MOMENT

As Van de Velde approaches the 18th and final hole on a cold, damp Sunday afternoon at Carnoustie, the little voice in his head says, "Play it safe. Take no risks. Stay out of trouble. Tap three eight-irons up the fairway if you have to. Just stay out of trouble. All you need to win is to make double-bogey. That's it. A double-bogey and you still win. How easy is that?"

But Van de Velde whips out his driver. Mistake No. 1. His tee shot drifts more than 20 yards to the right of the fairway. He lucks out, however, when the ball sails over the water, lands safely on dry ground and winds up sitting up on low rough, in a little horseshoe-shaped peninsula just behind a curve.

Now Van de Velde is faced with another choice: whether to just play it safe, take a wedge, chip back into the fairway, then hit an approach shot onto the green, followed by two putts, and walk away with the championship.

Instead, Van de Velde goes for the green with a 2-iron. "I only had 185 yards to carry the water," he would say later. "The ball was lying so good." He carries the creek all right, but the ball sails wildly to the right, hits the grandstand beyond the creek and caroms backward over the creek again into rough that's knee high. Big problem. So he needs to get over the creek again, and his ball is buried. Now he can't even pitch into the fairway with his next shot.

His third shot on the par-4 No. 18 flies weakly out of the deep rough and lands in the creek. The gallery gasps. Suddenly, Justin Leonard, who shot 6-over and is in the clubhouse, rushes to the driving range to warm up for a possible playoff. After having sat in the clubhouse for more than 90 minutes, Paul Lawrie likewise realizes that yes, he could still win this thing, despite being 6-over, just like Leonard.

Now working on his fourth shot, Van de Velde is looking at his ball sitting in the creek. He has two options: he can take a penalty stroke and a drop or play the ball from the water. He removes his shoes and socks, raises his pants legs over his knees and walks into the water. The crowd roars. Photographers practically fall over one another as they slide down the bank, taking pictures.

Van de Velde considers a 60-yard pitch shot from the water onto the green. But when he steps into the water, the ball sinks, forcing him to scrap the idea. He is forced to take his drop and penalty stroke, and yet he still finds himself in deep rough.

He's now 60 yards from the pin. His pitch shot clears the creek, and lands in the front green-side bunker. He needs to get up and down just to tie. He hits a nice bunker shot from about 25 feet that rolls five feet past the cup. Then, on his seventh shot of the hole, he makes the pressure putt, sending the match to a playoff with Lawrie and Leonard. As the ball disappears in the cup, the stands erupt and Van de Velde celebrates -- pumps his arm, twirls his visor and hurls his ball into the stands -- as if he had just won the Open.

Van de Velde has played the first 71 holes of the tournament at 3-over. Now he plays the 72nd hole at 3-over. He has birdied No. 18 two days in a row, and now he triple-bogeys it.

Into the four-hole playoff they go -- Lawrie, Leonard and Van de Velde. All three players start badly at No. 15, hitting drives left of the fairway. Van de Velde's is the worst of the three tee shots. He hits a provisional second tee shot in case his first shot isn't found. The ball is located, but Van de Velde makes a double-bogey, while Leonard and Lawrie bogey.

Lawrie takes the lead at the difficult No. 17th hole, hitting a 4-iron from 225 yards that lands about 25 feet left of the pin. He makes the putt for birdie to take a one-stroke lead. Van de Velde also makes a 26-foot birdie putt at No. 17, tying him with Leonard, one stroke behind Lawrie as they go to No. 18. On the final hole, Lawrie clinches the title with a beautiful 4-iron from 221 yards that stops three feet from the pin and an allows him an easy putt for the win.

"Maybe it was asking too much for me," Van de Velde would say afterward. ""Maybe I should have laid up. The ball was laying so well. Next time, I hit a wedge, and you all forgive me?"

ESPN's Top 100 Moments of past 25 years

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