ESPN's Top 100 Moments of past 25 years

[the max 0]

I bet #1 overall is:

 

'ESPN COMES ON THE AIR FOR THE FIRST TIME'

[Slayer 0]

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

What is this Canada?

[The Czech Republic 0]

Canada...hmm. I think Van Halen wrote a song about him? I'm not sure.

[Steve J. Rogers 0]

Oh for the love of political correctness.

 

#44: Annika Sorenstam tees off in a PGA event

Rick Weinberg

BTW, on the ESPN Radio version of the countdown (read by Chris Berman) its mentioned that despite missing the cut, she "beat 14 men"

 

Now it'd be one thing if she missed the cut by a small margin, or placed, I don't know, in the 20's, and OBVIOUSLY they aren't going to mention WHAT place she finished but do you HAVE to mention how many guys she placed ahead of?

 

Come to think of it, those 14 guys probably are on suicide watch!

 

Please, a Top 50 moment? Again, yes if she breaks the top 30, 20 or plays on Sunday but when it gets right down to it, ANYONE can have such a good day that they can finish a tourney 15th to last in a tournament

 

Steve

[Crimson G 0]

Canada...hmm. I think Van Halen wrote a song about him? I'm not sure.

*wailing guitar riff*

 

CA-NA-DA, CA-NA-DUH-UH...

[Bored 0]

#42: Serena, at age 17, breaks through at U.S. Open

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

When they were young, they would dream about the future, and they would tell each other which Grand Slam tennis championship they wanted to win.

 

Venus Williams would always say Wimbledon. Her younger sister, Serena, would always say the U.S. Open.

 

As they reached their mid-teen years, they had emerged as two of the nation's top players. After turning pro, Serena, two years younger than Venus, made a swift climb up the rankings. In 1997, she moved from 453rd to 99th. The next year, she won a pair of Grand Slam mixed doubles titles. Then, in the spring of 1999, she went on a dizzying 16-match rampage in which she won titles in Paris and Indian Wells, Calif., and advanced to an all-Williams sisters final at the Lipton Championships.

 

But neither sister had captured any of the "big" tournaments, the Grand Slam events. They would advance deep into tournaments. They would display their sheer power and athleticism. They illustrated how they were soon going to dominate the circuit. But that time had not arrived.

 

Until September 11, 1999.

 

THE MOMENT

The U.S Open, Flushing Meadow, New York, Arthur Ashe Stadium.

 

Venus and Serena are breezing along toward another all-sister final. It was always assumed that Venus, the older sister, would be the one to capture a Grand Slam title first, before her younger sister. But Venus gets bumped out of the tournament in the semifinals by No. 1 ranked Martina Hingis. Serena, however, dethrones the Open's defending champion, Lindsay Davenport, in the semis to advance to the championship match of the tournament she wants to capture more than any other on the Grand Slam circuit.

 

The title match begins, Serena Williams vs. Martina Hingis. The seventh-seeded Williams dominates from the start, using her racquet like a hammer to stun and paralyze Hingis. Williams plays a dynamic first set, winning the set 6-3.

 

"I was always on the defensive," Hingis would tell the media later.

 

As Williams moves toward history at Arthur Ashe Stadium, fans of every race, age and gender are screaming, waving their fists and jumping up and down.

 

At 5-3 in the second set, Williams is ready to secure the title. But she tenses up and blows her first match point with a wild backhand that veers wide. Then she nets a backhand return, losing a second match point.

 

"After I lost those two match points, I was very upset with myself," Williams would say afterwards to the media. "I thought for sure I was going to hold serve. I was like, 'Serena, this can't happen. Think positive.' There comes a time when you just have to stop caving. I told myself, 'You're going to have to perform, period.'"

 

The momentum in the match is now drastically changing. Williams' legs suddenly become weak. Her serve begins to misfire. She begins to lose her composure and her confidence. Meanwhile, Hingis feels reborn. She starts keeping the ball in play, prolonging rallies as she realizes that the closer Williams gets to the title, the more nervous and mistake prone she becomes.

 

Hingis, who at age 18 is already a Grand Slam veteran, pushes the match to an emotional tiebreaker. Up in the stands, Williams' mother drops her head, dejectedly. "She looked more down than I've ever seen her before," Serena would say later.

 

As the two young titans battle furiously in the tiebreaker, matching wills and wits, the stadium goes wild on each and every point. Stadium workers leave their stations behind the stands to watch the match, sitting in the aisles.

 

"It was a test of willpower," Hingis would say later. "We were so tired, we were on our knees. We were almost too tired to come to the net."

 

Williams takes a 6-4 lead in the tiebreaker, giving her two more match points. On the first one, Hingis attempts a two-handed backhand. Williams senses the ball is going long, but not taking any chances, she races back with her racket in front of her, urging the ball to go long. Preparing to pounce on the ball, Williams hesitates. The ball drops out. The match is over. Williams is the U.S. Open champion. She immediately buckles over, stunned by the enormity of her accomplishment. She has become the only African American woman to win this championship besides Althea Gibson, who won in 1957 and '58.

 

Williams begins screaming, "Oh my God, Oh my God!" She clasps her face in her hands then on her heart and looks around the jam-packed stadium in shock and amazement. "I'm thinking, 'Should I scream? Should I cry? What should I do?'" She ends up doing both.

 

She then hops on a chair to kiss her mother in the stands. Serena's father, Richard, his eyes closed and his arms raised to the heavens, is speechless. He dashes out of his seat in his private box. "This is my proudest moment," he would later tell the media in an emotional interview, his eyes red from tears. "Words cannot express how I'm feeling."

 

Tears stream down the face of former top-10 player Zina Garrison, who had long carried the burden of being one of few African Americans in tennis. Standing in their uniforms and grease-stained smocks, the stadium's workers begin hugging and high-fiving each other, as Williams accepts the championship trophy.

[The Czech Republic 0]

Canada...hmm. I think Van Halen wrote a song about him? I'm not sure.

*wailing guitar riff*

 

CA-NA-DA, CA-NA-DUH-UH...

Wait never mind! That was "enema," not "Canada." Canada is just some place where hockey exists and everyone drinks maple syrup with their beer and says aboot. Yes. Everyone. All 3 million of those spunky Canadanians.

 

 

Serena Williams > Wayne Gretzky breaking the points record. ESPN does both variations of oral sex I guess.

[Guest Dumb Fuck]

The numbers are just random... there's no fucking way that the 2 biggest Jordan moments would be below 85.

 

I'm a huge women's tennis fan (and not because of looks)... and even I agree that Serena's US Open win doesn't even deserve to be on the list. While it was the 1st slam won by the Williams, Venus was turning into a dominant force in 97 and 98, and people were already getting annoyed with their ensuing dominance, arrogant attitudes and piece of shit dad by late-99.

[Bored 0]

#41: Giants win Super Bowl on Norwood's miss

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

Scott Norwood was on the sidelines, practicing his kicks, thinking about his technique, visualizing a successful kick, doing all the things he normally does as he prepares to kick a field goal. His team, the Buffalo Bills, were moving downfield in the final minutes of Super Bowl XXV.

 

There was 2:16 left in the game when the Bills got the ball back on their own 10, trailing the New York Giants 20-19 in a hard-fought Super Bowl classic.

 

Determined to keep the dynamic Bills' offense off the field as much as possible, the Giants' offense had controlled the ball for a staggering 40 minutes and 33 seconds, a Super Bowl record, with a dizzying 1-2 combination of Ottis Anderson rushes and Jeff Hostetler rollouts and passes.

 

But the Bills had the ball back with enough time to pull out a victory. Quarterback Jim Kelly began the final drive by running eight yards on first down. Two plays later, running back Thurman Thomas burst up the middle for 21 yards, getting the ball to midfield.

 

As Buffalo called its last time out at the Giants 46 with 48 seconds left, Norwood was booting ball after ball into a net on the sidelines, waiting for his moment. The weight of a franchise, the weight of an entire city, rests on his right foot. Thomas ran 11 yards to the Giants 29, and t hen Kelly stopped the clock with eight seconds left with an intentional incompletion, setting the stage.

 

 

THE MOMENT

January 27, 1991, Tampa, Florida. As Kelly runs off the field, he hands the reins to Norwood. The field goal he is about to attempt -- one that will win or lose this Super Bowl -- is from 47 yards out. He had not kicked a field goal longer than 48 yards all season.

 

He analyzes the length of the kick. All Norwood cares about is making sure he gets enough leg into the kick. At 47 yards out, he would later say, the percentages are against kickers. At 47 yards out, he would point out, the average success rate is under 50 percent. The odds are against him.

 

The spotlight is bright on this global stage: Will Norwood seize the moment, like Jim O'Brien did for the Colts in Super Bowl V, when he kicked the only other game-winning field goal, to this point, in Super Bowl history?

 

Norwood lines the kick up. Time freezes. Players on both sides of the field wait breathlessly for the moment to unfold. Some players kneel down on one knee and pray. Some hold hands. Some look away.

 

The ball is snapped. "I could not hear a sound," Norwood would say later. The crowd does not exist. The stadium, in Norwood's mind, is empty.

 

The ball floats slowly through the air. Norwood reviews the vital conditions in his head. "Make sure your timing is right," he thinks to himself. "Kick it high so it can't be blocked." He reminds himself to keep his head down, on top of the ball. Repetition. He's done it a million times. Just 1.3 seconds separates him from legend or failure, from choker to someone with ice in the veins.

 

The snap is caught by holder Frank Reich. He places the ball down on the grass. He turns the ball, ever so slightly. Norwood steps into the ball with his right foot and booms it toward the goal posts. He knows he kicked it well. He looks up, watching the flight of the ball. Every eye in the stadium watches the ball rise, tumble end over end, and then descend toward the goal posts. The players on the field turn and watch the ball.

 

Norwood bends his head, ever so slightly, and cringes. He feels he put too much on the kick, that he didn't get enough of his hips into it. Something feels wrong, he thinks to himself. As the ball inches closer to the goal posts Norwood's heart begins to sink. He prays for a little wind, something that would push the ball toward the middle of the uprights. He prays for the ball, at the very least, to hit the right upright and deflect back inside. He has an eerie, empty feeling in his stomach. "By that time," he would later tell the media, "I knew that the kick wasn't good."

 

As the ball sails inches to the right. Norwood drops his head to the ground. He wants to disappear. The biggest kick in the history of the NFL is no good. The Giants are Super Bowl champs.

 

"I wanted to hit the ball solid and I did," he would tell the media after the game. "I wanted to get the kick off fast and I wanted to get it high, so it wouldn't be blocked. And I did. I just didn't get my hips into it enough."

 

As Norwood stands in the Bills' locker room fielding questions, teammates, one after another, come by and touch his shoulder, or his back, illustrating their support and love. Linebacker Darryl Talley clutches Norwood's right hand and tells him, "I'm still with you."

 

Norwood talks about not having planted his foot properly. The ball started right but "it wasn't moving, it wasn't being drawn in," a disconsolate Norwood says.

 

There is not a sadder picture in sports than that of a player who had a chance to win a championship for his team and failed. Unable to manage a smile, Norwood tells the media, " I was very positive going into the kick, but that doesn't guarantee success. Unfortunately, I let a lot of people down."

[Vern Gagne 0]

If not the most memorable, one of the most memorable moments in the biggest game in United States Sports is only #41st.

[Guest Redhawk]

I predict "Thurman Thomas forgets his helmet before Super Bowl XXVII" will appear on the list higher than Norwood's miss.

[Bored 0]

#40: Borg outlasts McEnroe in epic Wimbledon final

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

Like Sugar Ray Leonard and Marvin Hagler whaling away for 15 rounds of a world championship bout, or the Red Sox and Yankees battling through extra innings in Game 7 of the American League Championship Series, or the Lakers and Celtics scrapping it out in overtime of the NBA Finals, John McEnroe and Bjorn Borg were dazzling shot after dazzling shot.

 

The top-seeded Borg, the 24-year-old cool, calm, long-haired Swede, was vying for his fifth consecutive Wimbledon championship. The second-seeded McEnroe, the 21-year-old feisty, hot-tempered, frizzy-haired New Yorker with a perpetual scowl, was playing in his first Wimbledon title match.

 

THE MOMENT

July 5, 1980, All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club, Wimbledon, England.

 

John McEnroe's lefty serve is punishing, and his deep volleys knock Borg for a loop, keeping him completely off balance, in route to an easy 6-1 first-set win.

 

McEnroe maintains the edge through much of the second set. He wins 14 of his first 41 points on serve by ace, service winner or errant return by Borg. But Borg rediscovers his primary weapons, his stinging serve and two-handed backhand, which enable him to solve McEnroe's dominance, and he winds up winning the set in thrilling fashion, 7-5.

 

In the third set, Borg holds for 5-2 with a 20-point game during which McEnroe has five break points. Borg takes the set 6-3, leaving him on the threshold of his fifth straight Wimbledon crown.

 

Borg takes control of the fourth set, but McEnroe scratches back from double match point to 5-all with a backhand cross-court service return winner. They find themselves tied again at 6-all, and they move into a tiebreaker that will define their rivalry for all time.

 

As the tense tiebreaker advances, match points and set points are played on virtually every other point in a dizzying display of guts and brilliance. On and on the tiebreaker goes. McEnroe gains the edge, 17-16, when Borg drives a forehand service return wide, by no more than a half-inch. Finally, on his seventh set point, McEnroe takes the epic set 18-16, deadlocking the electrifying match at 2 sets to 2 when Borg, attacking off serve, nets a forehand volley.

 

"I felt terrible, very disappointed," Borg would say later to the press, referring to the historic, 22-minute, 18-16 passion play. "I told myself, 'Forget about it. Go forward.' But it was difficult. Very difficult.''

 

With McEnroe having all the momentum, the decisive set begins. Even the British crowd is on McEnroe's his side, roaring for the New Yorker they had come to detest and mock. Deep down, Borg believes he is done, finished, that it'll be impossible to combat McEnroe's momentum and power, especially with the crowd on his side.

 

Borg loses the first two points and quickly scolds himself, saying, ''Stay relaxed. Don't get tight.'' Suddenly, out of the blue, he gains clarity. His senses come alive. He does not lose another point on his serve until the 10th game, a stretch of 19 consecutive points.

 

McEnroe battles just to hold serve from 0-40 in the second game and again from 0-40 to get to 4-all. The strain his semifinal match with Jimmy Connors -- and a doubles match that McEnroe and Peter Fleming admittedly bagged to avoid further physical strain on McEnroe -- is clearly wearing him down. But he reaches down and somehow battles Borg point for point.

 

That is, until finally, inexorably, the fresher, more experienced Borg pulls ahead. The fifth set, like the fourth set, goes to 6-6, but no tiebreaker is to be played in the final set -- the set and the championship will be decided when one player gets two games ahead in the fifth set. That happens immediately when Borg beats a tired McEnroe in the 13th and 14th games of the set -- and the Wimbledon title is Borg's for the fifth straight year.

 

Borg falls to his knees on the Centre Court lawn with an expression of disbelief, relief and joy. The roar of the crowd rises all around Borg, serenading him. Moments later, after finally rising to his feet, Borg extends the Champion's Cup high in the air, relishing the glowing moment of victory. High in the stands is Borg's fiancée, Mariana Simionescu, waving wildly.

 

As McEnroe steps up to the Royal Box, he performs the customary and traditional bow, and the noise from the fans that have always booed him swells, louder and louder. He lowers his head, moved by the fans' response, holding back tears. He then looks up, turns and acknowledges Borg, who admiringly glances back, knowing they had just waged perhaps the greatest court battle in history.

[the max 0]

That's a moment that I think of whenever someone mentions tennis.

 

And it's #40...

[Bored 0]

#39: Aaron Boone's home run crushes Red Sox

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

On July 31, 2003, Aaron Boone was traded to the New York Yankees to fix their hole at third base. Boone was OK down the stretch -- he hit .254 with six homers and 31 RBIs in 54 games -- but in the American League Championship Series against Boston, Boone hit the skids, falling into a miserable slump.

 

In the first six games of the series, he hit .125, with just two hits in 16 at-bats, and both hits were infield choppers. In Game 6, Boone looked particularly pathetic, going 0-for-4 with two strikeouts. He was benched for Game 7.

 

THE MOMENT

October 17, 2003, Yankee Stadium, 11th inning, Game 7. Boone had learned before the game that Enrique Wilson was going to start at third. For eight innings, he sat, wondering what in the world had happened to his hitting.

 

Just five outs away from losing the pennant, the Yankees rally from a 5-2 deficit to tie it in the eighth inning. During the rally, Wilson was lifted for pinch-hitter Ruben Sierra, and when Sierra was intentionally walked, Torre called on Boone to pinch-run and take over third base.

 

As the game moves into the bottom of 11th inning, Boone is scheduled to lead off. The question is whether Torre will let him hit or pinch-hit for the slumping third baseman.

 

The Red Sox pitcher is Tim Wakefield, a knuckleballer who is having a marvelous series. So marvelous that if the Red Sox find a way to win this game, Wakefield is a shoo-in to win the series' Most Valuable Player.

 

Boone is hitless against Wakefield in the two games the Boston knuckleballer has pitched in the series. But Torre sticks with Boone.

 

"I don't particularly like facing Wakefield," Boone would say after the game. "I haven't squared up too many against him. It's like a crapshoot."

 

Boone walks to the plate with a plan: he thinks about taking a pitch, getting a good look at Wakefield's first pitch, getting his timing down, then hoping to put a one good swing on one good pitch. Yet he knows that Wakefield will be throwing a knuckleball, so he is caught in between his emotions: should I take or should I swing, knowing exactly what pitch is coming?

 

"All I wanted," Boone would say later, "was to get on base, to make contact."

 

There buzz in the stadium that builds to a loud roar as Boone gets into the box against Wakefield, the score still tied 5-5, with everyone knowing that one swing means the AL pennant and a trip to the World Series.

 

The crowd rises. Wakefield receives the sign from catcher Jason Varitek. He goes into his motion and delivers. The knuckleball, floats and jiggles toward the plate, a spinning white pill against the evening sky. Boone readies himself. The pitch jiggles closer to Boone. He uncoils, then takes a vicious cut. The ball is drilled toward the left-field stands and as it soars through the New York sky, it's evident it's far enough to pull the curtain down on this remarkable series and slap the Red Sox and everyone else in New England one more time.

 

Yankee Stadium is instantly transformed into a New Year's celebration. The ball disappears into a wild sea of blue, Yankees jubilantly run onto the field, starting a mad dancing dash to home plate, tears fill Joe Torre's eyes, and the stadium is filled with the song ... "Start spreading the news ..."

 

As Wakefield trudges slowly toward into the stunned Red Sox dugout, where Pedro Martinez sits in a trance, Yankees reliever Marino Rivera races to the pitcher's mound, falls on it and hugs it like it a best friend he hasn't seen in years.

 

As the loudspeakers blare "I want to wake up in a city that doesn't sleep, and find I'm king of the hill, top of the heap, " Boone reaches home plate and disappears beneath a mass of teammates at home plate.

 

"You always emulate these moments in your backyard," Boone would say. "I still can't put the into words ... I'm floating ... Just to have had this opportunity ... It's humbling. This game humbles you all the time in good ways and bad ways. Lately, it's been humbling in a bad way. That's how it is."

 

In the blink of an eye, Boone has provided another legendary home run in Yankee lore, joining Chris Chambliss, who who hit a pennant-winning home run in the bottom of the ninth inning of the decisive game in the 1976 ALCS against the Kansas City Royals.

 

Soaked in champagne in the wild Yankees clubhouse, Boone pauses and says, "When I joined the Yankees, this is the kind of thing I wanted to be part of. The perfect ending."

[Guest Smues]

Maybe I'm just tired, but does that REALLY deserve to be 39, or even be on the list?

[The Czech Republic 0]

Eh, AARON FUCKING BOONE should be on the list, as long as they mention that he was replaced by Alex Rodriguez in the offseason when he unsuccessfully tried to hone his mad balling skills and injured himself.

[Bored 0]

It doesn't deserve to be higher than Joe Carter's homerun for obvious reasons. I seriously doubt Steve Garvey's homerun to win the 1984 NLCS is going to make the list if it hasn't been on already so no reason Boone's should be this high.

 

#38: Messier leads Rangers to Stanley Cup win

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

New York City is buzzing on June 14, 1994, with thoughts of Madison Square Garden and Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals between the New York Rangers and Vancouver Canucks.

 

The Rangers haven't won the Cup in 54 years and the city is engulfed with Rangers' fever. Everywhere you look, there are people wearing Rangers' jerseys, people yelling "Go Rangers," signs blasting, "Win The Cup" and "Tonight's The Night."

 

"I've been in the game for 16 years, had already won five Cups," Rangers captain Mark Messier told reporters later in the day. "I thought I'd seen it all, but I'd never seen the kind of attention paid to this game."

 

 

THE MOMENT

Game time arrives. The city comes to a screeching halt. Madison Square Garden is louder than any arena you've ever been in. The game is tense and spirited, the best of what is already a memorable series. Fittingly and expectedly, it is Messier who leads the Rangers' charge toward the Cup. He was, after all, brought to New York three years earlier for this moment.

 

After winning five Cups with the Edmonton Oilers, Messier boldly accepted a difficult mission -- to lead the Rangers to the Stanley Cup title for the first time since 1940. He won the NHL MVP that first season in New York, but the Rangers floundered in the playoffs that season and the next.

 

But in the 1993-94 season,m Messier leads the Rangers to the best record in the NHL, then playoff victories over the New York Islanders and Washington Capitals. Then, in the conference finals against the hated New Jersey Devils, he boldly guarantees a victory in Game 6 and backs it up with a hat trick to clinch the series.

 

But in the Cup Finals, the Rangers let a 3-games-to-1 lead slip away and are forced to confront the pressure of a Game 7. Fans and teammates look to Messier, their rock of leadership, their ace in the hole.

 

Messier sets up the Rangers' first goal at 11:02 of the first period. He carries the puck up the ice, past Canucks star Pavel Bure, along the right side. He holds the puck at the top of the right circle and then makes a sweet back-handed pass to Sergei Zubov, who holds the puck, then whips a pass over to Brian Leetch, who beats the sprawling Kirk McLean on the open side of the net.

 

The Rangers score again, and after Vancouver slices the deficit to 2-1, Messier comes through again. Early in the second period, when the puck is deflected in front of the Canucks' net, it's Messier who's there at the left post to tip it home for a 3-1 lead.

 

Vancouver closes to within a goal again, turning the game into a tense, fierce battle of will, guts and desire in the final period. With two minutes left, the crowd rises in joy and fear. They do not sit down again. During the final 90 seconds, the Rangers keep icing the puck, doing anything and everything to keep it out of their end, where goalie Mike Richter faces a powerful arsenal from six Canuck shooters.

 

"The clock didn't seem to move," Leetch would say. "You're out there for what seems like a minute and a half, and when you look up it's only been 20 seconds. You have that fear of the puck going in the net, but it's still the most exciting moment in your life."

 

During the final 60 seconds, the fans are on their feet; the arena is deafening. The atmosphere, the experience, takes on religious-like proportions as fans remain standing in a spine-tingling frenzy.

 

With 6.6 seconds left, the fans' roar shakes the Garden's pillars as Steve Larmer grabs the puck in the corner, with the Canucks swarming and attacking in their quest to win their first Cup. Larmer flicks the puck all the way down ice. The puck takes five seconds to cross the goal line at the other end, before the refs can call icing. Just 1.6 seconds show on the clock. There's one more faceoff left.

 

The Rangers' Craig MacTavish skates into the faceoff circle against Murray Craven, just to Richter's right for the final shining moment of a golden season. The puck is dropped. MacTavish reaches in quickly and yanks it back toward the boards as the scoreboard clock ticks down. Bure takes one final, desperate swipe at the puck, but the Rangers freeze the puck behind the net at the corner boards. The green light flashes as the buzzer sounds, and bedlam erupts in every corner of the sacred arena.

 

Fireworks explode in the arena. Finally, 1940 is meaningless. A new chant is born -- "1994! 1994!"

 

"We did it! We did it!" Messier screams as the Rangers mob each other. The roar from the crowd rises as the Stanley Cup emerges from the bowels of the arena and is carried out on the ice.

 

Messier's usual stone face is aglow in a joyous smile as he takes the shining silver chalice and cradles the 32-pound trophy high, then shakes it like he can't believe he actually has it in his grasp. Then he hoists it high over his head, sharing it with everyone, from rinkside to the rafters.

 

A fan high above rinkside, illustrating the impact of this victory for many Rangers fans, holds up a sign that reads, "Now I Can Die in Peace."

[Alro 0]

While it was the 1st slam won by the Williams, Venus was turning into a dominant force in 97 and 98, and people were already getting annoyed with their ensuing dominance, arrogant attitudes and piece of shit dad by late-99.

Some of us were annoyed with them LONG before that.

 

 

That's a moment that I think of whenever someone mentions tennis.

 

And it's #40...

 

The tennis moment that I think stands out the most hasn't been mentioned yet. Plus frequent ESPN blowjob recipient Pete Sampras has yet to be seen. I suspect we'll see the '96 US Open quarterfinal where he pukes twice and comes back from match point against him to beat Alex Corectja in a 5th set tie breaker somewhere down the line.

[EVIL~! alkeiper 0]

The tennis moment that I think stands out the most hasn't been mentioned yet. Plus frequent ESPN blowjob recipient Pete Sampras has yet to be seen. I suspect we'll see the '96 US Open quarterfinal where he pukes twice and comes back from match point against him to beat Alex Corectja in a 5th set tie breaker somewhere down the line.

 

From my memory, we've got the McEnroe/Born Wimbledon Final, and the Monica Seles stabbing incident.

[Bored 0]

#37: Nolan Ryan hurls record 7th no-hitter

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

From the moment he awoke that morning, he felt horrible. His body ached. His shoulder and arm were sore. His back, too. His head was pounding. Even his heels and fingers ached, for goodness sakes. He was popping pain pills every hour.

 

Forty-four year old Nolan Ryan didn't even feel as if he could make it to Arlington Stadium for his start that evening against the Toronto Blue Jays. He didn't even want to attempt it. "I'm really feeling my age today," he told his wife that morning.

 

But being the blue-collar, lunch-pail-carrying, 9-to-5 player he was, Ryan pulled on his boots and jeans and headed off to the ballpark. He didn't want to disappoint the fans who had paid to see him pitch on Arlington Appreciation Night on this crisp spring evening, against baseball's best-hitting team.

 

THE MOMENT

May 1, 1991. With his body an absolute wreck, Ryan goes through extra pregame stretching. During the scouting meeting to go over Toronto's hitters, he wears a heating pack on his back. But nothing helps. Ryan doubts if he'll be able to last five innings.

 

While warming up in the bullpen, Ryan turns to Rangers pitching coach Tom House, who is also 44, and drawls, "I don't know how you feel at 44, but I feel old today. My back hurts. My ankle hurts. I've been pounding Advil all day, and it isn't helping." He pauses. "You'd better watch me good out there tonight. I didn't think I'd be out there very long."

 

As if his physical problems aren't enough, Ryan also threw 131 pitches in his previous start. But when Ryan walks to the mound and begins throwing, he suddenly starts feeling good. Better than good. Great. Better than great, actually. Totally dominant, overwhelmingly strong.

 

"Everything kicked in for me there in the first inning," Ryan says today, "and it just got better and better as the game went on."

 

He begins the game by striking out Devon White, then runs into a little trouble by going to two full counts and walking one of the hitters, Kelly Gruber. But Ryan escapes the jam by getting Joe Carter on a pop-up. In the second inning, Ryan displays signs of overwhelming dominance, striking out John Olerud, Mark Whiten and Glenallen Hill, all three looking at nasty curves.

 

Given a 2-0 lead on a home run by Ruben Sierra, Ryan now becomes stronger and hits 96 mph on the radar gun on a pitch to Carter in the fourth.

 

"He struck out all three guys in the second on curves, but didn't throw me one curve for a strike," Carter would say after the game. "Instead, he threw me the changeup to strike me out. There was nothing I could say except 'That's awesome.'"

 

Even though the Jays have a lineup stacked with such all-stars as Roberto Alomar, Carter and Olerud, the starters have a combined .132 lifetime average (9-for-66) against Ryan, who is now buzzing through Toronto's order with ease. He was, according to House, "in a zone where normal people don't go." Carter says simply, "We were clueless."

 

Everyone in the stadium can feel history in the air. They can smell it as Ryan racks up his 10th and 11th strikeouts. In the sixth, Manny Lee loops a blooper to center field that looks as if it's going to drop in for Toronto's first hit. Rangers catcher Mike Stanley is certain the ball is going to drop, ending the no-hitter. He hangs his head, slams his glove on his thigh and mumbles a few expletives.

 

But Rangers center fielder Gary Pettis, already playing shallow, races in and catches the ball at his shoe tops. Only Lee is sure that Pettis is going to catch it. "It was off the end of the bat and Pettis got a good jump," he told the media afterwards. Ryan would later wink and say, "Good to have a Gold Glover out there on that play."

 

The game moves into the seventh, and another zero is posted on the stadium scoreboard and more K's posted along the outfield facade, indicating Ryan's strikeouts. The aging eighth wonder of the world has total command of all three of his pitches, throwing 96-mph fastballs, 86-mph changeups and 84-mph curves. He strikes out at least one batter in every inning, and through seven he has 13 K's.

 

Whiten drills the hardest shot of the evening in the eighth, smoking a liner to right. But Sierra makes an easy catch. Ryan then fans Hill and Greg Myers for his 14th and 15th strikeouts, marking the 26th time he has struck out 15 or more batters in a game. The question now is whether Ryan can lock down the no-hitter. He has, after all, tossed 12 one-hitters in his illustrious career, losing five no-hitters in the ninth inning alone. One of Ryan's lost no-hit bids in the ninth came two years earlier, on April 23, 1989, against the Blue Jays, when Nelson Liriano slashed a one-out triple. Ryan did, however, toss a no-hitter the previous season, in Oakland, becoming the oldest pitcher, at the age of 43, to accomplish the feat.

 

The game heads into the ninth with Texas up, 3-0. The crowd of 33,439 rises, and in a full-throated frenzy they yell, "No-lan! No-lan!" Ryan retires Lee on a grounder to second baseman Julio Franco for the first out. He then gets White to do the same. The only hitter separating Ryan from his seventh no-hitter is the 23-year-old Alomar. When Ryan pitched his first two no-hitters with the Angels in 1973, his second baseman was Sandy Alomar, Roberto's father.

 

With the crowd on its feet roaring, Ryan gets two strikes on Alomar and then he rears back and fires his 122nd pitch ... a hissing 93-mph fastball ... Alomar swing and misses. Game over. No-hitter No. 7, this one with an astonishing 16 K's.

 

The Rangers explode from their positions on the field and in the dugout and rush toward the mound in celebration. Ryan, typically, doesn't show nearly as much emotion. When Alomar swings through the final fastball, Ryan swaggers off the mound, like a gunslinger, grinning at his latest inferior victim.

 

The crowd chants, "No-lan! No-lan!" as Ryan is hoisted on the shoulders of his teammates and carried off the field, like royalty, as they did the previous season in Oakland when Ryan no-hit the A's and struck out 14.

 

The victory is Ryan's 305th, tying him with Eddie Plank for 17th on the all-time list. The shutout is his 60th. Ryan calls this no-hitter the most overpowering performance of his brilliant career. The Jays hit only eight balls in fair territory all night, only four out of the infield.

 

Never before had Ryan been so overpowering, and so under control, in a no-hit performance. Of his 122 pitches, 83 were strikes. The only comparison Ryan can make is his second no-hitter: a 17-strikeout performance against Detroit on July 15, 1973. But on this evening in Arlington, "I had the best command of all three pitches," he tells the media afterwards. "This is my most overpowering night."

 

"I never say I have no-hit stuff," he would say after the game. "I know all it takes is one pitch. I took each inning as it came along. When I went into the ninth, I just felt like I was going to go right at them and be real aggressive and try not to make a mistake."

 

Meanwhile, the fans refuse to leave the stadium. They continue applauding, cheering and yelling, "No-lan!" In the clubhouse, the Rangers have their own private celebration. Manager Bobby Valentine breaks out a bottle of champagne that had been on a shelf in his office for five years. Valentine had vowed not to open the champagne until the Rangers reach the World Series. But this night, he would say, is too special of an occasion not to open the champagne. Even Ryan, with his good ol', aw-shucks, ain't-nothin' persona, takes a swig.

 

"This is the one I wanted the most because it was in front of the fans on Arlington Appreciation night," Ryan would say. "The fans have been so supportive of me and it was really great to pitch one in front of them. ... I had hoped I'd get in this position to do it at home for these fans."

[Slayer 0]

Speaking of alcohol, how many shots has Bored gone through trying to tabulate all this stuff?

[Art Sandusky 0]

I'm too young, I never knew about 75% of these.

[Bored 0]

Okay now his Masters performance was incredible and deserves to be on the list...but the hug is the moment? Maybe it was just a bad headline.

#36: Tiger Woods hugs dad after record Masters

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

Just 21.

 

That's how old he was. That's what made it so startling. Actually, that's what made it so scary.

 

No one had ever dominated a golf tournament, a course, a competition, like this ever before. Not Nicklaus. Not Palmer. Especially The Masters, golf's most celebrated tournament.

 

When someone rules the game as 21-year-old Tiger Woods did iin 1997, against the sport's greatest players, all you can do is shake your head and wonder in amazement at the gifted golfer.

 

THE MOMENT

April 13, 1997, The Masters, Augusta National Golf Club.

 

Tiger Woods is as perfect, as dominant, as a player can possible be ... after the first half of the first round, that is. That's when Woods adjusts his swing at the turn by shortening his backswing, allowing him to find his groove -- a groove he doesn't lose for the next 3½ rounds.

 

Woods winds up shooting 70 for the first round, then burns up the course the next two rounds, shooting a staggering 66 and 65, entering the final round with an astounding nine-stroke lead. Woods, with his 350-yard drives, "reduced the course to nothing," as Jack Nicklaus said.

 

The final round is a formality with the nine-stroke advantage. Players like Woods do not blow nine-stroke leads. Players like Woods -- and there are none -- only come back and win nine shots down. As Woods walks around celebrated Amen Corner -- Augusta's hazardous stretch from No. 11 to 13 -- the crowd is standing 10 deep behind the ropes, screaming louder and louder the closer he gets. As he makes a 20-foot birdie putt at the 455-yard, par-4 11th, a howl rises and rolls down from the gallery. The shot boosts Woods' lead to 10 shots.

 

"Nobody," Tom Kite would say later, "was really in the hunt." Not on this day. This day is all Tiger's.

 

On the par-five 13, Woods hits a six-iron to 15 feet and two-putts for birdie. On No. 14, when Woods' eight-foot putt rolls in for yet another birdie, everyone knows it's so over. The legends of the game are in complete awe of this performance. "He's out there playing another game," Nicklaus would tell the press afterwards.

 

Augusta has never seen the likes of this before. It has never seen Tiger's power combined with a brilliant putting touch. Over the course of the tournament, Woods plays the par-5 holes in 13-under par.

 

"I never thought I would have the lead like I did," he would say later. "It's not what you envision. You envision dueling it out with Faldo or Nicklaus or Watson, someone who's awfully tough to beat down the stretch."

 

As Woods walks victoriously up the 18th fairway, waiting for him behind the green is his father, Earl, the man who trained Tiger for this moment. His mother, Kultida, is also there; she has walked the entire 18 holes, a bright red headband on her wide-brimmed hat.

 

As Woods strolls toward the green, right through a tunnel of wild applause, he slaps palms and high-fives people in the gallery, one fan after another. Woods ends the most dominant performance in Masters history with another perfect putt. Overcome with emotion, Woods walks toward his parents, tears in his eyes. He hugs them in a stirring emotional scene, then in the embrace of his father, he breaks down and weeps.

 

Woods finishes with a 69, winning by a record 12 shots over Kite. The last time a major championship was won by a 12-stroke margin was 1870. Woods' 72-hole score of 270 is the lowest ever, one shot better than Nicklaus in 1965 and Raymond Floyd in 1976. At 21, Woods becomes the youngest Masters winner, two years younger than 1980 champ Seve Ballesteros.

 

After a front-nine 40 in the first round, Woods plays the final 63 holes 22-under par. He plays 72 holes without a single three-putt green, even though the greens were eating up everybody else in the tournament. He also becomes the first minority to win the Masters.

 

When the long, 30-second embrace with his father is complete, and when the roar of crowd finally subsides, Woods slips on the renowned green jacket, his lifelong dream fulfilled.

 

He had entered his first Masters as a professional as the favorite. He left as a phenom, a marvel. As the crowds leave Augusta, the marquee sign atop the Fat Tuesday's on Washington Road, just a few hundred yards from country club's entrance, says: "Tiger Woods: Soon To Be Legend."

[Bored 0]

#35: Rams wins Super Bowl with game-ending tackle

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

It is known as "The Tackle."

 

This is why:

 

THE MOMENT

Six seconds remain in Super Bowl XXXIV. The St. Louis Rams cling to a 23-16 lead after a first-down, 73-yard lightning bolt of a touchdown strike from NFL MVP quarterback Kurt Warner to Isaac Bruce with 1:54 left in the game.

 

The Tennessee Titans, who tied this Super Bowl showdown at 16-16 with 2:21 left, thanks to the arm and legs of incomparable quarterback Steve McNair, take over at their own 12, following the Rams' kickoff. They have one timeout left. Not that the nail-biting pressure fazes McNair, who throws a 9-yard completion to Derrick Mason and a 7-yarder to Frank Wycheck, then runs 12 yards (another 15 yards is tacked on when the Rams' Dre Bly is called for a face-mask penalty). Next, McNair throws 7 yards to Kevin Dyson, putting the Titans in range with 22 seconds to play.

 

Next play: McNair takes the snap, scrambles out of the pocket, looks downfield, looks left, looks right, and, just as he is about to be crushed by Rams defensive linemen Kevin Carter and Jay Williams, McNair eludes them. The two linemen comically crash into each other, as in a scene from a Road Runner cartoon. McNair stumbles, nearly falling to the turf, but he regains his balance and fires a blistering 16-yard strike to Dyson that moves the Titans to the Rams' 10. The clock reads 0:06.

 

At the Georgia Dome, the crowd of 72,625 is roaring. Titans offensive coordinator Les Steckel, up in the booth, frantically suggests into his headset, "Sliver Right. Go Sliver Right." Listening at the other end is Titans head coach Jeff Fisher, standing on the sidelines with McNair. At the other side of the press box sits Rams defensive coordinator Peter Giunt, playing the ultimate chess match in the ultimate football game as he tries reading Steckel's mind, trying to figure out what play Steckel will call.

 

After conferring with Fisher on the sidelines, the cool, composed McNair returns to the huddle to call the final play of the season, the final play of the greatest final two-minute span in Super Bowl history. The call is "Sliver Right," a play the Titans had only used three times, all in practice, all resulting in touchdowns, a play never before seen by an opponent.

 

The play requires Dyson to run an inside slant and receive the ball on the run at the five, and for tight end Frank Wycheck to line up next to Dyson and run a vertical route into the end zone, taking two Rams defensive players with him. That would leave Dyson with single coverage in the middle of the field, enabling him to saunter into the end zone to create the first overtime in Super Bowl history. "In the huddle, there wasn't any doubt whatsoever that we were going to score," Dyson says. "None whatsoever."

 

Rams coach Dick Vermeil, without any resignation whatsoever, tells Mike Martz, his offensive coordinator, "Script the first three plays. We're going to overtime."

 

Dyson goes in motion to avert getting jammed at the line and to disguise his route. As McNair takes the snap, Wycheck runs straight up the seam toward the end zone and Rams linebacker Mike Jones drops back with Wycheck. But as Dyson makes his move at the 7-yard line and slants inside, Jones drops off Wycheck, realizing the pass is going to Dyson. "I saw his eyes get big," Jones would say later.

 

As McNair cocks his arm and releases the ball, Jones makes his break toward Dyson. The ball arrives in Dyson's arms at the 5, and Jones, who is only three yards away, closes fast. The clocks reads 0:04.

 

Before Dyson takes his second stride, Jones lunges at him. Stretching out horizontally as far as he can with his right arm, Jones grabs Dyson's right leg, just below the hip. Jones grabs Dyson hard and spins him, preventing him from moving another inch. "I thought I could run right through Mike's arm, but suddenly my feet stopped," Dyson recalls.

 

As the clock ticks down to 0:02, Dyson hits the ground and tries to stretch his hand and the ball to the goal line. Realizing he can't reach it, Dyson rolls over on his stomach, switches the ball to his left hand and tries stretching it across the goal line again. Too short again. As Dyson looks up at the clock, it ticks from 0:01 to 0:00. Game over. Rams win and Jones, unable to comprehend what he's just accomplished, goes numb as his teammates mob him.

 

"Greatest play in Super Bowl history," Vermeil would say later. "I still can't get over it, even after all this time. In certain moments, relaxing moments, I see the play over and over in my head. It was simply a brilliant play by Mike Jones, a beautiful moment."

 

When asked about impact of Jones' play, Vermeil pauses for a moment, ponders the question, and says, "From that moment on, every great defensive play in Super Bowl will always be measured by Mike's. And I doubt if they'll ever be a greater play made on the final play of a Super Bowl with one second left on the clock. It just isn't possible."

[Red Baron 0]

all I can say is that one more yard, and I would have 50 bucks in my pocket.

 

Damn the Rams

[Edwin MacPhisto 0]

The Longest Yard and Wide Right are both on here already? I was certain one of them would be the requisite Super Bowl top 10 moment. Arbitrary like whoa.

[Bored 0]

Still left are Vinitari's field goals (maybe just the first one as they might only be doing stuff through 2003) and Montana's winning drive in Super Bowl XXIII. Can't think of anything else that would be left for Super Bowls.

[snuffbox 0]

What about Elway's helicoter spin in XXXII?

[Bored 0]

Already on the list (#62 I think) but I thought that was a bit high personally.

[Art Sandusky 0]

Still the best ending to a Super Bowl ever. Field goals just aren't exciting.