ESPN's Top 100 Moments of past 25 years

[Guest Redhawk]

I still think Chan Ho Park served Ripken an easy one.

[Bored 0]

#55: Bird steals the ball, passes to DJ

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

Simple. Throw the ball in. Catch it. Cradle it like a baby. Get fouled. That's it.

 

That's all the Detroit Pistons had to do. Throw the ball in, catch it, get fouled. End of game.

 

They had a 107-106 lead against the Boston Celtics in the Boston Garden with five seconds left in Game 5 of the NBA Eastern Conference finals in 1987. They ehad the ball. They certainly had the momentum after a rookie named Dennis Rodman blocked a driving shot from a superstar named Larry Bird just seconds earlier, giving the Pistons possession. They were a heartbeat away from a 3-2 lead in the series with Game 6 at home, a great chance to close out the series and move closer to their first NBA Finals appearance.

 

So as Isiah Thomas stood on the baseline, holding the ball aloft on the inbounds play, looking for one of his teammates, it all looked so simple. The Pistons were even celebrating on the court and on the bench, hugging and slapping each other.

 

Then ...

 

THE MOMENT

As the Celtics line up defensively, the reliable Thomas looks to pass to one of his teammates. His options are limited. Guard Joe Dumars is a little too far away, on the other side of the lane. So Thomas holds the ball, looking. Pistons coach Chuck Daly immediately senses a problem and calls timeout. But none of his players hear him. He begins screaming, "Time!" Still, no one hears.

 

None of the Pistons, not even heady, intelligent players like Thomas, Dumars and center Bill Lambeer illustrate the presence of mind to call a timeout; if they did, they will be able to inbound the ball from halfcourt, rather than near the Celtics' basket, a move that would at least reduce the odds of anything disastrous happening.

 

Meanwhile, Thomas sees Rodman circling near midcourt, but he hesitates and decides not throw the ball to the poor-shooting Rodman. The five-second clock is down to two. Bird, meanwhile, is covering Adrian Dantley just inside the free-throw line and eyeing Thomas in one eye, Laimbeer in the other.

 

Bird knows Thomas is going to pass the ball to the sure-handed Laimbeer. So Bird fakes as if he is going to cover Rodman, waits a beat, and just when Thomas commits himself to pass the ball in toward Laimbeer, Bird makes his move, leaping out and bursting in front of Laimbeer.

 

"I started counting down the seconds in my head," Bird would later explain. At the precise moment that Bird breaks toward Laimbeer, Thomas lobs a weak, lazy, pass.

 

"I should have thrown the ball harder or Bill should have come in for it," Thomas would later admit.

 

Then comes a flash -- a green and white blur. "At first, I was going to foul Laimbeer," Bird would say later. "I thought that if I fouled him right away, there would still be four seconds left and even if he made the shots, we'd still have a chance to tie the game with a three."

 

But to the astonishment of the basketball world, Bird swipes the ball. "He just came from nowhere," Dumars would say. "All of a sudden he was in the picture. I tried to block it, but couldn't."

 

Celtics guard Jerry Sichting would later say, ''Larry suckered Isiah into making the pass. He was guarding Dantley on the other side of the lane, then started leaning toward Lambeer and Isiah didn't see him."

 

At the precise moment that Bird makes his move, Celtics point guard Dennis Johnson, stationed near the top of the key, anticipates a Bird steal and cuts down the lane, toward the basket. As Bird steals the pass, he maintains enough balance on one foot, enabling him to stay inbounds. He then fires a flawless bullet pass to DJ streaking toward the hoop.

 

"To make the steal was great enough," Celtics forward Kevin McHale said later. "But to then have the presence of mind to make a perfect pass to D.J. ... Amazing."

 

"Isiah's pass just hung up there," Bird would say. "It seemed to take forever to get to Laimbeer. [After stealing the pass], I was thinking about shooting, but the ball was going the other way and so was my momentum." If he shot the ball, he knew it would be an awkward, off-balance, low-percentage pray that would have little chance of hitting the cylinder.

 

Johnson, meanwhile, catches Bird's sizzling pass and lays the ball in smoothly off the glass as the Garden goes absolutely batty. After DJ scores, the Celtics smother Bird and jubilantly race off the court, knowing they just completed one of the most stunning and improbable last-ditch comebacks in sports history, leaving the Pistons to ponder their fate and astonishing defeat.

 

"When Bird stole it, I was just frozen there. I couldn't move," Rodman said afterwards. "This is the only building in the world that this could happen. The only one."

 

Detroit does win Game 6, but the Celtics take Game 7 to advance to the NBA Finals.

[Bored 0]

I never liked Elway and think he became vastly overrated at the end of his career but I'm shocked this moment is this low.

 

#54: Elway leads Broncos on 'The Drive'

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

They were on the 2-yard line -- their own 2-yard line. There was 5:32 left in the 1987 AFC Championship Game, and with Cleveland's 79,915 maniacal fans rocking Municipal Stadium, celebrating the Browns' go-ahead touchdown for a 20-13 lead and joyously envisioning the Browns' first trip to the Super Bowl, any chance of a comeback for the Denver Broncos appeared slim.

 

Except they had quarterback John Elway, the master comeback artist himself.

 

On this dark, frozen day with occasional snow flurries and a wind-chill of five degrees, Elway coolly and brilliantly engineered a drive for the ages. And he did it with a wicked wind whipping into his face, on a bad left ankle he had injured the previous week.

 

Browns quarterback Bernie Kosar had just combined with Brian Brennan for a dazzling 48-yard scoring play, breaking a 13-13 tie. Then, on Mark Moseley's ensuing kickoff, Denver's Ken Bell fumbled the ball and fell on it at the 2-yard line. The boisterous Browns crowd steps it up a notch, roaring with elation, shaking the stadium.

 

Even the Broncos appear deflated after the kickoff; receiver Mark Jackson admitted, "Everybody's emotions dropped when we realized we were at the 2, that we had 98 yards to go. You looked into your teammates eyes and you could see everyone thinking, 'Man, what else can go wrong?'"

 

Then No. 7 runs onto the field.

 

THE MOMENT

As Elway arrives to the huddle, he smiles. Calmly and confidently, the Broncos' fourth-year quarterback looks downfield. He smiles again. "We've worked hard just to get to this point," he tells his teammates. "We're 98 yards away. If we execute and work hard, just like we've done since August, good things will happen."

 

"He elevated all of us," receiver Steve Watson would say later. "We were down after we fumbled the kickoff. We were tired. It was an ugly, cold day. But John made us believe. He made us believe that we could do it, that we had to do it. We hadn't moved the ball all day and we were staring at a 98-yard drive. We were only in the game because the Browns committed some big turnovers. But all the doubts, all the questions, disappeared, when John got to the huddle."

 

First down, Elway completes a five-yard pass to Sammy Winder, who then bulls his way for three yards on second down. It's third-and-2 from the 10 and the crowd is so loud that Elway can't hear himself shout his own signals. He calls timeout, quieting the crowd, slightly. Elway and coach Dan Reeves decide to send Winder over left guard. He picks up two yards, keeping the drive alive.

 

The next series becomes a chess match between Elway and Cleveland's defense. Elway drives the Browns batty by running, throwing bullets on the run and in the pocket, all under pressure, all in the clutch.

 

"I never saw him so calm," Broncos receiver Vance Johnson would say. On second-and-7 at the 15, Elway is forced out of pocket, but runs for 11 yards, on a bad ankle, eluding tacklers. Then, after getting sacked for an 8-yard loss, and faced with third-and-18 at the Cleveland 18, Elway runs out of the pocket, looks left, then right, and connects with Jackson for the play of the drive -- 20 yards for a first down.

 

Reeves' plan on the play was to go for half the yardage with a pass play to tight end Orson Mobley and hope he'd shake loose and run for a first down after the catch. But Elway, typically, has a different idea. He goes for all of it. "I was going to take a shot downfield," he would say. He knew Cleveland's safeties would be playing deep, enabling Jackson to find an open seam. "It was just matter of me putting the ball there," Elway would say.

 

Later, Jackson said: "Usually, John gives that play a quick read, from the [deeper] route to the [shorter] route. I was the guy who was 20 yards deep. If he wanted the first down, he'd be coming to me. I was bumped off the line. As I got to the top of the route, I broke and John had the ball right there. I didn't have too much time to think about it. John drilled me with the ball."

 

At this point, Cleveland's defenders are so baffled by Elway and his dazzling array of plays that they begin looking at one another before each down and yelling, "Will someone stop him already!"

 

Now at the Cleveland 28 and faced with a second-and-10, Elway hits Steve Sewell for 14 yards. Cleveland Stadium is virtually silent now as Elway works his magic. Second-and-10 at the 14, Elway scrambles right for nine yards, sliding hard over the sideline. Elway gets hammered by a pair of Browns, yet he leaps up and races to the huddle. The momentum is all Denver's.

 

Third-and-one at the 5, the Browns play zone. On the 15th play of the drive, Elway throws a low rocket to Jackson running a slant pattern in the end zone, covered one-on-one. He slides, catching the ball on his knees for the tying TD, with just 37 seconds left, sending waves of shock across Lake Erie.

 

Elway, ever the professional, runs off the field, his hand clenched, knowing he had just engineered one of the greatest clutch drives in history, a series that has simply become known in NFL circles as "The Drive."

 

Elway's stats on The Drive: 78 yards passing, 20 rushing. He completes six of seven actual passes -- the one incomplete was intentionally thrown out of bounds.

 

In overtime, Elway completes the breathtaking comeback victory with yet another spectacular drive, this one 60 yards to position Rich Karlis for a chip-shot winning field goal.

[Bored 0]

#53: Johnson flunks drug test, loses gold medal

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

As the 1988 Summer Olympic Games in Seoul, Korea, approached, the buzz throughout the world centered around the 100-meter race featuring the two fastest humans on earth, Ben Johnson of Canada and Carl Lewis of the United States.

 

This was the most highly anticipated race in the history of the sport. Nothing compared. This is what all the world talked about, what all the world longed to see. Ten magnificent, heart-pounding, riveting seconds.

 

Nearly 100,000 people jammed into Olympic Stadium on Saturday, September 24, to view this marquee showdown between two human blurs that disdain one another, elevating the matchup into another stratosphere.

 

Lewis, vying to become the first man to win back-to-back Olympic gold medals in the 100 meters, detested Johnson so much that he not only accused him of winning the previous year's world championship showdown in Rome with a world-record 9.83 by virtue of a false start, Lewis also implied that Johnson was using banned steroid substances. Lewis' detractors laughed, saying Lewis was jealous of his rival.

 

In Seoul, Johnson duplicated his stunningly powerful start, bursting from the starting box like a bullet. Less than halfway through the race, with the crowd roaring, Johnson knew the gold medal was his. He embarrassed Lewis and the entire field by establishing yet another world record, this time a staggering 9.79, breaking his world record by .04 of a second.

 

Lewis finished at a career best 9.92 seconds, a U.S. record, to win the silver, and Linford Christie of Britain won the bronze in 9.97 seconds, the first time ever that the medal winners all came in under 10 seconds. As the 26-year-old Johnson crossed the finish line, he raised his right hand and his index finger then turned to his left to look at Lewis, to gloat, to make sure his rival knew who was No. 1 in the world. Later, Johnson told the world press that it was as sweet beating Lewis as it was to establish a world record, deepening the Johnson-Lewis rift.

 

But as the hours passed following the race, rumors began to swirl that Lewis might be right, that Johnson's record performance might have been enhanced by a banned substance. Drugs were already dominating this Olympics. The Bulgarian weightlifting team was forced to pull out of the Games after the International Olympic Committee had stripped a second Bulgarian athlete of a gold medal for a positive result on a drug test.

 

Next, the focus was on Johnson.

 

THE MOMENT

It's Monday, 1:45 a.m., September 26, about 48 hours after Johnson's record-breaking gold medal run.

 

Canadian Olympic officials receive a memo from the International Olympic Committee Medical Commission with the shocking and numbing news that Johnson has tested positive for a banned anabolic steroid.

 

Canadian officials are stunned, speechless. They have just celebrated one of their country's exhilarating moments. Now, they're going from the ultimate proud moment to the ultimate embarrassment.

 

Carol Anne Letheren, head of the Canadian Olympic delegation, telephones Johnson and his manager/coach, Charlie Francis, requesting to meet with them at 7 a.m.

 

As Johnson and Francis arrive at daybreak, Letheren and Richard Pound, an I.O.C. vice president and a Canadian, tell them to sit down, to brace themselves for bad news.

 

They tell Johnson and Francis that two tests reveal Johnson used a banned substance called stanozolol, a water-based steroid similar to the male hormone testosterone. Stanozolol is one of more than 100 substances banned by the I.O.C. that can be taken by athletes to increase muscle mass, which can enhance an athlete's performance.

 

Letheren and Pound, speaking quietly, inform Johnson that he has also been stripped of his gold medal because of the drug revelations, that Carl Lewis is the new Olympic gold medalist, that Johnson would have to return his gold medal later that day, that he is banned from competition for two years, and that the Canadian Government will no longer send him monthly payments, which he was slated to receive for the rest of his life.

 

"He was so shocked that he was unable to speak," Letheren would tell the media afterwards.

 

When Johnson is finally ready to speak, he denies using an illegal substance and says that this is some kind of a mistake, some kind of joke, that someone is out to get him. That he's been framed.

 

''He sat there looking like a trapped animal,'' Pound would later tell the press. ''He had no idea what was going on. He said he didn't do anything wrong and he hadn't taken anything. He was nervous and could hardly speak.''

 

In Olympic international and national competition, medal winners and other finishers are chosen at random and required to give a urine sample after their events. If the initial test is positive, the I.O.C. medical commission and the athlete's national Olympic committee are notified and a second test is administered. If that one is also positive, the athlete and his coach are told and they must forfeit the medal.

 

Francis, Johnson's coach, vehemently denies that Johnson has used a steroid. Larry Heidebrecht, one of Johnson's managers, calls the test results ''sabotage.'' He tells the committee that Johnson was given a sports drink following the race at the stadium. He also says that later that night he saw ''a yellow, gooey substance'' on the bottom of the bottle.

 

Johnson tells the Olympic and Canadian committees that he can not remember who gave him the bottle and that he doesn't know where it came from. The I.O.C. Medical Commission recommends that the test result be accepted, but Pound argues on Johnson's behalf, saying that it's quite possible that such a scenario occurred or that a breach of security may have happened around the drug-testing operation at the stadium. However, without any clear evidence to substantiate either possibility, the executive board rejects Pound's argument.

 

Later, the I.O.C. reveals that the chemical analysis of Johnson's urine sample indicates a ''chronic suppression of his adrenal functions,'' indicating that Johnson was using the steroid for a period of time, proving Johnson is guilty.

 

Johnson stands to lose more than $3 million in athletic shoe and apparel contracts, endorsements and meet appearance fees. The sprinter has a long-term contract valued at $2.5 million with an Italian athletic shoe and apparel company, Diadora, and several sponsorship agreements with Japanese companies. All of Johnson's contracts included clauses that would invalidate them if it were discovered that he violated rules with the use of performance-enhancing drugs.

 

Pound tells the media that ''this is a disaster for Ben, a disaster for the Games, and a disaster for track and field.'' But the upside is that stripping a world-class Olympian of his gold medal and banning him for two years "shows the world that we mean business," Pound would say. "We are prepared to act, not just to pick out a low-profile athlete in a low-profile sport. If it happens to the best, the same thing will happen.''

 

The message to the athletic world, Worrall would tell the media, is that "drug-taking doesn't pay," that you will get caught and penalized and be embarrassed in front of the world.

 

Juan Antonio Samaranch, the I.O.C. president, has said before the Games that "doping equals death.'' Alluding to the sophisticated testing laboratories, in which 4,000 drugs or more can be detected, Samaranch would go on to say, ''We are showing that the system works. We are winning the battle against doping.''

[Bored 0]

#52: Gretzky passes Howe as all-time scoring leader

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

This is one time when you knew the hockey gods had interfered, sprinkling some kind of magical dust over the NHL schedule makers so that Wayne Gretzky would arrive in Edmonton one point shy of becoming the NHL's all-time leading scorer.

 

After all, Gretzky had delivered a Cup load of thrills to the city of Edmonton, game after game, year after year, including the exhilaration of four Stanley Cups. He had turned the Oilers into the NHL's most dominant team. Then, in perhaps the most shocking trade in sports history, Gretzky was dealt to the Los Angeles Kings on August 9, 1988.

 

So when Gretzky skated into Edmonton on the evening of Oct. 15, 1989, one point shy of Gordie Howe's all-time scoring mark, the stage was set for an emotional night.

 

THE MOMENT

There is an electrifying buzz amidst the sellout crowd of 17,503 at Northlands Coliseum, many of whom had passed a statue of Gretzky as they had entered the building.

 

The fans desperately want to see the 28-year-old Gretzky tie and break Howe's record of 1,850 points, set 29 years earlier when Howe passed Maurice "Rocket" Richard on Jan. 16, 1960.

 

The Oilers, on the other hand, do not want to see the record fall in their arena, not under their watch. So the Oilers' coaching staff goes to great lengths to stifle Gretzky. They stick three players on Gretzky -- Esa Tikkanen to shadow him, Kevin Lowe to check him every time he touches the puck, and Peter Ericksson to harass and hound.

 

Even with three players pestering and badgering him every shift, the league's greatest offensive weapon still finds a way to tie the record, only 4:32 into the game. Just inside the blue line, Gretzky fires a crisp pass to defenseman Tom Laidlaw in the slot. Laidlaw perfectly feeds the puck into the left crease, where Bernie Nicholls, all alone at the left post, knocks it in for a 1-0 lead.

 

The crowd goes berserk as the PA announcer blares that the assist goes to Gretzky, and that he is now tied with Howe as the league's all-time No. 1 scorer.

 

The game evolves into a tight, riveting match as the Oilers grab several leads, only to have the Kings to come back and tie it at 2-2 and then 3-3. By the time the third period begins, Gretzky, still tied with Howe, is beaten up and exhausted.

 

The Oilers seize the lead yet again, 4-3, and with 1:46 left in regulation, Kings coach Tom Webster calls timeout. He wants to rest Gretzky; it's clear he needs a breather. But he desperately wants to stay out on the ice to try to tie the score.

 

"Gretz was dizzy," Webster would tell the media later. "He got rapped a couple of times, but he wanted to continue and I'm not about to argue with him. When you have a player with his talent who wants the ice time, I'm going to let him have it."

 

There's just 1:10 remaining when Webster pulls goalie Mario Gosselin in favor of an extra shooter. As Gosselin skates toward the bench following an icing call against Edmonton with 1:01 left, the sellout crowd of 17,503 begins chanting, "Gretzky! Gretzky!"

 

On the ice for three uninterrupted minutes, Gretzky is on the shift with Nicholls, Dave Taylor and Luc Robitaille, and defensemen Steve Duchesne and Larry Robinson. The Kings gain control of the puck and rush up ice. Duchesne passes the puck to Taylor. Both Tikkanen and Lowe get faked by the shifty Gretzky, who wheels past them. The puck caroms off Taylor's leg and deflects toward the front of the net. Gretzky is now stationed to the left of the crease. The puck falls toward Gretzky's stick. He seizes it with his adept stickhandling, wraps it on his stick, and flips it backhanded toward goalie Bill Ranford.

 

"I went behind the net to be the outlet," Gretzky would say later. "I don't usually go out front, but something told me to do it. Then the puck came to me off Dave's foot and I put it up."

 

The puck floats past Ranford for the record breaker, tying the score, 4-4. The celebration is on. "My initial reaction was, 'Hey, we've tied it.' Then it struck me, 'Wow, that's the record breaker,'" Gretzky would later say.

 

Drama? Suspense? It's as if it was meant to happen on this night, in this city, in front of these fans. Gretzky raises his stick in jubilation and begins dancing. He then hops into the arms of Robinson as the rest of the Kings pour off the bench to congratulate him. Photographers and league officials swarm onto the ice.

 

The Edmonton fans give Gretzky a three-minute standing ovation while teammates -- current and past -- mob him. Mark Messier, who had celebrated so many memorable moments with Gretzky during their four Stanley Cup runs, reaches out to shake his hand during the ceremony. But Gretzky grabs him instead and hugs him in on of the night's most touching moments.

 

"We both started to get a little choked up," Gretzky would say. "He was excited for me, but down deep he was upset that we tied the game. He would have been happier for me if they were winning."

 

Even though the Oilers were determined to prevent Gretzky from getting the record, they still prepared for a ceremony to commemorate the record-breaker. No one, after all, knows Gretzky like the Oilers.

 

As the ceremony begins, a red carpet is rolled out and out of the stands steps Howe, Gretzky's father, Walter, Gretzky's wife, Janet, and Kings owner Bruce McNall, the man who orchestrated the historic trade that brought Gretzky to Los Angeles.

 

The Oilers present Gretzky with a gold bracelet set with diamonds weighing 1.851 carats with the inscription on the back: "A great man is made up of qualities that meet or make great occasions. Presented in friendship by the Edmonton Oilers Hockey Club 1989-90."

 

Choked up, Gretzky says, "An award like this takes a lot of teamwork. Both teams that are here today are part of this record." The Edmonton fans love the fact that he amassed 1,669 of his points with the Oilers.

 

After the 15-minute celebration, the game resumes, tied, 4-4, and minutes later it goes into overtime, where Gretzky, defying imagination, punctuates his golden evening by skating out from behind the net, popping out from around the left post again and backhanding the puck into the net for the game-winning goal, 3:24 into overtime.

[the max 0]

Surprised that is so high.

[Red Baron 0]

I'm not

 

Its ESPN

[Bored 0]

#51: Kerri Strug fights off pain, helps U.S. win gold

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

They vowed that victory would be theirs this time.

 

The U.S. women's gymnastics team had never won an Olympic team gold medal before and they declared that this time they would not be denied, that they would be t he ones wearing the gold medals around their necks, not the Romanians or the Russians.

 

So serious was the U.S. women's gymnastics team that to avoid distractions at the Atlanta Olympics in 1996 that it secretly stayed in a private area away from Olympic village. They wound up a fraternity house at Emory University, outside Atlanta. The stately building was lined with police tape and a chain was draped across the driveway.

 

There, the gymnasts bonded like never before, and they emerged from their sanctuary with the steely look of determination in their eyes.

 

THE MOMENT

The U.S. is locked up in another captivating battle with Russia. There is just one apparatus left for the U.S. -- the vault -- as it leads second-place Russia by .897, a lead so commanding in the sport that several Russian gymnasts, apparently conceding defeat before the start of the floor exercise, are in tears.

 

But shockingly, the U.S. lead begins to evaporate after Dominique Moceanu -- one of America's golden girls --- falls not once but twice, registering only a 9.20, wiping out a chunk of the U.S. lead and leaving the gold up for grabs.

 

The gold medal now comes down to Kerri Strug, the quiet gymnast, the understudy to stars Moceanu, Dominique Dawes and Shannon Miller.

 

Strug, a 4-foot-9 gymnast from Tucson, Ariz., does not possess the fearlessness, the toughness, the aggressiveness, the heart, and the threshold of pain, of her teammates. At least that's what some people had believed. But as the spotlight in the Georgia Dome focuses on Strug, that perception completely changes.

 

"When Dom fell the first time, I thought, 'No, I can't believe it. She never falls,'" Strug would tell the media later. "Then she fell a second time, and it was like, 'Forget this. This is a nightmare.' My heart was beating like crazy, knowing that it was now up to me. I thought, 'This is it, Kerri. You've done this vault a thousand times, so just go out and do it.'"

 

With the crowd on its feet, Strug takes a deep breath and sprints down the 75-foot runway like a woman possessed. She performs a difficult vault that requires a handspring and a twisting dismount. As she descends through the air toward the ground, she slips on her landing and falls on her backside. She also hears a snap in her left ankle. There is disbelief in the crowd. The gold, it appears, is gone when Strug's score -- 9.162 -- is flashed on the board.

 

Strug falls to her knees, disregarding her injured ankle. Her parents, sitting in the stands, cover their faces. As Strug rises and begins psyching herself up for her second and final vault, pain shoots through her leg. Turns out, she has suffered two torn ligaments in the ankle.

 

There is chaos on the sidelines. Strug's ankle is throbbing badly. Her head is aching. Her teammates encourage her. The U.S. coaches look up at the scoreboard, then over at the Russians doing the floor exercises. The coaches can't compute quickly enough whether Strug even has to vault a second time, on a sprained ankle, in order to guarantee the American women the gold medal.

 

Questions abound. Should the U.S. coaches hold Strug back from doing the second vault? But what if she doesn't vault a second time and the Russians wind up winning?

 

U.S. Coach Bela Karolyi walks over to the ailing Strug, puts his arm around her and says softly, "Kerri, we need you to go one more time. We need you one more time for the gold."

 

Strug rises from the floor, removes the ice pack from her ankle and says a prayer: "Please, God, help me make this vault." She's performed this vault more than a thousand times. "I know I can do it one more time, injured ankle or not," she thinks to herself.

 

Karolyi helps Strug rise to her feet and helps her to the runway. "This is the Olympics," she would say later the media. "This is what you dream about from when you're 5 years old. I wasn't going to stop."

 

The crowd rises and begins applauding wildly. They know it isn't always the superhuman performances that win our hearts in the Olympics. Often, it's the heartfelt ones, like skater Dan Janzen falling.

 

Strug sprints down the runway on her damaged ankle. Across the way, the Russian gymnasts, stop and watch. Strug leaps high into the air. She performs a back handspring onto the vault, perfectly. Then she descends through the air, toward the ground. Everyone on the sidelines and in the crowd winces, knowing that when Strug lands, it's going to be as painful as someone smashing a medal rod against your ankle.

 

Strug lands hard on both feet, amazingly without stumbling. Yet when she lands, she hears another crack in the same ankle. She gingerly picks up her damaged ankle and folds it behind her, keeping her balance, to the shock of everyone in the crowd and everyone watching on TV. Her mind tells her body to stand upright for the traditional post-performance pose. She hops on one foot to face one side of the crowd, then hops again to face the other, all the while holding up her injured ankle.

 

Strug's teammates begin leaping on the sideline. Strug, meanwhile, hops around a quarter turn, arms raised, and forces a big smile for the judges while the Georgia Dome crowd of 32,048 lets out a roar. She holds the pose for a few seconds, just long enough to please the judges, then she falls to the floor and grimaces in agonizing pain as the ovation continues.

 

She drops to the mat, crying, holding her badly damaged ankle. The crowd goes silent. They all stare at the young gymnast who has just performed the heroic vault. The U.S. coaches and teammates race toward Strug. The bear-sized Karolyi bends down, lifts Strug up and carries her around the gym as the crowd breaks out in chants of, "Kerri! Kerri!"

 

She is carried off on a stretcher before her score is posted. When 9.712 flashes on the giant scoreboard, assuring the United States of the gold medal, the U.S. gymnasts and the crowd break out in emotional tears of joy.

 

The Russian athletes stand off to the side, stunned, speechless. It's the first time since 1948 that gymnasts from the former Soviet Union do not win the team gold, excluding the 1984 boycott Olympics. Russia winds up with the silver medal, Romania the bronze.

 

"In my 35 years of coaching I have never seen such a moment," Karolyi would later say to the world press. "People think these girls are fragile dolls. They're not. They're courageous."

 

Strug's second vault, it turns out, was not even necessary. The U.S. lead was big enough to cover Strug's first fall. The Americans wind up winning by .821 of a point.

 

The paramedics prepare to take Strug to the hospital for X-Rays. But she says no, that she wants to be with her teammates when they accept their gold medals on the podium.

 

"Don't worry," Kayolyi tells her. "You're going to the podium. I guarantee it.''

 

Karolyi then scoops her up. Cradled in her coaches arm, Strug bows her heads and cries as she emerges in front of the crowd. Karolyi sets her down on a mat below the podium, surrounded by her teammates. Two teammates lift her to the podium to stand with them to accept their gold medals.

[Bored 0]

Yesterday's and today's. You know I do remember Jimmy V's speech and it was certainly an emotional moment but...Top 50? I couldn't see this being so high if it wasn't ESPN related. The placement of it also makes me think they just stuck it in there themselves but placing it right at #50.

 

#50: "Don't give up. Don't ever give up."

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

Jimmy V. was going to die. Soon. It was bone cancer. Everyone knew. It was time to say what he needed to say.

 

THE MOMENT

March 4, 1993, the ESPY Awards.

 

The night is a celebration of achievements by the world's greatest athletes, but it turns out to be a celebration of life, a celebration of the life and heart of one man: Jim Valvano.

 

The introduction of the coach brings down the house. The physically weakened Valvano walks to the podium to accept the Arthur Ashe Award for Courage, helped up the stairs by his friend Dick Vitale. When he reaches the podium, the crowd is standing, giving him the ovation of a lifetime.

 

When he is finally able to speak, he doesn't talk about his coaching career at North Carolina State or about the miraculous 1983 NCAA title the Wolfpack captured or being forced to leave N.C. State in the aftermath of NCAA violations. He doesn't talk about the poignant scene just after the Wolfpack's championship game, when he ran around the court in circles, his arm dangling, not knowing what to do, whom to hug, where to go, a scene that lives forever in sports highlights.

 

He doesn't reference the pain he is suffering, how difficult it is to know you're going to die, how difficult it is to leave a wife and three daughters behind. Instead, in a stirring nine-minute, 36-second speech, this dying man tells us how to live, how to relish every breathing moment, every second of every day: "We should do three things every day of our lives. Number one, laugh. You should laugh every day. Number two is think. You should spend some time in thought. Number three is that you should have your emotions moved to tears.

 

"If you laugh, if you think and if you cry, that's a heck of a day," he says. "You do that seven days a week, you're going to have something special."

 

The teary-eyed crowd cheers. Valvano did those three things every day of his life, when he was a gym rat growing up in New York, when he coached at Bucknell, Iona, and N.C. State, and when he became an ESPN college basketball analyst, where he proved to be a natural in front of the mike, dissecting game plans, even when cancer infiltrated his mind and body.

 

He continues: "Cancer can take away all my physical abilities. But it can not touch my mind and it can not touch my heart and it can not touch my soul. And those three things are going to carry on forever."

 

The crowd roars. Motioning for the crowd to quiet down, Valvano goes on to talk about the importance of playing basketball and coaching the game he loves so much, how much he learned about life and people. He talks about the privilege of knowing his wife and three daughters, the joy of embracing them every morning. He talks about the privilege of watching a sunrise and a sunset.

 

He says we should all know what we want in life and to be concerned with where we are headed in life, to avoid mistakes.

 

He's leaving with only memories. Great memories. He knows he's going to die, in a month, maybe in two months, maybe in three. But he isn't going to die quietly. He's going to exit The Valvano Way. He vows to fight cancer until the end. He vows to laugh every day, until the very last moment, until his last breath.

 

He has laughed every day, though the best and worst of times. He told friends that when a doctor showed him the black spot on his X-rays, indicating he had cancer, he quickly snapped back, "You forgot to use the flash."

 

He tells sportscasters and sportswriters, producers and editors, that when the inevitable happens, when he's breathed his last breath, to make sure they use a good picture of him, and to make sure they don't mourn his life, but instead celebrate it. Have a party, he says, in his honor.

 

Since he can't save his own life, he says, he will lend his name to a cause that might save the lives of his children. Of your children. Of anyone's children. Thus the V Foundation is established. He laughs when the teleprompter screen in front of the stage informs him that he has to leave the podium in 30 seconds. "Like I care about that screen right now, huh?" he says with a huge smile and a laugh. "I got tumors all over my body. I'm worried about some guy in the back going '30 seconds'?"

 

There is no pain in his voice. Just joy and humor and love and laughter. He shifts every few seconds, ever so lightly on his aching feet. He gestures with his painful arms, hands and fingers.

 

Then he speaks the words of encouragement that will live on forever: "Don't give up! Don't ever give up!"

#49: Jordan's shot wins title for Carolina

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

As the bus rolled toward the Louisiana Superdome, University of North Carolina freshman Michael Jordan gazed out the window and visualized what he hoped would transpire in that night's NCAA Championship game against Georgetown.

 

Jordan, in his mind, sees the clock ticking down to 0:06 ... 0:05 ... he sees himself moving without the ball and getting into position to receive a pass .. He visualizes what kind of defense Georgetown may be running ... "I bet they'll throw their 1-3-1 at us," Jordan thinks to himself ...

 

All kinds of images flash through his mind & He sees his legendary coach, Dean Smith, sitting on the sidelines. Jordan thinks about all the criticism Smith has faced, having never won a national championship in his 21 years at Chapel Hill, having lost three times in the NCAA Championship, including the previous season against Indiana, and three other times in the national semifinals.

 

Jordan desperately wants to be the one to deliver that national title to Smith, to North Carolina & The imaginary clock in his head ticks down to 0:04 & 0:03 &

 

The bus comes to a halt in the back of the Louisiana Superdome. Jordan shakes himself from his daydream. Reality strikes. Game time is a few hours away.

 

THE MOMENT

March 29, 1982. There are 32 seconds left. Georgetown leads, 62-61. North Carolina calls timeout.

 

UNC coach Dean Smith is crouching in front of his starting unit -- Jordan, James Worthy, Sam Perkins, Matt Doherty and Jimmy Black. Calmly, Smith tells his players, "We're going with the two-zone offense."

 

The first option on the play is to look briefly inside for a lob pass to Worthy. If that's not there, set up Jordan, the freshman, for a jump shot. Black, the Tar Heels' floor leader, would attempt to draw the defense to his side then pass it cross-court to Jordan for an open jumper.

 

Doherty, the UNC sophomore, hangs his head during the timeout, thinking about his turnover and missed free throw on a 1-and-1 situation moments earlier that had enabled Georgetown to regain the lead on Eric Floyd's ensuing 12-foot jumper with 57 seconds left.

 

"During the timeout, I looked at the coach and thought, 'This is as close as he's come. I could have lost it for him,'" Doherty would tell the media afterwards.

 

The teams break from their respective huddles and walk back onto the court, surrounded by 61,612 fans screaming at the top of their lungs. The Tar Heels inbound the ball. Black, on the right side of the key, looks inside for Worthy, then quickly swings a pass to Jordan on the left side, 16 feet from the cylinder.

 

Without a moment of hesitation, Jordan, who had taken the ball right at Patrick Ewing and beaten the Hoyas' 7-foot center on a driving layup on UNC's previous possession, squares up, just like he envisioned in his dream on the bus ride. The clock, however, shows 16 seconds left, not exactly the way MJ saw it in his mind.

 

The clock hits 0:15 as Jordan's perfectly arching shot descends from the heavens and lands squarely in the middle of the cylinder. The voice in Jordan's head screams "Yes!" as he back peddles toward center court.

 

But the game is not over. The championship is not secure.

 

Georgetown rushes the ball upcourt, trailing by one point. "We could have called timeout and set up a play, but I wouldn't have known what kind of defense Dean was going to use," Thompson would say afterwards. "So I would have been wasting my time setting up a play. We were in a good position by not calling timeout and leaving them to guess what we were going to do."

 

Thompson orders his team to spread the court out, giving the Hoyas more room to operate. Fred Brown, at the top of the key, momentarily sees teammate Eric Floyd veering on his right; but Floyd moves away and Brown instead passes the ball right to Worthy, who streaks down the court as the seconds tick away.

 

Worthy is caught from behind and fouled with two seconds left. Doherty begins crying, still thinking about how he nearly cost Smith and UNC a championship, but realizing now that the championship belongs to UNC -- almost, at least. There's hysteria on the UNC bench. Except for Smith. He's screaming, "Calm down. It's not over!"

 

Thompson uses his last timeout, then watches Worthy uncharacteristically miss both foul shots. Doherty cannot believe his eyes.

 

After Worthy's miss, Ed Spriggs rebounds for Georgetown and flips the ball quickly to Floyd, who heaves a 50-foot bomb as the clock expires.

 

"When he released it," Carolina assistant coach Bill Guthridge would say later, "I thought, 'Oh no, it's going in.'"

 

But Floyd's shot has no chance and, as mayhem breaks out around him, Smith runs for Thompson and bear hugs his close friend. Black, the UNC senior who called a team meeting to discuss winning a championship for Smith a few weeks earlier, falls to his knees, closes his eyes, and holds his head in his palms.

 

Try as he might to repress it, Smith allows a smidgen of emotion to break through. There is a couple of wisps of tears in his eyes as he hugs assistant Roy Williams.

 

For the most part, Smith stays in character. When his players save him one final snip of the net Smith refuses it. "Find Jimmy, let him do it," he said, referring to his only senior starter. Why? "Because I may have another chance and he won't," Smith would say.

[nl5xsk1 0]

And the Jordan fallatio continues.

[Bored 0]

#48: 'Tuck' play spurs Patriots to OT playoff win

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

Playoff showdowns between the New England Patriots and Oakland Raiders are known for controversy -- for crazy and contentious happenings.

 

First was 1976, when a questionable "roughing the passer" call on the Patriots' Ray Hamilton late in the fourth quarter helped the Raiders go on to score a touchdown, take the game and eventually win the Super Bowl.

 

Then came January 20, 2002, again in Foxboro.

 

THE MOMENT

The field is a sheet of white powder. Snow has fallen all afternoon and evening on the Patriots and Raiders during their AFC divisional playoff showdown -- a relentless snowfall with swirling winds and 25-degree temperatures. As the game heads into the fourth quarter, with the Raiders leading, 13-3, the players are slipping and sliding all over the field.

 

Somehow, in his first NFL postseason start, Patriots' second-year quarterback Tom Brady -- who took over for injured veteran Drew Bledsoe earlier in the season -- throws nine consecutive completions to take the Patriots on a scintillating 67-yard drive, which he caps with a six-yard scamper into the end zone to slice the Raiders' lead to 13-10. The Raiders are unable to move the ball against the stout New England defense, and with less than two minutes left, Brady begins moving the Pats downfield again.

 

With 1:50 left, Brady fades back to pass in Oakland territory. He pump-fakes, then pulls the ball back. At that precise moment, he is hit and sacked by blitzing cornerback Charles Woodson. The ball comes loose and Raiders linebacker Greg Biekert flops on it for the recovery.

 

The teams react as if it is a fumble. The Raiders rejoice, knowing all they have to do was run out the clock in order to advance to the AFC title game. The Patriots' offense, meanwhile, trudges off the field, out of timeouts and as good as defeated with 1:43 remaining.

 

But replay official Rex Stuart calls for a review of the play, which is his prerogative in the final two minutes of play. The replay shows that Brady started to throw the ball but, when he felt Woodson coming on, he changed his mind, bringing his throwing arm down and tucking the ball, as if to run or to protect the ball. From some camera angles, Brady's left hand is seen touching the ball, signaling his possible intent to run.

 

On the Patriots' sideline, Brady peers at the giant video screen at the south end of the stadium, hoping for a miracle. If referee Walter Coleman rules that the call stands as a fumble, the Patriots' season is over.

 

As the crowd of 60,292 falls silent, Brady stands stoically on the sideline, looking carefully at the replay, which clearly illustrates, at least in his mind, that the play will be reversed. After Coleman dissects Brady's throwing motion under the cloak of the replay screen, he walks to the middle of the field and announces, "The quarterback's arm . . . was coming forward . . . "

 

The rest of his announcement is drowned out by the thunderous roar of the crowd. With the call on the field overruled and declared an incomplete pass, the Patriots rejoice and the Raiders' collective jaw drops. Brady excitedly runs toward offensive coordinator Charlie Weis, shouting, "What play do you want to run?"

 

The statute Coleman has relied on is Rule 3, Section 21, Article 2 of the NFL rule book, which states that "any intentional forward movement of [the thrower's] arm starts a forward pass, even if the player loses possession of the ball as he is attempting to tuck it back toward his body."

 

Long-time Patriot employees and fans can only think of 1976, when the "roughing the passer" call ended the season of their dreams. And on this evening in New England, the drive continues as Brady marches the Patriots downfield, setting up a game-tying 45-yard field goal by Adam Vinatieri with 27 seconds left in regulation in some of the worst conditions possible -- clock ticking down, snow swirling, no time to even clear a spot off to kick the ball.

 

Then, to the joy of New England, the Patriots take the overtime kickoff and move straight downfield in a no-huddle offense without a hitch and win, 16-13, on another brilliant drive by Brady, who completes all six of his passes on the drive, and another field goal by Vinatieri.

 

After the game, Oakland's locker room is solemn. There is anger, sadness and bitterness. Woodson reacts heatedly, telling reporters afterwards, "It never should have been overturned." Raiders wide receiver Jerry Rice says: "We had one taken away from us." Oakland linebacker William Thomas barks, "We didn't lose this game. It was stolen from us."

 

Meanwhile, Coleman explains his rationale on the call reversal to the media. "When I got over to the replay monitor and looked, it was obvious that Brady's arm was coming forward, he was trying to tuck the ball, and they just knocked it out of his hand. His hand was coming forward, which makes it an incomplete pass."

 

Mike Pereira, the NFL's supervisor of officiating, later tells the press that under the league's "tuck rule," Brady is still in his throwing motion, even though it appears he is trying to pull the ball back to reload or take a sack.

 

Under the tuck rule, "any time you're tucking the ball back toward your body, it's an incomplete pass," Pereira tells the media. "I may agree that Brady was not trying to throw the ball. . . . As he starts to bring it down, it hits his hand. He never controlled it long enough to consider him a runner. . . . If he brought it all the way in and the ball came to his side and he was hit, then it's a fumble. He didn't become a runner, nor did he recock" to throw a second time.

 

Pereira claims he knew immediately, while watching the play live, that it was an incomplete pass. "I knew it would be reversed," he tells the press. "When I saw the first replay, I had no question in my mind. . . . I was surprised it wasn't called that way on the field."

 

Coleman says that if Brady had tucked the ball away after attempting the pass, it would have been a fumble. But Coleman says that Brady was still in his motion. "He has to get it all the way tucked back in order for it to be a fumble," he tells the press.

 

Meanwhile, a wild celebration takes place in New England, a celebration that would be repeated two more times in the next three weeks as the Patriots would go on to win the AFC Championship and then upset the Rams in the Super Bowl.

[Gert T 0]

I can't believe the TV spot did not show the 45 yard field goal to tie the game. That is arguably the greatest FG in NFL history.

[Bored 0]

#47: Titans stun Bills on disputed 'Music City Miracle'

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

They practiced the play three times a week, and always before game day, for more than 20 weeks, counting preseason, even though they knew the chances of using it during the game were slim.

 

They practiced the play -- Home Run Throwback -- more than 60 times, yet didn't use it once during the 1999-2000 season. Until January 8, 2000.

 

THE MOMENT

With 16 seconds left in the AFC wild-card playoff game, the Tennessee Titans trail the Buffalo Bills, 16-15, following a 41-yard field goal by Steve Christie that one-ups the Titans' Al Del Greco's 36-yard field goal just 1:32 earlier.

 

When Christie's field goal sails through uprights for the fourth lead change in a scintillating fourth-quarter battle before 66,782 at Adelphia Coliseum in Nashville, Titans special teams coach Alan Lowry runs up the sidelines yelling, "Home Run Throwback! Everyone hear that? We're running Home Run Throwback!"

 

Home Run Throwback is a play designed by Lowry that is slated to be used only when the Titans trail and expect a squib kick by the opponent. The time finally arrives: the Titans trail and the Bills are likely to try to eat up some of the clock with a squib kick. Lowry's play calls for the Titans to field the kick and get the ball to tight end Frank Wycheck, who is supposed to run upfield and pass back across the field to kick returner Derrick Mason.

 

But as luck would have it, Mason has a concussion, and his backup on Home Run Throwback, Anthony Dorsett, is out, too, with leg cramps. So the Titans have no alternative but to use wideout Kevin Dyson, who's never practiced the play before.

 

"They just called my name out of the blue," Dyson would tell the media after the game. "As we were running on the field, they were trying to explain the gist of the play to me."

 

As the Bills celebrate on the sidelines, thinking they've won the game and have advanced to the next round of the AFC playoffs, Dyson starts running out to the field with Lowry by his side, explaining the play's formation. As Dyson lines up near the left sideline, teammate Lorenzo Neal also yells instructions on where to set up and how the play is supposed to work. "Remember," Neal yells, "stay a few yards behind Frank [Wycheck]."

 

Christie kicks off -- but it's not the squib kick the Titans expect. Instead, it's a high kick. But the kick actually makes the play easier for the Titans to run Home Run Throwback. Neal catches the ball in the air at the Tennessee 25 and hands it off to Wycheck.

 

Wycheck, who had thrown a 61-yard touchdown pass earlier in the season, runs forward a little, and then spins and throws the ball across the field to Dyson, who is on the left side of the field, about even with Wycheck.

 

The ball comes in low, but Dyson catches it, just above the grass, and takes off down the left sideline with a fleet of blockers in front of him.

 

"Once I caught it, I thought, 'Get a touchdown or get in good position for a field goal,'" Dyson would say later to the media.

 

With the Bills in total disarray, Dyson sees only Titans and daylight in front of him. "I was real excited when I saw there was nobody in front of me," he would say later with a laugh.

 

Everyone inside the stadium is amazed as Dyson scampers untouched toward the end zone with the clock ticking down. As Wycheck watches Dyson take off, he's saying to himself, "Get out of bounds! Get out of bounds before the clock runs out so we can kick a field goal!"

 

But then he sees how fast Dyson is moving. "He was, like, flying," Wycheck would say.

 

The crowd goes absolutely wild as Dyson closes in on the end zone and jubilantly enters it, untouched, with three seconds left on the clock for a dazzling 75-yard TD, giving the Titans a dramatic 22-16 victory, marking the first time in playoff history that a kickoff return for a touchdown in the final minute of play had ever decided a game.

 

But wait.

 

As the Titans celebrate and the Bills stand motionless all over the field, the referees huddle to talk about what has just transpired. The expectation, especially among those watching on television, is that the refs are going to rule that Wycheck threw an illegal forward pass. Up in the press box, Bills general manager John Butler tells reporters, "Wycheck threw the ball behind the line and it was caught over the line. That's an illegal forward pass."

 

Referee Phil Luckett runs to the sideline to study the play at the replay booth. Players and coaches from both teams stand and pace on the field and sidelines, waiting for a decision. The clock reads 0:03. With a cover draped over his head, Luckett stares at the replay monitor for an eternity. He is surrounded by a crowd from both benches and a flock of photographers, journalists and officials.

 

In the press box, people watch TV replays, which are inconclusive. On live television, Wycheck appeared to be behind Dyson. But in fact the ball itself traveled nearly straight across the field, parallel to the yard line. It's difficult to tell with precision if Dyson caught the ball behind Wycheck, even with Wycheck or in front of Wycheck.

 

Back on the field, players from both teams talk back and forth. "It's a forward pass, nice game," one of the Bills tells Wycheck.

 

Finally, Luckett emerges from underneath the cover and runs out to the field.

 

"The ruling on the field stands. After reviewing the play on the field, it was a lateral," he announces.

 

Titans fans celebrate all over again. Several Bills slam their helmets into the turf.

 

"The line judge's initial ruling was that it was not a forward pass," Luckett would later tell the media. "Taking it from where the pass left the passer's hand right on that 25-yard line, the receiver catches it right there on that yard line." The official wording from the NFL rule book is this: "A runner may pass the ball backward at any time. A pass parallel to the line is a backward pass."

 

Bills fans, meanwhile, are enraged -- at the refs and at Bills coach Wade Phillips. They're angry at Phillips for not calling a squib kick or a deep kick to the goal line and for saying he didn't want to put the ball in the hands of the Titans' best return men when Mason, Tennessee's usual kick returner, was on the bench, woozy from a slight concussion suffered on a third-quarter punt return.

 

As the Bills and their fans moan about their coach, the refs and the league office, the Titans and their fans party long into the night, celebrating the play that would become known as the Music City Miracle.

[Art Sandusky 0]

Hrm, I always thought the play was more complicated than that. I've never seen it myself. I thought it was like, four or five people involved.

[Spaceman Spiff 0]

I was sitting on my bed watching the end of that game. I literally fell off my bed laughing after it happened. Just a wonderful, beautiful play. Man, I hate the Bills.

[Bored 0]

Yesterday's and today's. I don't really think a tribute belongs on the list, let alone as high as #46. For #45 I was afraid it'd crack the Top 20 and happy it didn't. SLIDE YOU FAT FUCK!

 

#46: Baseball's stars pay tribute to Ted Williams

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

There wasn't a rehearsal. No one was prepped on what to say or what to do or how to act. There was no script, no choreographer.

 

It was spontaneous, from the heart, from the soul. That's what made it so wonderful.

 

The timing was so perfect too. Everything was perfect -- the stage, the city, the player.

 

THE MOMENT

Fenway Park, Boston. The 1999 All-Star Game. The final All-Star Game of the 20th Century, ideally situated in this magical relic.

 

The introductions to the game in the fabled downtown ballpark built in 1912 are about to begin. The stadium is electric with excitement and pride.

 

Team introductions begin. First the National League All-Stars, then the American League All-Stars, lining up on the third- and first-base lines, respectively. The public address announcer then introduces nominees for the All-Century team. Dressed in coats and ties and their team caps, they take their assigned spots from first base to second to third -- legends like Harmon Killebrew, Joe Morgan, Ernie Banks, Mike Schmidt, Willie Mays, Hank Aaron, Bob Gibson, Bob Feller and Warren Spahn.

 

The PA announcer then introduces two players who authored some of the greatest New England baseball memories -- Carl Yastrzemski and Carlton Fisk. The crowd roars as the two Red Sox walk out to the field.

 

There is a pause. The public address announcer then booms through Fenway's loudspeakers, "Ladies, gentleman and children. It is an honor and a privilege to introduce one of the greatest players to ever grace the field at Fenway Park and any other ballpark. Ladies and gentleman, the great Hall of Famer, Ted Williams."

 

The stadium roars like an F-15 is flying overhead. A golf cart emerges from beneath the center-field stands. Sitting in one seat is Williams, the Splendid Splinter, No. 9, perhaps the greatest hitter ever, one of the city's most beloved athletes.

 

He is 80 years old. He is ill. But he is in great spirits as he waves to the crowd and tips his white cap as the cart creeps slowly along the periphery of the stadium. He is considered by many to be the greatest hitter of all time, the last man to hit .400, the man with a .344 lifetime average and two Triple Crowns.

 

But his career was marred, to a degree, by his sour and antagonistic relationship with the fans and media in Boston, and having led the Red Sox to just one American League pennant in his entire career (and no World Series titles).

 

But as time passes, wounds heal. As Williams circles Fenway in the cart, the fans are on their feet, roaring and clapping, the loudest applause Williams has ever received in Fenway in a tribute fit for royalty. As the crowd roars, tears well up in Williams' eyes. Tears roll down the faces of thousands of fans.

 

As the cart pulls up near the pitcher's mound, the AL and NL All-Stars and slew of Hall of Famers all converge on the mound. The players surround Williams and one by one they shake his hand and embrace him. There's Mark McGwire and Cal Ripken Jr. surrounding Williams. Then Tony Gwynn, who had developed a close relationship with Williams, breaks through the crowd.

 

Williams wipes away tears as he chats with star after star; the fans stand and watch. Ten minutes pass. Then 15. Officials from Major League Baseball move in on the spontaneous scene and attempt to break it up so that the game isn't delayed too much longer.

 

But the players don't budge. Even the public address announcer asks the players to return to their dugouts. But they ignore the announcement. They just wouldn't let go of the moment.

 

"They asked everyone to go to the dugout, and we're like, 'No, we're not," Red Sox shortstop Nomar Garciaparra said. "It was like, 'Who cares about the game?' It was a special moment that no one expected. We didn't want to it to end."

 

Williams asks McGwire to lean in so he can ask him a question. "When you foul a ball off, do you smell burnt wood?" Williams asks. "All the time," McGwire responds. "I did too," Williams says, grinning proudly.

 

Rafael Palmeiro doesn't want the moment to end. "This was the chance of a lifetime," he said after the game. "For some of us who hadn't won championships, this was the biggest moment of our careers. It was like, 'Let's keep this going for as long as we can.'"

 

Finally, after nearly 25 minutes, the players begin to return to their respective dugouts so Williams can throw out the ceremonial first pitch to -- appropriately -- Fisk. McGwire and Gwynn stay on the field to provide support to the shaky legged Williams.

 

Williams waves at Fisk, and with Gwynn supporting Williams' left side, he lofts the ball from 40 feet away. It floats through the crisp, black night and lands softly in Fisk's glove, prompting the fans to explode again with another loud, long ovation -- an ovation that grows even louder as Williams climbs back in the golf cart, parades through the ballpark one last time and disappears through the outfield exit.

#45: Jeter's backhand flip rescues Yankees

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

Derek Jeter had no business being there, no business at all. But that's what made the play so astounding.

 

THE MOMENT

There are two outs in the bottom of seventh in Game 3 of the 2001 American League Division Series. Yankees starter Mike Mussina is pitching a gem, having allowed just a pair of hits and no runs in a riveting duel with A's left-hander Barry Zito. Mussina leads, 1-0, an advantage given to him a few innings earlier by catcher Jorge Posada's home run.

 

Mussina, in his first postseason with the Yankees, delivers what he hopes is the final pitch of the seventh inning to Jeremy Giambi, but Giambi singles to right. In the A's dugout, manager Art Howe contemplates pinch-running for the slow Giambi, perhaps Oakland's worst baserunner. But he tells himself: "I'll pinch-run if he gets into scoring position."

 

With Giambi leading off first, Terrence Long slashes a groundball inside the first-base line, just past the reach of Yankees first baseman Tino Martinez. The ball bounces down the right-field line as Giambi rolls toward third base. Waving wildly is third-base coach Ron Washington, telling Giambi to keep on going.

 

As right fielder Shane Spencer runs toward the corner, hoping to reach the ball before it hits the wall, second baseman Alfonso Soriano sprints into short right field to get into position for the cutoff. Martinez positions himself near the first-base bag, backing up Soriano.

 

Meanwhile, shortstop Derek Jeter is, of course, in his proper place -- near the pitcher's mound, where he can read the play and make the necessary adjustment. He either cuts off a throw to third base or moves to back up the two relay men or covers second base in case of a throw to nail Long.

 

Out in right field, Spencer grabs the ball, whirls, and fires the ball toward home plate. As Giambi rumbles home, Scott Brosius, the Yankees' third baseman, says to himself, "He's out by 10 feet if we make a good relay."

 

But Spencer's strong throw not only sails over Soriano's head, but also over Martinez's. Ramon Hernandez, Oakland's on-deck hitter who is standing on the grass on the first-base side of home plate, realizes, "Hey, that ball's going to hit me!" Giambi is going to score, the game will be tied, and the A's -- who won the first two games of the best-of-5 series, could wrap it up with another run.

 

Suddenly, out of nowhere appears Jeter, swooping in from the middle of the infield, running toward the first-base line. Having read the trajectory of Spencer's sailing throw, and realizing it's going to go over Martinez's glove and skid toward Oakland's on-deck circle, Jeter dashes between Martinez and Posada.

 

With the Yankees and the stadium looking on in sheer astonishment, Jeter scoops up the ball on a bounce with two hands along the baseline. With his momentum carrying him off the field and toward the Yankees' dugout, Jeter, still in motion, flips the ball backhanded, 20 feet to his right, lateralling the ball sideways in the same manner in which a quarterback pitches a football on an option play.

 

"I didn't have time to turn around, set up and throw," Jeter told the press afterwards, as if the play was simply routine. "Basically, I just got rid of it. If I tried to spin around, he would have been safe."

 

As Giambi comes chugging home, Hernandez, doing what the on-deck hitter is supposed to do when there is a play at the plate, signals for Giambi to slide. He yells. He waves. But Giambi doesn't look for him, doesn't see him, illustrating his poor baserunning fundamentals and instincts. "The stadium was so loud, he couldn't hear me yell, so I just put my hand out and told him to go down," Hernandez would say later.

 

Meanwhile, Jeter's backhand flip is so accurate that Posada needs only to reach back and simply tag out Giambi. When Posada reaches to catch the ball, he swipes at Giambi with his glove. Giambi, who should have slid into home plate, goes in standing up. Posada's tag gets Giambi's right foot just as it is about to come down on home plate. Giambi tries leaping over Posada's tag. He's unsuccessful, and Kerwin Danley, the home-plate umpire, calls him out.

 

Jeter thrusts his arm in the air. Posada leaps in the air. Yankees all over the field and in the dugout celebrate. Giambi and Hernandez slowly walk to the dugout, shocked, bewildered, shaking their heads.

 

"I didn't know Spencer missed the cutoff man," Giambi said later. "I was picking up Ron Washington. I was coming in and was getting ready to make contact with Posada. He hadn't gotten the ball yet so I figured I had a better chance to try to run through him and beat him to the plate."

 

Giambi admits that he didn't look for Hernandez to see if he should stand or slide. "If I had, the play may have turned out differently," he says. "I was looking to see if Posada had the ball."

 

Hernandez is stunned as he thinks about the play, over and over again. "If Jeter doesn't catch the ball, the ball hits me -- that's how far off the mark it was," Hernandez says. "Jeter made an unbelievable, heads-up play. Then he makes a great throw to boot. Unbelievable. The play saved them."

 

He shakes his head. Around him, Oakland players watch replays of Jeter's acrobatics. They're aghast, speechless. "What's he even doing in that spot!" yells center fielder Johnny Damon. "He has no business there whatsoever," Long says. "I don't have a clue as to how or why he was even involved in that play," Howe mumbles softly. "Shows what kind of player he is."

 

Teams, of course, do not practice plays where they have a third relay man. There are double cutoff men and if someone overthrows it, it's the catcher picking up the ball, not the shortstop. But that's Jeter for you. "We're probably never going to see that play ever again," A's third baseman Eric Chavez says today. "A shortstop making that play behind first base, in foul territory, then flipping the ball to the catcher with his momentum carrying him away from the play -- it's unheard of."

[alfdogg 0]

Giambi looked safe to me, but it's his own fault for not sliding.

[Bored 0]

Oh for the love of political correctness.

 

#44: Annika Sorenstam tees off in a PGA event

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

The moment Annika Sorenstam announced she was going to play in a PGA tour event, there was skepticism and cynicism.

 

Many said it was a joke, that she would back out from being the first woman in more than a half century to play in a PGA event, well before the opening round of the Bank of America Colonial Tournament in Fort Worth, Texas. They said she wouldn't want to embarrass herself and her LPGA colleagues. The pressure would be too intense, too overwhelming.

 

But Sorenstam, the best female golfer in the world, refused to succumb to the pressure and the insults. She vowed she would go and become the first woman in a PGA event since Babe Didrikson Zaharias teed off against the men in 1945. She had to experience it, for herself and other women.

 

The expectations for the first round of the tournament had been building steadily. Vijay Singh withdrew, saying Sorenstam had "no business" competing against men. Nick Price, the defending Colonial champion, called Sorenstam's presence "a publicity stunt" and said she should have been forced to qualify for the event rather than being offered one of the sponsor exemptions.

 

THE MOMENT

It's May 22, 2003. Crowds stand five deep, straining against the gallery ropes along the fairway, jamming themselves inside balconies and sticking their heads out of windows three stories high in the red brick clubhouse overlooking the tee box where Sorenstam prepares for her first tee shot.

 

The buzz turns to virtual silence as Sorenstam takes her final practice swing before walking to the tee box. Out in the distance, breaking the paranormal silence, comes the famous golf shout: "Annika, you da man!" The crowd roars at the voice of encouragement, and Sorenstam breaks into a smile.

 

When the 32-year-old from Sweden is introduced at the 10th hole, another huge roar rolls down from the crowd, some of whom wear buttons that read, "Go Annika" or hold signs of support.

 

"This has been an incredible week in so many ways," she would tell the world afterwards. "I feel like this is almost more than I can handle. On the first tee I kept telling myself, 'Trust yourself; you can do it.'"

 

She stares down the fairway, whips her four-wood around in a blur and sends the ball hurtling straight down the middle of the fairway. Sorenstam bends her knees slightly then exhales, alleviating her nervousness. As the ball sails out of sight, the crowd erupts.

 

"The attention is much more than I ever expected," Sorenstam would say to the media afterwards. "I will always remember it. Always."

 

Under an intense microscope, Sorenstam proves she is not only strong enough to handle the immense pressure, but also the 7,080-yard course, the longest any woman has ever faced in tournament competition. Sorenstam slashes tee shot after tee shot straight down the fairways and hits green after green in regulation.

 

"She's a machine," Sorenstam's playing partner, Dean Wilson, would say afterwards. "I've never played with someone over 18 holes that didn't miss a shot. I just stopped watching. It was just automatic, I just looked up by the pin, or looked in the middle of the fairway, and she was there."

 

All day long, Sorenstam entertains the crowd. She smiles. She laughs. She jokes. She high-fives her partners and even fans, many of whom beg for her autograph. She is greeted and treated like a movie star.

 

Aaron Barber, a PGA Tour rookie paired with Sorenstam, tells the media afterwards, "I just got goose bumps out there. The crowds were so awesome. She proved a lot today. I know a lot of people were skeptical and said, 'Well, she can't play our courses,' but she was awesome."

 

Her revolutionary entrance into the PGA empire is a welcome departure from the negativity associated with golf's gender-mixing experience that played out just a few months earlier at The Masters amid police and protesters.

 

The normal swirling Texas winds that often turn The Colonial into a severely treacherous course are calm on this day, and even though Sorenstam ignites the day's festivities, she nevertheless struggles throughout the round on the greens, unable to judge the speed.

 

Her short game suffers further because when she gets nervous, she loses the feeling in her hands, often resulting in her leaving putts short or zipping them past the hole. She misses a 5-foot attempt for birdie at No. 16, for instance, that would have moved her to 2-under par. She three-putts for bogey at No. 5, and completes her round by three-putting for bogey at No. 9, hitting her first putt, a 27-footer, 10 feet past the hole before missing the putt coming back.

 

Overall, she shoots well enough to have a birdie chances on all 18 holes, but she manages to nail just one birdie, winding up with 15 pars, two bogeys and a one-over-par 71. "I was tentative all day," she would later say.

 

She misses her goal of an even-par round of 70 and winds up tied for 73rd among the 114 players. She signs her card and departs the scorer's tent, accompanied by nine uniformed security guards.

 

She misses just one fairway all day and averages 269 yards off the tee, tying her for 84th in the field. However, she ties for first in driving accuracy. SShe winds up just one shot behind Price.

 

"I was nervous all day," she would say later. "It never went away. So I'm very happy the way I played. It was a great day. It was more than I could ever have expected."

 

The next day, Sorenstam shoots a 74 and misses the cut. She thanks the fans and the players on the PGA Tour. She says she does not hold a grudge against any player or person who claims she didn't belong. She says she simply hopes that she had been a role model for young girls who have dreams of following in her path.

 

"I came here to test myself. I'm proud of the way I was focusing and proud of the decisions I made and that I stuck to them. And that's why I am here. I wanted to see if I could do it."

 

She says she is grateful for the chance to play on the men's tour, even though she says she wouldn't do it again. But by the time she leaves town, after 36 holes and 145 shots, Sorenstam is the hottest story in golf.

[EVIL~! alkeiper 0]

I agree. When a woman makes a run for a mens' tour win, we'll talk.

[Guest Redhawk]

By the way, whatever happened with that sex-change guy who was trying to play in a women's golf event?

[Bored 0]

You heard it hear folks...a homerun to win the World Series is only one spot more "memorable" than a woman playing in men's golf event. You know I really haven't had a huge problem with the list overall (beside some odd placements) but it's officially becoming a joke.

 

#43: Joe Carter's home runs wins 1993 World Series

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

Just one time.

 

Only once had a World Series ended with a walk-off home run. That was in 1960, when Bill Mazeroski's leadoff homer in bottom of the ninth inning in Game 7 gave the Pittsburgh Pirates a 10-9 victory over the New York Yankees.

 

However, a player had never hit a come-from-behind, World Series-winning home run.

 

Until 1993.

 

Until Joe Carter.

 

THE MOMENT

Ninth inning, Game 6, 1993 World Series, Toronto SkyDome.

 

The Toronto Blue Jays, vying for their second straight World Series championship, lead the Fall Classic, 3 games to 2, but trail the Philadelphia Phillies 6-5, following the Phillies' five-run seventh inning that included Lenny Dykstra's three-run homer. The Phillies and their fans have visions of a Game 7 a the game heads to the ninth, but those visions become blurred when reliever Mitch "Wild Thing" Williams, races in from the bullpen.

 

Williams' presence often leads to disastrous results, just like in Game 4, when he helped blow a 14-9 lead as Toronto won 15-14. Williams is wild whether he's "on" or not. He so often found himself in full-count situations that he jokingly named his spacious Texas residence the "3 & 2 Ranch." So it's hardly a surprise when Williams walks Blue Jays leadoff batter Rickey Henderson on four straight pitches to open the bottom of the ninth. If Williams is going to nail down this save, as he did 43 times during the regular season, it is going to be typically hairy and adventurous.

 

Standing in the dugout, ready to walk out to the on-deck circle, Blue Jays cleanup man Joe Carter is juiced, knowing Henderson's presence at first base will force Williams to use a slide step, rather than his high leg kick, which reduces his velocity.

 

Williams faces Devon White is a nine-pitch battle, finally getting White to fly out to left field, with Henderson remaining at first base. The next hitter, Paul Molitor, has already homered and tripled in the game and is hitting nearly .500 in the Series. Williams' velocity creeps up to 90-91 mph as he runs the count to 1-1, but then Molitor drills a single to center. Henderson comes to a screeching halt, putting runners on first and second. The crowd rises. The rally is on.

 

Up steps Carter, one of baseball's greatest RBI producers. But Williams also knows that one pitch, one groundball, one double play, and the Series is tied 3-3.

 

He hopes to get Carter to bite and hit a hard grounder somewhere. Williams' first two pitches are both out of the strike zone, the first one down, the second up and away. Williams battles back to a 2-2 count after throwing a vicious 2-1 slider that Carter swings and misses, looking poor on the hack.

 

Williams unleashes his next pitch: a fastball on the inside portion of the plate. He intends for it to be high and away. Instead, because his release point is off, the ball sails down and in. "I jerked it so bad that it looked like a slider," Williams would say later to the press.

 

As the ball approaches the plate, Carter uncoils, takes a prodigious cut and connects with his classic power swing. The ball explodes off his bat, toward the left-field stands and foul pole.

 

The baseball world follows the flight of the ball, wondering if it has the distance, the trajectory and the arc to stay fair. Carter races up the first-base line, eyeing the flight of the ball, watching, wondering ...

 

"Ninety-nine times out of 100," Carter would say later, "I hook that pitch way foul."

 

But this is No. 100. Somehow the ball hooks to the right and screams into the left-field stands, the baseball gods blessing one man, destroying another.

 

The ball disappears over the left-field wall, turning a 6-5 deficit into an 8-5 World Series victory. When Carter sees the ball is gone, he jubilantly leaps to the heavens. As he reaches first base, he throws his helmet up in the sky, throws his arms up, and dances along the bases.

 

Molitor is overcome with joy and emotion, experiencing his first World Series victory. He calls it "one of those surreal moments that you're not prepared for. When I was on first, I was thinking about the 1982 World Series [when his team, the Milwaukee Brewers, were up 3 games to 2 only to lose the final two games to the St. Louis Cardinals].

 

"I was thinking, 'I don't want to play a Game 7.' But when Joe swung and missed at the 2-1 pitch, it didn't look good," Molitor would say. "But the next thing I know is the ball is going out of the ballpark. I wasn't prepared for an ending like that. I had chills."

 

As the Blue Jays pour out of the dugout and onto the field to greet Carter at home plate, Williams and the rest of the Phillies walk off the field, dejected and broken.

 

"I actually dreamed of that moment many times," Carter says today. "I dreamed of that moment when I was a little kid. I'd be sitting at my father's garage and daydreaming about that moment. I even wrote it down a few times: 'My dream is to hit a home run to win the World Series.'"

 

He grins and crosses his arms across his chest, a moment of reflection that is satisfying and heartwarming. "It was," he says, "the ultimate sports fantasy."

[Slayer 0]

You know I really haven't had a huge problem with the list overall (beside some odd placements) but it's officially becoming a joke.

Since ESPN became a joke a good while ago (see also: ESPN sucks), this isn't the most surprising thing ever...

[Crimson G 0]

"Ninety-nine times out of 100," Carter would say later, "I hook that pitch way foul."

 

But this is No. 100. Somehow the ball hooks to the right and screams into the left-field stands, the baseball gods blessing one man, destroying another.

Who the fuck wrote this, Homer? It's not a fucking epic tale. It's a home run. Jeez.

[treble 0]

The ball disappears over the left-field wall, turning a 6-5 deficit into an 8-5 World Series victory.

So, it was such a big hit that they took a run away from the Phillies?

 

And I may be a bit biased, but there are 42 moments that are bigger than this? Give me a break.

[Crimson G 0]

The ball disappears over the left-field wall, turning a 6-5 deficit into an 8-5 World Series victory.

So, it was such a big hit that they took a run away from the Phillies?

Yes. Yes it was.

[Red Baron 0]

The ball disappears over the left-field wall, turning a 6-5 deficit into an 8-5 World Series victory.

So, it was such a big hit that they took a run away from the Phillies?

 

And I may be a bit biased, but there are 42 moments that are bigger than this? Give me a break.

Apparently so, but this should be a top ten moment, easily.

[the max 0]

You heard it hear folks...a homerun to win the World Series is only one spot more "memorable" than a woman playing in men's golf event. You know I really haven't had a huge problem with the list overall (beside some odd placements) but it's officially becoming a joke.

Of course, Gretzky breaking the record for most career points is less important than a girl missing the cut in a men's tournament.

[nl5xsk1 0]

Oh, Max, I thought you had learned by now ... hockey barely exists in the ESPN universe. Imagine how much fun we'll have when some trick in the fucking X-games is above Gretzky breaking the record. And when something like McSorley or Bertuzzi is above Gretkzy breaking the record.

[Guest Redhawk]

I bet if the Blue Jays weren't from Canada, it'd be higher.

[The Czech Republic 0]

True, because like hockey, Canada does not exist in the ESPN universe.