ESPN's Top 100 Moments of past 25 years

[Art Sandusky 0]

Tell that to the last seven years or so, minus the Ravens and Buccaneers squashes.

Okay of the last seven years:

Two of them were crappy squashes.

Two of them were won by the New England Patriots.

Rams-Titans sucked until it neared the end.

Did anyone think the Falcons would win?

 

 

The thing about the Super Bowl is that it's all about the pageantry and the hype and everything. Stanley Cup, World Series, and NBA Finals all produce better and more interesting gameplay over a four-to-seven game stretch. The sixty minutes that comprise the Super Bowl itself are lackluster at best.

Sooooo.. two Super Bowls that ended with game-winning field goals are discounted because the Patriots won them?

 

Rams/Titans had a good second half and the best ending of any Super Bowl ever.

 

The Falcons were in it thanks to Tim Dwight's return for a touchdown until the Broncos scored again.

 

This pine tar thing I've never even heard of.

[EVIL~! alkeiper 0]

Sooooo.. two Super Bowls that ended with game-winning field goals are discounted because the Patriots won them?

 

Rams/Titans had a good second half and the best ending of any Super Bowl ever.

 

The Falcons were in it thanks to Tim Dwight's return for a touchdown until the Broncos scored again.

 

This pine tar thing I've never even heard of.

 

That's your fault. The Pine Tar incident is one of the most famous regular season games in baseball history.

[Art Sandusky 0]

Besides the Yankees being in a close contest for first in the AL East, how does that game top the championship game of another sport?

[the max 0]

Because the moment of George Brett charging out of the dugout has been remembered for almost 25 years and is one of the most memorable moments in baseball history.

[EVIL~! alkeiper 0]

Exactly. Championships are not the sole reason moments become memorable.

[Guest Anglesault]

This pine tar thing I've never even heard of.

You're the only person I've EVER heard say that.

 

My grandmother, who is almost ninety and knows nothing about sports, can give a decent description of the pine tar incident

Edited July 4, 2004 by Anglesault

[Bored 0]

The Bronco/Packer Super Bowl was great but the moment of the Elway touchdown didn't really belong on the list IMO. The Twins/Braves '91 World Series was one of the greatest ever but the series winning hit in Game 7 just barely cracked the list at #100.

 

On a side note can't believe there hasn't been one college sports moment yet and they're a third of the way through the list.

[Bored 0]

#66: Duran says 'no mas' vs. Leonard in title fight

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

He was boxing's savage warrior. His punches landed with such fury and force that he was known as Manos de Piedra (Hands of Stone). Panama adored him, their intense, fiery champion.

 

Losing, he always said, was not an option. He once had a streak of only one defeat in a span of 73 bouts.

 

One of his wins was a dominating defeat of Sugar Ray Leonard for the WBC Welterweight title. So when he walked into the Louisiana Superdome in New Orleans on November 25, 1980, for a rematch against Leonard, he fully expected to keep his belt.

 

But . . .

 

THE MOMENT

Leonard shifts strategies and shows great confidence, a cockiness that he hadn't illustrated in the previous bout with Duran. He refuses to box toe to toe with Duran as he had in Montreal, where Duran's relentless attack had overwhelmed Leonard. Instead, Leonard utilizes his quickness, flashing from one side of Duran to the other, using a variety of looks. He taunts Duran, sticking out his tongue, frustrating and angering the champ, making him look like a chump.

 

Duran is not his typical self on this night. His timing is off. He appears flustered, confused. But, above all, it's Leonard's taunting that causes Duran to unravel, to lose his mind.

 

In the third round, as a bearded prophet with an Afro wig of various colors parades ringside in a T-shirt that exhorts, ''Repent your sins,'' Duran lunges at Leonard and falls embarrassingly short. Leonard laughs and sticks out his tongue.

 

In the seventh, as actor Mr. T tugs on his white dinner jacket with his white gloves at his ringside seat and runs his hand over his shaved head, Leonard has the audacity to stick his face toward Duran, mocking him with a shoulder-shrugging dance. Duran becomes more frustrated as the fight progresses.

 

The fight is close on the judges' cards as it moves into the eighth round with a crowd of 40,000, many with full-length fur coats and wide-brimmed hats, cheering on, bewildered at the amazing disparity between Leonard-Duran I and II.

 

Then, two minutes and 44 seconds into the eighth round, a weary Duran, the tough and leathery Panamanian fighter, unable to hit Leonard, puts his hands of stone down by his side, turns his back on Leonard and waves a glove at the referee, the signal that he's done, that the fight is over.

 

The crowd is in total disbelief. Leonard, confused and unaware of what is happening, runs after Duran and lands a shot to the belly. Duran does not respond, shockingly. Then, the words that would haunt him forever, flow from his battered lips: ''No mas, no mas,'' he tells the referee. ''No more box.''

 

He walks slowly to his corner, head hung low, a desperate, beaten, disheartened figure of failure. How could this monster of a man, a man who is said to have knocked out a horse and broken a policeman's jaw with his hands of stone as a 12-year-old running rampant through in the inner-city streets of Panama City, bring disgrace and humiliation upon himself and his loyal and proud legion of fans?

 

When Leonard finally realizes that Duran has surrendered the title to him, when he grasps his opponent has actually quit, he springs like a cat onto the ropes and celebrates toward the crowd. The ring suddenly turns chaotic. One of Leonard's corner men charges Duran and takes a swing at him. Bodies swirl around the ring in a mass of confusion.

 

Initially, Duran tries faking it, acting as if he thought the round was over. Then he claims he had injured his shoulder. Later, he tells the press in his scratchy voice, ''I don't want to fight any more.'' He later says that he developed stomach cramps in the fifth round, that it grew progressively worse, and that he couldn't take it any longer by the eighth round.

 

The match is officially ruled a knockout. Leonard is ahead on all three judges' cards. Two judges have Leonard by two points and the third by one at the time Duran bailed.

 

Hours after the bout, Duran flies to Miami, where he goes in hiding for a week, one of history's great fighters shielding himself from the world, in disgrace. Rumors fly as to why he quit the fight. One is that with Leonard clowning around, sticking out his chin, taunting Duran, making him look like a fool, quitting was Duran's way of saying, "The hell with you."

 

Duran, reaching for every available excuse, blames his management team, telling the press, "They should have guided me and protected me for that fight. They didn't. They sent me in without giving me enough time to get ready."

 

For a span of five decades, from 1967 all the way to 2001, Duran won 104 of 120 fights with 69 knockouts. He won four world titles, two against younger men at junctures in his career when he was considered washed up. Except for one inexplicable night in New Orleans, Duran had never given less than everything he had in the ring, even when he was pathetically out of shape later in his career. Yet he will be remembered for none of that, only for uttering those two famous words: "No mas."

[Bored 0]

#65: Magic wins Game 4 of 1987 NBA Finals

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

Magic Johnson came into the NBA as the No. 1 overall pick in the draft with an NCAA championship under his belt, and he immediately transformed an underachieving, disappointing Los Angeles Lakers franchise into world champions.

 

Even with talent like Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Jamaal Wilkes, Norm Nixon and Adrian Dantley, the Lakers floundered. Until Magic arrived. As the tallest point guard in NBA history, Magic guided them to the NBA title in his first season, capping it off by filling in for the injured Abdul-Jabbar at center and scoring 42 points to shock the 76ers in Game 6 of the NBA Finals.

 

In Magic's first eight seasons, the Lakers advanced to the NBA Finals six times, winning three times, and when they met the Boston Celtics in the 1986-87 title showdown, it was once again Magic who delivered, again in a most unorthodox way.

 

THE MOMENT

Game 4, NBA Finals, Boston Garden, June 9, 1987. The Lakers and Celtics are wrapped up in one of their epic encounters. Boston Garden is a madhouse, a deafening roar rolling down from the rafters as Larry Bird drills a heart-stopping three-point shot from the left corner with 12 seconds left, giving the Celtics a 106-104 edge, and moving the series closer to a 2-2 deadlock.

 

The seconds tick away as the Lakers, who have rallied from eight points down in the last 3½ minutes, move the ball inside to Abdul-Jabbar, who's fouled. He makes his first free throw, cutting the deficit to 106-105, but misses the second. Boston forward Kevin McHale seizes the rebound as the crowd goes berserk, sensing that the game is over. But somehow, McHale fumbles the ball out of bounds, enabling Los Angeles to retain possession with seven seconds left.

 

The Garden crowd is stunned. McHale later claims he was pushed by the Lakers' Mychal Thompson, prompting him to lose control of the ball. No matter. The Lakers' Michael Cooper looks to inbound the ball, the Celtics up by a point.

 

Johnson sets a pick for James Worthy and quickly pops out of the corner. Cooper passes in to Johnson, who turns and expects to see the eyeballs of Celtics guard Dennis Johnson. Instead, Magic is face to face with the long-armed, 6-foot-11 McHale, who was caught in a switch when Magic set the pick.

 

The clock is down to three seconds as Magic dribbles toward the middle of the lane, about 12 feet from the basket. The moment is his. He is not looking for Abdul-Jabber or Worthy or Cooper. "I wanted the ball in my hands," he would say later. "Guys like me and Larry Bird want the ball in our hands for the last shot. That's what we thrive on."

 

Johnson is about to take a jumper, then, as the eyes of the world glare in at him, he goes to the middle. Then, to the amazement of everyone in the Garden, including his own teammates, Johnson steals a page from Abdul-Jabbar's book and takes a graceful, sweeping, arching sky hook, a shot he would later refer to, laughingly, as "my junior, junior sky hook," the little brother of Abdul-Jabbar's famous sky hook, that unblockable shot that defined his career.

 

The ball passes over McHale's outstretched fingernails, by the distance of strand of hair, and floats toward the basket. With two seconds on the clock, the ball swishes through the net. There is total disbelief in the arena. "I started to take the jumper and when a big guy comes out at you, like Kevin did, I knew my best chance was to drive on him," Magic would say later. "I needed one step to get the shot off, and that's what I got."

 

Magic had gone to Kareem during the season to ask for pointers on shooting a hook shot. He always wanted to learn something new to keep his opponents off-balance. To keep them guessing. He asked Abdul-Jabbar about the mechanics of the shot. He didn't understand how to turn his body correctly on the shot. But he practiced it continuously, often by himself.

 

Magic's hook gives L.A. a 107-106 lead with two ticks left on the clock. Boston calls timeout to set up a final shot. Dennis Johnson inbounds the ball to Bird, who beats Worthy on the dribble and launches a three-point shot from the left corner. It bounces long off the opposite rim, and a hush descends upon New England. Final score: Lakers 107, Celtics 106. Los Angeles leads the series, 3-1.

 

"You expect to lose on a skyhook," Bird would say later, managing a slight grin. "You just don't expect it to be Magic."

 

#64: Leonard sinks 45-putt to win 1999 Ryder Cup

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

There was one day remaining in the 1999 Ryder Cup at The Country Club, the picturesque golf course in Brookline, Massachusetts.

 

The star-studded United States team, which included Tiger Woods, David Duval, Phil Mickelson and Tom Lehman, trailed the European team, 10-6. How bad was the forecast for a comeback victory? No team in 33 previous Ryder Cups had ever erased more than a two-point deficit to win.

 

This one was over.

 

Or so it seemed. First, at the press conference the day before the final round, U.S. captain Ben Crenshaw, fighting back tears, proclaimed, "I'm going to leave y'all with one thought. I'm a big believer in fate. I have a good feeling about this."

 

Crenshaw immediately called a team meeting that included all 12 U.S. players and their wives and girlfriends. George W. Bush, the Texas governor at the time, was summoned, too. Crenshaw asked him to read a poem about the Alamo, when Texas' hope of independence from Mexico in 1836 appeared lost.

 

Crenshaw didn't stop there. He played a video of each player's career highlights that featured a personalized cheer from a cheerleader at each player's college. Crenshaw talked about how great the players were, that if they played with more heart and emotion, they'd come back and win. Every time Crenshaw alluded to the final round, he said, "When we win," not "If we win."

 

THE MOMENT

The sun rises on Oct. 2, 1999, and the U.S. plays brilliantly, with emotion, passion, fire -- just the way Crenshaw wants, just the way he says they would. The team chips away at the deficit until there is no longer a deficit. On the 18th hole of his pairing, all Mark O'Meara needs is to halve the hole to win the half-point that would wrap up a stunning victory for the U.S. He hooks his drive into a bunker, pulls his second shot into another bunker, makes bogey and loses the match.

 

At 17, it's Justin Leonard vs. Jose Maria Olazabal -- with the Ryder Cup on the line. Olazabal had bogeyed four straight holes, allowing Leonard to even the match on 15 after rolling in a 35-foot putt. Both made pars on 16. On 17, a par-4, they both reach the green in two shots. Leonard faces a 45-foot putt, Olazabal a 22-footer. Leonard has one of the world's best short games. but a 45-footer, an uphill, double-breaker for the potential Cup-clinching birdie, is simply too improbable.

 

Leonard's plan is to two-putt, to get close enough so he doesn't have to do anything but tap in a two-footer. He takes "dead aim," Crenshaw's favorite phrase. Leonard's putt is tracking & and tracking & and then disappears into the cup.

 

As the putt falls, a wide-eyed, exuberant Leonard raises both arms, screams "Yes! " and sprints toward the gallery. Crenshaw falls to his knees and kisses the green. There is pandemonium on the course, a scene never seen before on the links. Davis Love III, Woods and Mickelson charged out of their nervous crouches when Leonard's putt for the ages ducks its way into the hole. They piled onto each other like a baseball team after winning the World Series.

 

Leonard is buried under a pile of jubilant teammates, wives, caddies, friends and fans who had sprinted across the 17th green where Olazabal still had to putt. Fans shout and wave American flags. Lehman hoists Leonard into the air. Stoic David Duval, who admitted he didn't know what the big deal was with the Ryder Cup, works the crowd, cupping his ear as he circles the green, begging the American crowd to bring the noise. Mickelson grabs his wife Amy and screams, "We won!"

 

But the U.S. hadn't won. Olazabal still has his birdie putt to halve the hole. If he makes it, the match is still on. If he misses, Leonard goes to one up, and a half point guarantees a U.S. win and the greatest comeback ever. The commotion subsides. Olazabal takes his time. He waits for a grumbling truck to pass by. A prop plane putters overhead. He waits again. The Spaniard draws the head of his putter back and puts a good stroke on the ball. The ball tracks & and misses.

 

Crenshaw races toward Leonard, his face bursting with joy, and hugs Leonard so hard that it looks as if his piercing blue eyes might pop out of his head. The final score will be 14 1/2 for the U.S., 13 1/2 for the Europeans. Lehman yanks his shirt off and heaves it into the cheering crowd.

 

The Europeans are clearly irate over the premature celebration at No. 17 -- a display of the togetherness many thought the Americans had lacked. The Americans refuse to apologize as they make their way toward the clubhouse.

 

As fans cheer outside the clubhouse, the American players climb up to the balcony, serenade the fans, and begin spraying champagne on themselves and the fans below. And together, as one, they laugh, shout and chant America's newest Ryder Cup hero: "Jus-tin! Leon-ard! Jus-tin! Leon-ard!"

[Bored 0]

#63: Magic moves to center, beats Sixers for title

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

The seat was empty. Eerily empty.

 

The seat, the first one in the front row of the airplane, belonged to the captain of the Los Angeles Lakers, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. He had severely injured his left ankle in the Lakers' Game 5 victory of the NBA Finals against the Philadelphia 76ers, and as the Lakers boarded a plane for Game 6, holding a 3-2 lead in the series, they were unusually numb -- and a bit scared -- as they slowly passed by the empty front row seat.

 

They were thinking the worst, that they were going to get blown away in Philly, and that a Game 7 back in Los Angeles was inevitable. But suddenly, out of the blue, the youngest Laker, 20-year-old rookie point guard Magic Johnson, plopped himself down in the seat -- Kareem's seat -- and boldly declared that he was going to carry the Lakers to victory in the absence of The Big Man, that there was absolutely nothing to worry about, that his shoulders were sturdy enough to carry the weight of the franchise. "No fear," he said with a confident grin. "E.J. is here."

 

THE MOMENT

It's May 16, 1980, Philadelphia Spectrum, Game 6, NBA Finals, Los Angeles vs. Philadelphia.

 

Day breaks in Philadelphia with Kareem sightings, one after another. "I just saw him get out of a cab on Broad St.," yells a caller on a Philadelphia morning radio show. "He was just whisked into the Marriott," claims another caller. "I just picked him up at the airport," a cabbie tells the DJ.

 

Nobody in the Sixers' organization, and certainly none of its fans, really believe Abdul-Jabbar is going to miss Game 6 of the NBA Finals with an ankle injury. "He's going to pull a Willis Reed," one fan says on TV, referring to the night Reed hobbled onto the court seconds before the start of Game 7 of the 1970 NBA Finals with a badly injured knee, started the game and inspired the Knicks to the title.

 

Even with a bad ankle in Game 5, Abdul-Jabber had hobbled back onto the court to a thunderous ovation in the fourth quarter, and scored 14 of his 40 points, including a three-point play with 33 seconds left to break a 103-103 tie and propel the Lakers to victory and a 3-2 lead in the series. If he did that, he'd certainly be there for Game 6, right?

 

Even as the Lakers and Sixers get ready for the tip off, the Sixers and their fans still believe Abdul-Jabbar is going to pop out of the tunnel and race out on the floor, laughing. They all receive a shock all right, but it's when 6-foot-9 point guard Magic Johnson lines up at center, in Kareem's spot. Sixers center Caldwell Jones turns to Magic and says, "You gotta be joking, right?"

 

So unfamiliar in this position, Magic doesn't even know what foot to put in the tip-off circle. Predictably, he loses the tip. But he immediately takes control of the game, moving into the low post, taking a pass and launching a hook shot, Abdul-Jabbar style. He makes the shot.

 

Johnson magically transforms himself into a smaller version of Abdul-Jabbar as he plays a combination point center-forward-guard, crashing the boards, handling the ball and running the offense, and guarding everyone from Darryl Dawkins to Julius Erving.

 

One moment, he's throwing a scoring pass from the high post to Michael Cooper. The next he uses his position to seize a rebound, dribble upcourt and hit a jumper from the foul line. A minute later, he drives past a stunned Erving for a bank shot. Then he does it again.

 

The Lakers jump out to a quick lead, but the Sixers roar back and take the lead before the Lakers rally and go into the locker room at halftime tied at 60. Los Angeles, feeling great about itself minus Abdul-Jabbar, storms out for the second half and reels off the first 14 points. But with 5:12 left, the Sixers are still in it, trailing by only 103-101 after two jumpers by Dr. J, a dunk by Caldwell Jones and a 14-foot jumper by Bobby Jones.

 

Lakers coach Paul Westhead calls timeout. Out of the break, Magic taps in a fast-break miss by Michael Cooper, and then sets a pick for Jamaal Wilkes, who drives the lane, draws a foul and makes a three-point play, giving the Lakers a 7-point edge. Then Magic takes complete control, scoring nine points in the final 2:22, sealing victory.

 

As the final seconds tick off the Spectrum clock in Game 6, the Lakers mob Magic, who screams into the TV, "We know you're hurtin', Big Fella, but we want you to get up and do a little dancin' tonight."

 

Abdul-Jabbar, back in Bel Air, California, begins dancing -- actually hopping on one leg -- without a trace of regret that the championship he had worked so hard for all season long is captured without him, while he is thousands of miles away, nursing an injury. For the moment, his pain, all of it, magically disappears, courtesy of Johnson, who hasauthored the greatest individual rookie performance in NBA history. His final line: 42 points, 14 of 14 from the free throw line, 15 rebounds, seven assists and three steals.

[Bored 0]

#62: Hank Gathers collapses, dies of a heart condition

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

The first sign of trouble came December 9, 1989, in Santa Barbara, California. Six minutes into the second half, Hank Gathers, the All-American forward for Loyola Marymount, drove to the basket and was fouled. When he went to the foul line, he felt an unusual sensation. His heart was pounding faster than he had ever noticed. He bounced the ball then launched a shot. He missed. Then, he collapsed to the floor.

 

Coaches and the school's medical personnel immediately rushed to Gathers' side. Within seconds, he rose to his feet and walked off the court. Yet something was wrong. Drastically wrong.

 

He was later diagnosed as having an abnormal heartbeat. He was petrified. All he ever dreamed of was playing in the NBA. Now he saw that vision exploding before his eyes. He planned on being a lottery pick in the NBA draft, a virtual shoo-in considering he was the nation's leading scorer and rebounder as a junior, only the second time in NCAA history that had been accomplished, and was again among the leaders as a senior. But this revelation of a heart problem was a serious blow to Gathers and his future.

 

He was treated with Inderal, one of a class of beta blocker drugs that inhibits the effects of adrenaline and smoothes the hearts rhythms. But Gathers detested the drug. He agonized over having to take it. The drug made him sluggish, moody. His game suffered. He was unable to run the court without getting tired. His shot was off. He'd get woozy at times. He'd sleep longer.

 

Gathers continually complained to his coaches and doctors about the drug, that the dosage had to be reduced. They said no. So gradually, Gathers began cutting down on the dosage, and began feeling much better. He also began skipping some of the required testing. He was playing a risky game.

 

 

THE MOMENT

On the morning of March 4, 1990, Gathers awakes with excitement. LMU is on its way to the West Coast Conference tournament championship and a NCAA tournament berth. He arrives at Gersten Pavilion at 3:30 p.m. Game time is 5 p.m.

 

He begins his pregame regimen by jogging around the track outside the basketball arena. The jog quickly turns into a sprint as he circles the track three times.

 

Game time arrives. Gathers walks onto the court with his best friend, Bo Kimble, LMU's other brilliant player. Gathers wins the game's opening tip and LMU is off and running, building a huge lead over outmatched Portland State.

 

Gathers runs the break in LMU's fast-paced attack and takes a long lob pass from Terrell Lowery. He grabs the ball in mid-air and slams it through the hoop. The crowd rises to its feet in mad hysteria. It's the "Hank and Bo Show" at its finest. Gathers is running full speed, dazzling the crowd by scoring eight points with ease in the game's opening minutes.

 

Standing near midcourt, Gathers gives Kimble a high-five, then gets in position as LMU goes into a full-court press. There is 13:34 left in the first half and LMU leads 25-13. Suddenly, Gathers falls to the court. The crowd gasps. He tries to get up, but slumps back to the floor, unable to muster enough strength.

 

Portland's Josh Lowery, standing over Gathers, extends his hand, attempting to help him up. But Gathers can't acknowledge it. LMU trainer Chip Schaefer flies off the bench. When he arrives, Gathers' body starts to go into convulsions.

 

Carol Livingston, Gathers' aunt, arrives next, followed by Dr. Benjamin Schaeffer, an orthopedist, and then attending team physician Dr. Dan Hyslop. Seconds later, they're joined by Gathers' mother, Lucille, and his brother, Derrick. Dr. Terrance Peabody, the brother of Loyola player Tom Peabody, rushes out of the stands and to the crowd gathering at midcourt.

 

Crouching on her hands and knees, Livingston shouts, "Somebody do something! Somebody please do something!" Gathers is lying on his back. He has a pulse, but he is unable to comprehend what is happening. He is removed from the court on a stretcher, and as soon as the medical staff gets outside the gym door, they hook him up to the school's defibrillator, which was purchased a few months earlier specifically for Gathers, a devise that is actually supposed to be courtside in case he collapses.

 

When the defibrillator is hooked up to Gathers, it indicates he has lost his pulse. An electrical shock is necessary. Three shocks are given to Gathers' lifeless body. He lifts his head. He takes two deep breaths. Then his head drops back to the stretcher.

 

Rescue Ambulance 5 of the Los Angeles Fire Dept. arrives at 5:21 p.m., only seven minutes after Gathers first collapsed. Medics continue to use a defibrillator and administer CPR. At 5:34, the rescue vehicle leaves Gersten Pavilion and speeds off to Daniel Freeman Marina Hospital, two miles away.

 

Gathers arrives at the hospital at 5:38. Emergency personnel work frantically on him for more than an hour. Finally, two doctors emerge from the emergency room. They stonily walk toward Gathers' family and friends. They stop. The situation is clear. Suddenly, a woman's shriek pierces the air. Livingston bursts through the emergency room doors, screaming, "Oh my God. He's gone. He's gone."

 

LMU teammates Tony Walker and Chris Knight, still dressed in their uniforms, begin weeping. Walker puts his head on the shoulder of assistant coach Brian Woods. The life of the self-proclaimed strongest man in America, a future NBA star, expires. Far too prematurely.

[nl5xsk1 0]

This pine tar thing I've never even heard of.

You're the only person I've EVER heard say that.

 

My grandmother, who is almost ninety and knows nothing about sports, can give a decent description of the pine tar incident

AS, is your grandmother a NYer, or a Yankees fan? The fact that it happened in the Stadium probably made it more memorable to a NYer. If someone was from a random place, and wasn't that old when it happened, it's nothing more than a few second clip shown a few times a year on highlight reels.

[alfdogg 0]

I know the story, but all I saw of it was Brett's tantrum.

[EVIL~! alkeiper 0]

This pine tar thing I've never even heard of.

You're the only person I've EVER heard say that.

 

My grandmother, who is almost ninety and knows nothing about sports, can give a decent description of the pine tar incident

AS, is your grandmother a NYer, or a Yankees fan? The fact that it happened in the Stadium probably made it more memorable to a NYer. If someone was from a random place, and wasn't that old when it happened, it's nothing more than a few second clip shown a few times a year on highlight reels.

I am a Phillies fan. I live in Northeast Pennsylvania, and I've only been to New York five times in my life, and not since 1997. I was one year old when the Pine Tar incident occured. And rest assured, I've definately heard of the Pine Tar Incident.

[the max 0]

I've never been to New York in my life, yet I know the backstory of the incident because it's one of the most famous moments in baseball history of the last thirty years.

[Bored 0]

#61: Luis Gonzalez's single wins 2001 World Series

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

He had not been in this situation before. No one ever had, in fact. Not in 96 previous World Series.

 

Game 7 of World Series, bottom of the ninth, bases loaded, tie game, one out, the game's premier closer on the mound.

 

This is exactly where Luis Gonzalez of the Arizona Diamondbacks found himself on November 4, 2001, with the baseball world's spotlight shining right down on him.

 

As Gonzalez walked to the plate to face Mariano Rivera, trying to beat a team which had won three straight World Series championships, his mind was a blur. But he quickly gained the clarity to think to himself, "Choke up."

 

This concept was totally unfamiliar to Gonzalez, who had hammered the staggering total of 57 home runs during the season. "It was the first time I choked up all year," he would later admit to the media.

 

Considering Rivera's stuff -- a vicious, nasty cut fastball -- and the nature of the situation, Gonzalez's call to choke up illustrated his baseball intelligence and experience.

 

THE MOMENT

The crowd at Bank One Ballpark is in a nervous frenzy for the bottom of the ninth inning. A team from Arizona has never been this close to professional championship, but on the mound is the impenetrable Rivera, who has registered 23 successive postseason saves and never blown a save in the World Series. Rivera blew out all three Diamondbacks that he faced in the bottom of the eighth, protecting New York's 2-1 lead, setting the stage for the ninth -- and final -- inning of this epic World Series and classic Game 7 that began with Roger Clemens dueling Curt Schilling.

 

"When we all reached the dugout [for the bottom of the ninth], we all said, 'Believe. You gotta believe!'" Arizona first baseman Mark Grace would say later. "And we did believe. We knew we could win. We had come too far. We weren't going to walk away without the fight of our lives, without scrapping and clawing for as long as we could. All we had to do was put together a few quality ABs."

 

That they did, starting with Grace. The last of the ninth begins with Grace looking at ball one. On the next pitch, Rivera throws one of his trademark cutters. Grace, who had waited 14 years to get into a World Series after spending his career with the Chicago Cubs, fights off the pitch and loops it into center field for a single. David Dellucci is sent in to run for Grace. Damian Miller then lays down a bunt -- right in front of the mound. Rivera fields the ball and spins around. He sees he has Dellucci dead at second base. This could actually be a double play because Miller is slow. But Rivera's throw sails wildly past shortstop Derek Jeter and into center field..

 

Instead of being an out away from elimination with no one on base, the Diamondbacks have runners on first and second and no outs. Bank One is rocking -- and the Yankees are reeling. Never did they ever consider that they'd be in this position. Not with Rivera on the hill. "Losing never entered our minds," Jeter would say later. "Not for a second." Not until Rivera commits that throwing error. But the Yankees' ace closer comes back by fielding a second straight bunt, this one by Jay Bell, into an out at third base, leaving the Yankees two outs away from a fourth straight World Series championship.

 

Next up is Tony Womack, who had kept the Diamondbacks' postseason alive with a game-winning hit in Game 5 of the National League Division Series against St. Louis. He does it again, lacing a 2-2 pitch for a double down the right-field line to tie the game. Bank One is simply delirious as Craig Counsell steps to the plate. Shockingly, Rivera hits Counsell with a pitch, sending the crowd into a wilder frenzy. The bases are now juiced for the team's best hitter.

 

The electricity in the stadium is off the charts as Gonzalez fouls off the first pitch. The next pitch is a classic Rivera cutter, veering in on Gonzalez's hands. He swings, cracking the bat, just below the trademark. "I got jammed, but I knew I didn't have to hit it hard," Gonzalez says. "I knew I just had to hit the ball in play."

 

The ball floats toward shortstop, spinning in the air, like a cue shot, and away from a backpeddling Jeter, who was playing in to cut off the run at the plate. As Gonzalez runs toward first base, Jeter races back and lunges in vain as the ball floats over him and lands on the lip of the outfield grass. Bell -- the first free agent signed in Diamondbacks history -- races across the plate with the Series-winning run as absolute bedlam breaks loose on the field and in the stands.

 

"Not a day has passed that I haven't thought about it," Gonzalez says today. "Not one. And not a day has passed that I haven't thought about how fortunate I was to be in that position, how fortunate we all were. It was so wonderful to be a part of that. It's one of those moments where the memory never fades away."

[Bored 0]

#60: Smart's jumper wins NCAA title for Indiana

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

Keith Smart was benched. Benched in the NCAA championship game. He was forced to endure one of sports' most embarrassing moments -- being pulled from a game in front of millions of people. His family saw it. His friends. Everyone.

 

Smart had made another bad decision on the court, made another bad pass. Bobby Knight, the explosive and hot-tempered Indiana University basketball coach, had already warned Smart once about making another mistake. He told him one more mistake and he's gone. Didn't matter that it was the NCAA championship.

 

He wasn't kidding. One bad pass later, Knight leaped up from the bench yelling, glaring at Smart. Knight called time out and pointed to Smart, who dragged himself off the floor.

 

Four and half grueling minutes passed as Smart sat on the bench, thinking about his error in judgement, his nervous play. "I had to get my head together," he would later say.

 

Knight, however, knew that to win this NCAA championship, a game which featured the intriguing subplots of Knight, Indiana's gunslinging three-point marksmen Steve Alford and the fundamentally sound Hoosiers vs. a Syracuse team packed with future NBA players Derrick Coleman, Sherman Douglas and Rony Seikaly, he will need Smart.

 

Smart was inserted back into the game & and he was brilliant, scoring basket after basket. With Alford locked up and stifled in the second half by Syracuse's defense, Smart took control, scoring 17 of his 21 points in the final half, including 12 of Indiana's last 16 points, and six in a row one point -- a dazzling series that began with a driving reverse layup that tied the game at 70-70, with 1:21 left. He was the most electrifying player on the court as the clock wound down ...

 

THE MOMENT

Twenty-eight seconds remain. Indiana brings the ball upcourt, slowly, trailing 73-72. It's March 30, 1987. Knight's primary option is to have Alford shoot, but Syracuse coach Jim Boeheim is determined to keep the ball out of Alford's hands and force any other Hooiser to shoot.

 

Syracuse's Douglas and Howard Triche have done a masterful job on Alford in the second half in a box and one, preventing Alford from getting the ball ever since an explosive first half, when Alford struck for seven 3-pointers in the first 29 minutes. As the final possession unfolds, Alford, who had but two points in the second half, is once again unable to get loose with Douglas clinging to him.

 

With Alford covered, Indiana swings the ball to the left side to Smart, who penetrates briefly and then kicks the ball over to forward Daryl Thomas, whose job on the play is to set a screen for Alford. But since Alford is covered, Thomas spins around and prepares to shoot. But when he turns, he finds himself face to face with Coleman. Thomas fakes a shot. Coleman doesn't budge. Thomas has no choice but to pass.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas sees Smart flare out on the baseline in the corner -- uncovered. Syracuse's Triche had turned his head, ever so slightly, to follow Smart's entry pass to Thomas, enabling Smart to drift deeper into the corner -- all alone. As Triche hustles back, Thomas flips the pass over to Smart. The pass beats Triche and in one motion Smart catches the ball, eyeballs the rim, never looks at the clock and lets the ball fly with a picture perfect arch.

 

"The last option was for me to create my own shot," Smart would say later. "We were always taught, after you pass, don't stand. Move to another spot."

 

Four seconds remain as Smart's shot flies through the air. Every eye in the stadium, all the millions of eyes watching the game on TV, follow the ball as it descends toward the net. The ball swishes through, perfectly and beautifully. Indiana 74, Syracuse 73.

 

Syracuse players are so stunned, they're motionless, seemingly unable to call a timeout. Triche insists he had signaled timeout immediately after Smart's shot danced through the net. "But the ref didn't see it," he would say. "There were three seconds left when we called it. But two more ticks went off before they gave it to us."

 

The clock doesn't stop until it hits one second. The timeout is finally given. After the teams break their respective huddles, Knight calls a timeout, too, to make sure his defense is set. The ball is inbounded by Coleman, who heaves a pass three-quarters of the way down the court. But there is Smart again, leaping and intercepting the pass. He clutches the ball, like a baby, and as time expires he heaves the ball to the heavens.

 

"I think about it every day," Smart says today. "I'm blessed to have been in that position." He is also blessed to be in the proper frame of mind: in one of those surreal zones. "I didn't hear a thing when I shot the ball; I didn't even think about the moment, that it was the NCAA championship. I didn't feel anything. A lot of players may think, 'Oh, there's so much pressure.' But I wasn't thinking about that. I felt like I was all alone, like there was no one else on the court and nobody in the stands."

[EVIL~! alkeiper 0]

I'm beginning to think numbering these entries was really just a random process.

[Slayer 0]

I'm beginning to think numbering these entries was really just a random process.

Ditto

 

That's probably why they're doing it daily: So that people forget what the previous one was and can't make comparisons

 

But they can't fool us... we have Bored here to document everything for us.

 

Keep up the good work Bored, even if I'm not sure that I can take 60 more days of crap from ESPN

[EVIL~! alkeiper 0]

Its also a matter that if you were to make true judgements on how memorable a moment was, they would invaritably get grouped by sport. For example, your MLB and NFL moments would run near the top, followed by NBA, collegiate sports, NHL, boxing, and so on. You'd have two weeks of nothing but football highlights. I think ESPN mixes it up to create variety.

[Bored 0]

The problem with these cable t.v. lists is they have too many people picking what goes on the lists. They get 100 "experts" or more to submit lists and they just bunch them all together and the results typically make little sense. Also the problem with memories is what is memorable to one person, another person could not give a shit about. I will say this that there hasn't been too many moments that I felt had no business being on the list.

[ISportsFan 0]

The problem with these cable t.v. lists is they have too many people picking what goes on the lists. They get 100 "experts" or more to submit lists and they just bunch them all together and the results typically make little sense.

Bingo. When too many people submit lists to create a master list, problems happen. For instance, someone like Max Kellerman would put tons of boxing memories near the top, Peter Gammons will have 100 baseball memories, and similarly for other "experts" from certain sports. Therefore, these lists have no rhyme or reason to the ordering.

 

Jason

[Bored 0]

#59: Webber's timeout hands title to Carolina

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

Chris Webber and the University of Michigan Wolverines were a brilliantly talented and dazzling college basketball team. The starting lineup was nicknamed The Fab Five, a truly fabulous group of players who had all gone to Michigan as freshmen. They made it all the way to the NCAA championship game as freshmen, only to lose to a more seasoned Duke University.

 

As sophomores, the Fab Five did it again, rolling all the way into the NCAA title game against another seasoned team, this one from the University of North Carolina. The pain of losing the NCAA title to Duke the previous year was still fresh in the minds of Webber and the Wolverines when they came storming out of their locker room, led by Webber, yelling, screaming, vowing they would win this time.

 

With his teammates running behind him, like a boxer with his entourage, Webber led Michigan on to the court, yelping, "Y'all are going to lose this game." Cocky and arrogant, Webber was determined to take matters into his own hands and lead his team to the championship. He saw it no other way.

 

THE MOMENT

April 5, 1993. Michigan is in control of this NCAA championship, leading 67-63 with 4:32 left. Then the game turns completely around when North Carolina's Donald Williams hits a 3-pointer. The tempo changes the moment the shot hits the bottom of the net. Michigan's Jalen Rose misses at the other end and UNC's Derrick Phelps comes back and scores on a cutting layup, giving UNC a 68-67 lead. Next, Rose throws up an airball, UNC gains possession and sets up George Lynch, who posts up in traffic and scores, making it 70-67, UNC.

 

After another Michigan turnover, the Wolverines desperately try to foul with the game closing in on the final minute. But 7-footer Eric Montross scores on a dunk out of the spread offense on a pass from Lynch for a 72-67 lead with only 58 seconds to play.

 

Michigan responds as Ray Jackson hits an 18-foot jumper, slicing the deficit to 72-69. There's 46 seconds left. Michigan then calls a timeout -- its last. The teams strategize -- Dean Smith and the Tar Heels on one side, Steve Fisher and the Wolverines on the other. As Michigan breaks its huddle to return to the court, Fisher yells his players, "Remember, no more timeouts!" Almost immediately, UNC's Brian Reese turns the ball over on the ensuing possession, and after Rose misses another basket, Webber ruggedly seizes the rebound and scores on the follow-up to slice the deficit to 72-71 with 36 seconds left.

 

On UNC's possession, Pat Sullivan is fouled. He makes the first free throw, giving his team a 73-71 edge, but he misses the second. Webber -- again -- grabs the rebounds. He cradles the ball. Then, just as he's about to pass the ball, Michigan's primary ball handlers take off upcourt, leaving Webber to bring the ball up himself.

 

Confused, Webber attempts, briefly, to call timeout. Incredibly, none of the officials see it. Webber has plenty of time -- 20 seconds -- but he rushes upcourt, as if there are just a few ticks left on the clock. In the process, he travels before picking up his dribble. Again, the refs do not call it, prompting North Carolina players to shoot off the bench, pointing and screaming.

 

As Webber recklessly moves past midcourt in a confused state, none of his guards come to help him as the Tar Heel defense moves in to trap Webber. At the top of the key, Webber pulls up, looking for help. The Wolverines are totally out of sync. There are only 11 ticks left on the clock.

 

Realizing he's about to get trapped by Lynch and Phelps right in front of the Michigan bench, and knowing his teammates have no idea what to do, Webber stops, looks around for a brief moment, and then, inexplicably, he brings his hands together to form a "T," indicating timeout.

 

The players on Michigan's bench scream in unison, "No! No timeouts!" No timeouts." Michigan forward James Voskuil would later say, "Web thought we said, 'Timeout!' He was arguing after the play. He yelled at a couple of our guys." Lynch would say later that "it sounded like the Michigan bench was yelling, 'Timeout, timeout!'" The result is a technical foul on Michigan. UNC's Donald Williams goes to the line. He makes both free throws, stretching UNC's lead to 75-71, an advantage that now appears insurmountable, especially since Carolina also gets possession. The ball is inbounded to Williams, who is fouled. The UNC bench goes berserk as Williams hits two more free throws, sealing the title.

 

As the clock expires, the Michigan players stand motionless, in disbelief, all around Webber, who turns pale. Rose grabs his head with both hands and winces.

 

Immediately, Webber is linked with sports' biggest goats, from Georgetown University basketball player Fred Brown to Boston Red Sox first baseman Bill Buckner. Webber cries, saying, "I cost our team the game." Tears run down his face. He wipes them away slowly, unable to comprehend that he, the star of the team, the leader of his team, the guy who boldly bragged before the game that there's no way he'd lose, makes the mother of all mistakes, costing his team a chance to win a championship.

[Vern Gagne 0]

ESPN's got a great imagination. Chris Webber never played at Michigan, and they certainly never played North Carolina in the Championship game.

[Der Kommissar 0]

I am glad that game was stricken off the record books. I was embarrassed to be a fan of Michigan basketball for a long time after that game. Thankfully, Michigan seems to be rebounding now, and that game never officially happened.

[Bored 0]

#58: Mantle, nearing death, laments a 'wasted' life

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

He walked into Beasley Auditorium at Baylor University Medical Center in Dallas, Texas, slowly, gingerly. As a huge crowd of reporters look on quietly and sadly, Mickey Mantle carefully lowered himself into a chair behind a lectern.

 

Then, the weak and frail Mantle, the man who embodied baseball for nearly two decades, the man with the magical baseball name who hit tape-measure home runs and guided the New York Yankees to 12 World Series in a 14-year span, opened up, broke down and emptied his locked vault of emotions, without warning, without hesitation.

 

THE MOMENT

It is July 12, 1995. Baseball's All-Star Game is slated to be played in the evening in Arlington, Texas. Just a few miles away from the Texas Rangers' home, Mantle is recuperating from a liver transplant, performed a few weeks earlier, on June 8, at Baylor University Medical Center. He was within a day or two of dying, if not for the transplant.

 

Now here he is, in his first public appearance since the life-saving surgery, and he is highly emotional, knowing how close he was to losing his life. He talks about how he is so thankful he is alive, so thankful that he has a little more time to spend with his family, whom he neglected for so long, for so many years, while he was drinking himself away during his Hall of Fame career with the Yankees.

 

When he entered the medical center, he had a massively swollen abdomen accompanied by excruciating pain. Doctors told him he was dying of three potentially fatal ailments: liver cancer, cirrhosis and hepatitis. He had, they said, just a few weeks to live, if that.

 

The 63-year-old Mantle, one of the most electrifying players ever to grace the major-league landscape, begins to tell the assembled press corps how lucky he's been all his life, how blessed he is to have been given such incredible talent, how the baseball world embraced him so lovingly.

 

Mantle's hands and arms are eerily thin -- his fingers are so bony that a ring dangles loosely. His wristwatch rests midway up his right arm, not around his thin wrist.

 

Behind Mantle are several enlarged photos of him swinging a bat in his Yankees' uniform -- the one in which he hit 536 career home runs and a record 18 World Series home runs. The pictures are signed by well-wishers and fans from the All-Star Game's FanFest, held in conjunction with major-league baseball's All-Star Game.

 

"I owe so much to my family, to God and to the American people for accepting me as they have, for being such great fans," he says, choking up.

 

Skeletal and pale as a result of losing 40 pounds, Mantle goes on to talk about a life of regrets, a life of internal hell, a life he had squandered away because of alcohol. He goes on to tell the writers, his admirers and the world that he was "no role model," just a guy who was given a gift, a guy who was blessed and tortured at the same time.

 

"God gave me the ability to play baseball," he would say. "God gave me everything. [but] for the kids out there ... don't be like me."

 

There is regret and sadness in his voice as he speaks apologetically. "All you've got to do is look at me to see it's wasted," he says of his life, with tears welling up in his eyes as he alludes to his 40-year bout with alcohol abuse that led to his liver problem. "I want to get across to the kids not to drink or do drugs. Moms and dads should be the role models, not ballplayers."

 

Sitting next to his son, Danny, Mantle becomes more emotional, saying, "I wasn't even like a father. I don't ever remember playing catch with the boys in the back yard. I was a drinking buddy. I feel more like a dad now."

 

Mantle pauses and bows his head. He mutters under his breath, looks straight ahead to the audience and says, "I'm going to spend the rest of my life trying to make up."

 

He pauses again. His eyes sparkle from tears. His lips tremble. "I just want to start giving back," he would say. "All I've done is take."

 

He only had four more weeks to give. He passed away on August 13. After being discharged from Baylor University Medical Center on June 28, he developed anemia as the result of chemotherapy treatments, and cancer spread throughout his body.

[Guest Redhawk]

So how does Chris Webber make the 100 most memorable moments but NOT make the 25 biggest blunders list? So I'm assuming every one of the 25 blunders that made the list will be on the Top 100 list.

[The Czech Republic 0]

Methinks there must've been an even BIGGER blunder if Chris Webber's whole NCAA has been stricken from the record.

[Bored 0]

#57: Mize chips in from 140 feet to beat Norman

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

He was born in Augusta, Georgia, grew up in nearby Columbus, and dreamed of one day playing in The Masters at Augusta National.

 

As a child, Larry Mize was tempted to sneak over to the sacred course, just a few miles away from his home, to study i, so when his dream came true, when he got on the professional tour, he would know where every ball would land after hitting a certain spot. He was determined to know the terrain at Augusta as well as the arch in his 3-iron. Yet he never snuck in. Ever. It was too much of a shrine to do that. Instead, he landed a job at the exclusive club, working as a scoreboard operator on the tournament's third hole.

 

Mize was always a strong, consistent player, but he did have a tendency to blow leads and lose tournaments and had only won one PGA tournament in his life -- the 1983 Danny Thomas Memphis Classic, which isn't exactly a classic. He blew a four-shot lead on the last day of the 1986 Tournament Players Championship. He also blew a sudden-death playoff -- to Greg Norman -- at the 1986 Kemper Open by going into the water on the sixth extra hole.

 

But when the 51st Masters rolled around in 1987, this was the one Mize wanted, the one he dreamed of winning.

 

THE MOMENT

Mize eyes victory as he rolls toward the final few holes on the final day. But on No. 15, he plunks a 4-iron shot into the pond behind the green, bogeys and falls behind the leaders. It's his fifth bogey of the day. He also has six birdies, which enables him to stay among the tournament leaders.

 

As Mize approaches the 72nd hole of The Masters, he is locked in a nailbiter of a duel with Norman and Seve Ballesteros. Mize birdies the 72nd hole from three feet to finish at 71. He walks into the clubhouse, knowing he's the champion if Ballesteros and Norman bogey.

 

Next up is Ballesteros. He saves par from a bunker to set up the playoff with Mize. He also finishes at 71. Next, it's Norman, who pars 18 to complete a 72 that nearly mirrors Mize's inconsistent day with six birdies and six bogeys, putting him into the playoff.

 

After 72 holes, the trio sit atop the board at 285, three shots under par. The ninth playoff in Masters history begins on the 10th hole.

 

Ballesteros is the first to get ousted from the playoff. He 3-putts for bogey, missing a 6-foot second putt. Mize has a chance to win it all, but he leaves a 12-foot birdie attempt hanging on the lip of the cup. He taps in for par. Norman misses a birdie from 20 feet, settling for par & and they go to the 11th, where they both drive the fairway of the 455-yard par-4 hole with water on the left of the green.

 

Mize pushes his approach way to the right, almost to the 12th tee. He immediately turns his back on the shot while it's in the air, illustrating his frustration. Norman's approach bounces on the green, but dribbles to a stop, 50 feet right of the pin. Mize stares toward Norman's ball. His expression says "Oh no."

 

Mize knows that he needs to get up and down from a difficult spot to have any chance of extending the playoff. There he stands, 140 feet away. His thoughts creep back to earlier that morning, when he spoke to his teaching pro, Chuck Cook, who told Mize that to get "the sting" back into his strikes, he needs to stand more erect when addressing the ball.

 

With that in mind, Mize decides to go for it all, to hole the shot by hitting the ball on the face of the club. He knows, after all, there is only one shot to play from here -- the bump-and-run with the club face square.

 

The shot is as perfect as perfect can be. Perfectly executed, exquisitely timed. Mize freezes. He watches the ball, squinting, his hand over his eyes. He sees how good, how perfect, the ball was hit, and he is thinking, "Oh my God, that's right on! & "

 

The ball, amazingly, disappears, dropping right into the cup. Immediately, Mize's arms go straight up to the heavens, as high as they can stretch. He exults in a dance, then looks straight up, right up to the sky, to give a nod and a thank you.

 

Then, being a gentleman and sportsman, he hushes the crowd so Norman can attempt a potential tournament-tying putt in the hushed silence. Norman, needing to hole the long putt, misses and becomes the Masters runner-up for the second year in a row, the third time in the last five major championships he has finished second. He is stunned beyond belief, losing on a wild, unbelievable shot by an opponent.

 

Mize's shot immediately rises toward the top of the greatest shots in Masters history, right up there with Gene Sarazen's double-eagle in 1935. The day, the moment, belongs to Mize, a dream come true for the kid who grew up a drive and a long putt away from Augusta National.

[Bored 0]

#56: Ripken homers in his final All-Star Game

 

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

It was the last time Cal Ripken Jr. would play in the All-Star Game. After a wonderful 20-year career, Ripken, the ultimate Iron Man who did what no one thought possible -- eclipse Lou Gehrig's 2,131 consecutive-games record -- was retiring after the 2001 season.

 

He wasn't having that memorable of a season, but when the votes were tallied for the game at Seattle's Safeco Field, the sentimentality was overwhelming, and Ripken was a landslide winner to start at third base.

 

He came to this All-Star Game with his eyes "a little wider," as he put it, "to soak it all in." He found it difficult to shake the goose bumps. Very unlike Ripken.

 

The game was not only a celebration of Ripken and his career, but also of Tony Gwynn's, who was also retiring at season's end after his phenomenal career with the San Diego Padres. The evening, however, turned into Cal Ripken Night.

 

When the American League All-Stars took the field, Ripken raced to third and Alex Rodriguez went to shortstop, where Ripken had played for most of his career. Suddenly, Rodriguez pointed to the AL dugout, where manager Joe Torre was motioning for Ripken to move to his left. So Ripken moved a couple steps to his left. But Torre kept motioning for him to move over more -- to shortstop.

 

The gesture blew away the humble and reserved Ripken. Turns out Rodriguez had called Torre the previous week. He had left a message for Torre to call him. At first, Torre thought, "Oh no, he's going to tell me he can't play, that he's hurt." When Torre reached Rodriguez, the Rangers' shortstop told him his "Ripken Plan." Torre's response? "It's dynamite." Amazingly, everyone knew about the plan, except for Ripken. "It came off," Torre would say, "very well."

 

So would Ripken's first at-bat in the third inning against Chan Ho Park of the Dodgers.

 

THE MOMENT

As Ripken begins his stroll to home plate, the theme from "The Natural" is playing -- appropriately -- and the crowd of 51,223 fans begin to rise slowly and applaud.

 

The applause turns into a roar, a tidal wave of love, affection and appreciation. The noise fills up Safeco Field so fast and is so loud that Ripken has no choice but to step out of the batter's box and acknowledge the outpouring of emotion.

 

"I wanted to acknowledge them quickly because I didn't want the game to be delayed because of it," he would say later. The ovation continues as Park, pitching in his first All-Star Game, twirls and fires his first pitch.

 

Ripken, charged up to a level he seldom ever experienced before, takes a vicious cut and meets the ball squarely. It soars out to left field like a bolt of lightening.

 

The ball travels on a rope and just clears the left-field fence. As the ball disappears, and Ripken begins to sprint around first base, the crowd and the players in the AL dugout explode with joy and emotion.

 

Ripken had done it again. It is just like the awe-inspiring night in Camden Yards when he homered in the same game he tied Gehrig's record, and then homered again the next night, when he broke Gehrig's record.

 

Ripken would later say he felt as if he was given "a shot of adrenaline." He couldn't recall ever being so excited at the plate. "I was a little worried with the shadows, and when I went up there, I said to myself, 'God, it's hard to see. Let me just keep things short and put the ball in play.'"

 

Even the National League players are ecstatic after the homer. Chipper Jones of the Braves and Rich Aurilia of the Giants clap into their gloves as Ripken sprints around the bases.

 

"I felt like I was flying," he would say. Ivan Rodriguez is the first to greet Ripken as he crosses the plate amidst the roar of the crown. As he reaches the dugout, he is met by an elated A-Rod, and then is then mobbed by all the AL players. They hug him, high-five him and deliver slaps on the back.

 

"One of the great all-time moments," Torre now says.

 

"As far as special moments go, it doesn't get any better than that," Gwynn said later.

 

"That's the kind of magic that Cal has brought to the field for 20 years," Arizona pitcher Randy Johnson would say.

 

The home run made Ripken the oldest player (40 years, 10 months, 16 days) to go yard in All-Star history, eclipsing the old record set by Stan Musial, who did it 1960 at the age of 39. Fittingly, Ripken is named the game's MVP, making him the first American Leaguer to ever win the award twice, a perfect finishing touch to a perfect evening.