ESPN's Top 100 Moments of past 25 years

[Guest Anglesault]

#6: Dale Earnhardt dies at Daytona 500

 

 

It's Sunday, February 18, 2001.

It's funny. Considering that I think it's Redneck shit, that (and Billy Martin) are the only athlete death dates that I can rattle off without looking up.

[Slayer 0]

I think the problem with the Gibby HR is that history has focused solely on that single moment and that time has wiped away all the circumstances behind the homerun that made it so great at that time

 

The LA Dodgers were lucky to make it to the postseason, carried almost entirely by CYA winner Orel Hersheiser's arm and MVP Kirk Gibson's bat. In winning a 7-game NLCS over the 100+ game winner Mets, Gibson gets injured and therefore cannot play in the WS against another 100+ game winner in Oakland, featuring: the young power-hitting combo of Canseco, McGwire and Weiss; a starting rotation with Dave Stewart and Bob Welch; and good-starter-turned-devastating-reliever Dennis Eckersley. It appeared that the WS would be a wash for the A's (three years later, the luster on this team would seem diminished even after 3 WS appearances, losing two to extreme underdogs and winning the other one with the assistance and overshadow of plate tectonics, but going into the '88 WS, they were viewed as this monster team)

 

Hence, when a gimpy Gibson came out to pinch against Eck in the bottom of the 9th, it just seemed like it was gonna be an easy out and the game would be over/close to over (I forget how many outs there were).

 

That is why this home run is considered so big

[EVIL~! alkeiper 0]

It was the ultimate Hollywood ending. The injured star sucks it up to make just one at bat, and wins the game for the home team. The Dodgers were down a run, with two outs, and one on. If Gibson fails, the Dodgers lose the game. Not only that, but he was facing the best reliever in baseball. And the at bat was epic. Gibson and Eckersley battled for about 10-12 pitches, lasting almost 10 minutes. And finally Gibson popped the damn thing. If the importance is overrated, the moment is not.

[Bored 0]

#3: Kirk Gibson's pinch-hit HR wins World Series game

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

He could barely walk. Actually, he could barely stand without his leg wobbling and shaking. When no one was looking, back when he was in the batting cage outside the Los Angeles Dodgers' locker room during Game 1 of the 1988 World Series against the Oakland A's, he actually used a bat a few times as a walking cane, to balance himself.

 

His knee, his hamstring, his ankle, his whole damn leg, for goodness sakes, ached. But he was still in uniform and on the bench for the start of the World Series -- no way Kirk Gibson was going to miss this. This was his team, after all. He had signed as a free agent over the winter and declared that the Dodgers were going to win it all, that he was going to guide them to a championship, just as he did for the Detroit Tigers in 1984, when he led them to a World Series victory -- and capped it all over with a towering eighth-inning, three-run jack off Goose Gossage to turn a tense Game 5 into a rout and deliver the Tigers' first world championship since 1968.

 

Gibson had transformed the Dodgers into workmanlike, lunch pail-carrying winners with his leadership, grit, hustle, aggressiveness and attitude, leading them to the National League West Division title and then the N.L. pennant with a seven-game victory over the New York Mets. He was later named the N.L.'s Most Valuable Player.

 

It was during the N.L. Championship Series against the Mets that Gibson's MVP season came to a screeching halt, when a season's worth of poundings took their toll and knocked him from the lineup. His leg was so badly damaged that when the Dodgers won Game 7 of the NLCS, manager Tom Lasorda refused to let Gibson run to the mound for the celebration after the final out, fearing he'd injury his leg further.

 

As the World Series began in L.A. a few days later, the prospect of Gibson playing at all in the Series against the American League champion Oakland A's, was doubtful, let alone Game 1. When Gibson awoke that morning, he attempted to walk on his gimpy leg. He could barely stand up straight. The pain was unbearable, even for an athlete with a pain threshold as high as Gibson's. He knew he couldn't walk, let alone run, but perhaps he could swing a bat, at least giving himself the option of being able to pinch hit in a tight, late-inning spot. He took some swings in his living room. Realizing he couldn't even do that, he tossed his bat aside angrily.

 

THE MOMENT

Oct. 15, 1988, Game 1 of the World Series, Dodger Stadium.

 

Gibson is one of the first players to arrive at the stadium. He is transported from the player's parking lot to the dugout in a cart. He limps into the dugout and toward the trainer's room, where he is given injections of cortisone and xylocaine for the sprained ligament in his right knee. His leg is so bad that during the pregame festivities and player introductions, he can't even make it out to the field.

 

As the game begins, Gibson cannot bear not to be a part of it, so he drags himself down the dugout runway and begins swinging a bat. Adrenaline starts rushing through his body. He walks into the batting cage and hits a ball off a tee, then another, then another. His leg aches, but his adrenaline, his competitive spirit, his unflagging desire, offsets the pain.

 

Gibson's replacement, Mickey Hatcher, slams a home run in the bottom of the first inning, only his second homer of the entire season, and he sprints around the bases as if he is leading a Lakers' fastbreak. Elated that his replacement is the one to deliver a home run, Gibson smiles.

 

As the game progresses, Gibson walks back and forth, from the trainer's room to the runway to the dugout, then back to the trainer's room and clubhouse. As the Dodgers take the field in the top of the ninth inning, trailing 4-3, Gibson slips back into the trainer's room and onto the trainer's table.

 

"Well, the man who's been there for the Dodgers all season, Kirk Gibson, is not in the dugout and will not be here for them tonight," broadcaster Vin Scully tells a worldwide audience. Angry, Gibson slides off the trainer's table and shouts back at the speaker from which he heard Scully's voice, "Bull, I'll be there." He grabs an ice bag and straps it to his right knee in order to numb it. Then he pulls on his spikes and limps down the runway.

 

He tells clubhouse man Mitch Pool to inform hitting coach Ben Hines and Lasorda that he's going to get himself ready to pinch hit in the bottom of the ninth. Gibson knows the exact lineup situation: if anyone gets on base, pitcher Alejandro Pena is due up fourth. That's exactly where Gibson intends to hit.

 

To test his knee, Gibson hits some balls off a tee, slamming one after another into the net. His knee is numb. He feels good, confident, strong. He feels he can give the Dodgers one good swing. He hobbles back down the runway. When he gets to the dugout, Hines nudges Lasorda, who turns to see Gibson at the end of the dugout. Gibson motions to Lasorda, who walks toward Gibson. "If you want to hit [Mike] Davis for [Alfredo] Griffin, I'll be next in line," Gibson says.

 

The A's are retired in the top of the ninth, and as the Dodgers race off the field, out of the A's bullpen emerges Dennis Eckerlsey, baseball's best closer, who led the majors with 45 saves. This save looks like it'll be one of his easiest of the season since he is scheduled to face the bottom of the Dodgers order -- catcher Mike Scioscia, third baseman Jeff Hamilton and shortstop Alfredo Griffin.

 

As Gibson stands at the end of the dugout, his helmet pulled down over his eyes, up steps Scioscia. Eckersley gets him easily on an infield pop-up for the first out. As Eckersley strikes out Hamilton for the second out, Gibson angrily removes his helmet and turns his back to the field.

 

Down to the last out, Lasorda calls on Davis to bat for Griffin. Davis had played most of his career with the A's. After a stellar 1987 season, he became a free agent and was one of the Dodgers' key free-agent signings, along with Gibson. But Davis fell into an early-season slump and was never able to climb out of it. He was a horrendous bust, hitting just .196 during the season and .166 as a pinch hitter.

 

But if Davis is able to find his way on base, Gibson will hit next. As a decoy, Lasorda sends light-hitting shortstop Dave Anderson into the on-deck circle instead of Gibson. "I figured Eckersley would pitch more carefully to Davis with the right-hander on deck," Lasorda would reveal later. "If he'd seen Gibson on deck, he would have pitched Davis differently."

 

There is nothing in the world Davis wants to do more than to hit a game-tying homer off Eckersley, a hit that would salvage his atrocious season. But Davis does exactly what Lasorda tells him -- disrupt Eckersley's timing by stepping out of the box.

 

Davis immediately gets ahead in the count, prompting Hatcher to say to teammate Tracy Woodson, "Watch what happens if Davis gets on . . . Gibby's going to bat."

 

When Davis steps back out of the box again, Eckersley is seething. "The guy's hitting a buck ninety -- what the hell's he doing calling time?" Eckersley would say later.

 

Davis accomplishes his purpose: infuriating Eck and coaxing a walk from a pitcher who had allowed only nine unintentional walks all season. "That was terrible," Eckersley would say later to the media, referring to falling behind Davis 3 and 1 and then walking him on a 3-2 pitch. "A two-out walk to any hitter is inexcusable, and I don't do it very often. I tried to go right at him, but everything sailed outside. He was stepping in and out of the box a lot, disrupting my rhythm."

 

As Davis heads to first base, Anderson quickly turns around, slips back into the dugout and out steps Gibson. The stadium of over 56,000 people explodes in delirious joy as Scully announces, "And here comes Gibson!"

 

Dodger players stand agape in the dugout as Gibson hobbles to the plate. The enormous, deafening ovation takes Gibson's mind off his pain and immobility. "The fans really pumped me up," he would tell the media afterwards. "I didn't even think about the pain. I was just trying to visualize hitting."

 

With his adrenaline flowing, the left-handed hitting Gibson digs in. The right-handed Eckersley, with his funky, side-winding delivery, plans his approach. "I'll feed him fastballs, away," he says to himself.

 

The hamstring strain in Gibson's left leg and the sprained ligament in his right knee prevent him from being able to plant his legs and turn quickly enough. Even if he finds a way to get his bat on the ball, it would likely be an off-balance, awkward swing that would likely result in a weak, opposite-field fly ball.

 

With the crowd on its feet, Eckersley fires a fastball. Gibson takes a strong cut and fouls it off. Eckersley fires another fastball and Gibson fouls that one off too. Gibson steps out of the box, slams his right hand on helmet and gets back into the box, determined to keep the inning alive. The next offering is a hard sinker. Taking an ugly off-balance cut, Gibson hits a little slow roller up the first base line that barely rolls foul. Running down the line, Gibson looks like he has two wooden legs.

 

Eckersley comes back with a sweeping slider that usually comes back and catches the outside corner for strike three on lefties. But this one tails away, slightly, for ball one. "That was the key pitch because I was able to stay back and lay off it," Gibson would tell the media after on. "And it just missed the strike zone."

 

Gibson fouls back the next pitch in this amazing duel between two of baseball's marquee players. "The ultimate competitors," Lasorda would say. Gibson steps out of the box again and takes a deep breath as the crowd roars around him. He feels good, confident, excited. "I live for these moments," he would tell the media afterwards. "I'm an impact player, and I love the added pressure of admitting it."

 

The next pitch is another fastball, and Gibson lets it go as it sails in wide of the plate for ball two. It's now 2-2. As Eckersley throws his next offering, Davis takes off for second base. The pitch, a backdoor slider, just misses the outside corner for ball three. A's catcher Ron Hassey doesn't bother to throw the ball down to second base in an attempt to nail Davis for the potential final out of the game.

 

"Mike's stolen base was huge because all I had to think about was shortening my swing and trying to get a hit to score him," Gibson would say.

 

With first base open, A's manager Tony La Russa doesn't consider walking Gibson. Never put the winning run on base, he says to himself. And why even consider it with his ace closer on the mound, one pitch away from closing out a 4-3 victory?

 

Gibson steps out of the box again. The drama is thick. As he taps his helmet, he thinks back to what Dodgers scout Mel Didier said in his scouting report on Eckersley before the Series: At 3-and-2 against Eckersley, "look for the backdoor slider."

 

Gibson limps back into the box. Dodger Stadium is tense. All the fans are up on their feet. Players and coaches in both dugouts stand. Hassey crouches. He gives Eckersley the sign: backdoor slider.

 

"We had been throwing him all those fastballs, and I felt we could freeze him with the breaking ball," Hassey would tell the media afterwards. Hassey admits afterwards that he didn't consider altering his pitch selection because of Gibson's battered physical condition. But the fact is, Gibson is unable to catch up with Eckersley's fastball. Eckersley doesn't shake off Hassey's call for the backdoor slider. "I figured I'd just throw the nastiest slider I had," Eckersley would say.

 

The stadium is frozen as Eckersley wheels around and throws. As the pitch travels toward the plate, Gibson readies himself. The pitch hangs out over the outside of the plate. Using nothing but his wrists, Gibson reaches out over the plate, takes a quick cut and connects.

 

The ball explodes off his bat and sails through the night sky. As right fielder Jose Canseco races back, the ball keeps carrying . . . it sails over the fence and into the bleachers. As the ball disappears, the stadium explodes in celebration over the miraculous 5-4 victory, and Gibson begins his slow march around the bases. As he heads toward first base, he raises his arm and holds it aloft. He hobbles around the bases, limping heavily.

 

The freeze-frame moment is etched in everyone's mind forever. There are many dramatic moments in World Series history -- Bill Mazeroski's World Series winning homer in 1960, Carlton Fisk willing a ball inside the Fenway Park foul pole in 1975, Reggie Jackson's three homers on three swings in 1978, Joe Carter's Series winning homer in 1993. But this one by Gibson is . . .

 

"The most dramatic ever," Dodgers second baseman Steve Sax would say. "The guy was hobbling around all day, looking like a one-legged steer, and he hits it out with basically one hand."

 

Eckersley is his typical self after the game -- honest, candid and succinct. "It was a dumb pitch," he would say, referring to the final pitch to Gibson. "It was the one pitch he could pull for power. And he hit the dogmeat out of it. He didn't look good on any of his swings, and that's why we threw him so many fastballs away, and that's why it was stupid to throw him a breaking ball. If I throw him another fastball away and he hits it out to left center, I can almost live with that, but I can't throw him a pitch he can pull. I mean, I threw him the only pitch he could hit out."

 

Gibson's dramatics are so reminiscent of the heroics in the movie "The Natural" that when Gibson returns to his locker, he finds a nameplate over his locker that reads "ROY HOBBS."

[Art Sandusky 0]

I'm unbelieveably happy they put McGwire's home run over Bonds'.

 

I'm also happy (but not happy-happy, you know what I mean) that Earnhardt's crash placed period, let alone that high. NASCAR is steadily gaining acceptance finally.

[alfdogg 0]

#2 is Gets by Buckner

 

By the clip of him it appears he's about the only person who's gotten over it.

[Guest Anglesault]

NASCAR is steadily gaining acceptance finally.

Yes, I can barely contain my glee.

[Red Baron 0]

Maybe its just me, but I find that Carter's home-run is more memorable than Gibson's home-run

[Guest Anglesault]

Maybe its just me, but I find that Carter's home-run is more memorable than Gibson's home-run

It's more recent and more important. That's why it sticks in people's minds more.

[Highland 0]

Carter also played for the wrong team.

[Red Baron 0]

But isn't it anyone dream to hit the home-run to win the World Series (or any other sport accomplishments.)

 

I mean, ya Gibson is hurt, and hits a home-run, to win the game.

 

Joe Carter hits a home-run to win the World Series, on a 3-2 count, with two outs, or it'll be a game seven.

[Art Sandusky 0]

NASCAR is steadily gaining acceptance finally.

Yes, I can barely contain my glee.

This sounds reaffirming of your opinion of NASCAR fans, but "city folk" just don't get it.

[The Niggardly King 0]

NASCAR is steadily gaining acceptance finally.

Yes, I can barely contain my glee.

This sounds reaffirming of your opinion of NASCAR fans, but "city folk" just don't get it.

What is so great about long left turns galore?

[Fökai 0]

EDIT: Nevermind.

[EVIL~! alkeiper 0]

But isn't it anyone dream to hit the home-run to win the World Series (or any other sport accomplishments.)

 

I mean, ya Gibson is hurt, and hits a home-run, to win the game.

 

Joe Carter hits a home-run to win the World Series, on a 3-2 count, with two outs, or it'll be a game seven.

It's because at some level, we expected Mitch Williams to blow the game. Between game four and game six, he single-handedly gave the Blue Jays the World Series on a platter. It wasn't just Carter's HR. He also managed to blow a 14-9 lead.

 

One correction to your account. There was ONE out.

[Slayer 0]

#2 is Gets by Buckner

I haven't seen the clip on ESPN, but I can still hear the call in my head

 

"Mookie Wilson with a slow roller up the base line BEHIND THE BAG! It gets by Buckner! Here comes Knight and the Mets win!"

 

groan...

[the max 0]

I'm so tired of the Buckner clip.

 

Yet, I know that it's only getting started, as FOX will play it for no reason during the MLB Playoffs.

 

"That groundball to first was eeriely reminiscent of a certain play in the World Series"

 

*play clip of ball going through Buckner's legs*

 

ARGH

[Bored 0]

#2: Buckner's error completes stunning Sox collapse

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

The moment finally arrived. The moment for which the Boston Red Sox had waited 68 years. The moment fans from Bar Harbor, Maine to Westport, Conn., had dreamed about for decades.

 

For all the New England kids playing ball in their backyards, pretending they had hit the home run that made the Red Sox world champions or caught the final out of the World Series, this was their moment.

 

The Red Sox were close to World Series titles in 1946, 1967 and 1975, but never this close. Never one strike away, like they were on this night as they led the New York Mets, 5-3, with two outs in the 10th, two strikes on Gary Carter, nobody on base.

 

As Red Sox players toed the top of the dugout, bracing for the celebration of celebrations, the Mets' Keith Hernandez withdrew to the clubhouse to grab a beer, a half-dressed Kevin Mitchell was on the phone making flight plans and the stadium scoreboard operator typed, "Congratulations, Boston Red Sox, World Champions."

 

You can't get any closer to a championship than this. Then, disaster struck. But this time it struck bigger and harder than ever before in the franchise's long history of the failure. Three times the Sox were one strike away from nailing down the crown, but three straight hits and a wild pitch would tie the game, setting the stage for a moment in time emblazoned in the mind of every baseball fan.

 

THE MOMENT

Oct. 25, 1986, Game 6 of the World Series, Shea Stadium, New York.

 

Carter, the Mets' last hope, fights off a two-strike pitch for a single, and the Mets regain a spark of hope. Kevin Mitchell follows with a single of his own, and then Ray Knight with another single. Mets fans are giddy, hopeful, but still afraid -- their team trails 5-4 and remains one out away from finishing their spectacular season in disappointment. Then, with Mookie Wilson at the plate, Bob Stanley's improbable wild pitch brings Mitchell home, and all of a sudden the Mets are tied and the Sox' lead is gone. And then comes the moment.

 

Wilson chops a 3-2 pitch up the first-base line, and Buckner, the old baseball warrior, hobbles toward the line on his two bad ankles and reaches down to glove the ball. But he is too late.

 

The ball bounces between his creaky legs and rolls behind him. Ray Knight rounds third and heads home, hopping with joy. When he touches the plate, the Mets have tied the Series at three games each

 

The historical impact of the Buckner miscue is staggering. The play has become the most famous miscue in sports annals -- more famous than Scott Norwood missing a potential Super Bowl-winning field goal with two seconds left. More famous than Chris Webber calling timeout when Michigan had no timeouts left, costing the team a shot at a national championship. More famous even than Ralph Branca giving up Bobby Thomson's bottom-of-the-ninth, two-out, three-run, pennant-winning, Shot Heard 'Round World home run in 1951. More than Dennis Eckersley relinquishing Kirk Gibson's bottom-of-the-ninth, two-run, game-winning homer in the '88 World Series opener that paved the way to the Dodgers' stunning Series victory.

 

Buckner's error wound up taking on a life of its own. Actor Charlie Sheen paid $93,500 at an auction for the "Buckner Ball." Slide, a Boston rock group, christened its debut album "Forgiving Buckner." And Buckner's name become a colloquialism for goat or gaffe. For instance, a failed bond proposal was once called "the political equivalent of the grounder that dribbled through Bill Buckner's legs."

 

Video of the miscue is played over and over again, year after year. Buckner would become the poster child for failure, a symbol for broken hearts and shattered dreams.

 

"Some murderers didn't face as much criticism as I did," Buckner would say. "I couldn't believe it. It's like I did nothing in my career except commit that error."

 

Buckner would finish with 2,715 career hits and a .289 career average in 22 seasons, hitting .300 or more seven times. In 1986, at the age of 37, he knocked in 102 runs on two brutally bad ankles that required him to wear high tops. Without Buckner, the Red Sox probably do not win the A.L. East or the 1986 pennant. Yet he will only be remembered by many people for The Error. Sad but true.

 

"He deserves better," says Wilson, a Mets coach who became friends with Buckner after the incident. "He was a tremendous ballplayer who played his guts out every night. He played with injures that would have put most players on the DL. It's one of those crazy things in life that you can't explain: a guy having a tremendously successful career, and the one bad play he makes is the one that he's remembered for."

[Bored 0]

#1: ESPN debuts

 

Okay just kidding.

 

#1: USA upsets vaunted Soviets in 1980 Olympics

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

They were seeded seventh among 12 teams -- they had little hope of winning a medal, much less the gold.

 

And competing with the world's most feared hockey powerhouse, the original Big Red Machine, the Soviet Union? Well, there was little chance of that, either. After all, the U.S. Olympic hockey team was a bunch of college kids, some of whom appeared as if they weren't even old enough to shave, and the Soviets were veterans, the best national hockey team in the world, the invincible team every country feared, the one with the distinctive blood-red uniforms and the intimidating CCCP lettering across its chests. They had crushed the U.S. Olympians, 10-3, in an exhibition contest at Madison Square Garden just 13 days before the Games began in Lake Placid, New York.

 

But there was something special about this U.S. hockey team. They were unusually gritty and mentally tough, highly disciplined, and conditioned like thoroughbreds as a result of head coach Herb Brooks' relentless and intense training methods.

 

Brooks, a cold, complex, distant perfectionist from the University of Minnesota, was meticulous in the manner in which he choose this Olympic team, opting for durable and resilient players with big hearts and dogged determination. He worked them harder than they had ever worked before, and when the tournament began against dangerous Sweden, the U.S. Olympians immediately demonstrated exceptional characteristics.

 

With one minute left against Sweden, the U.S. trailed, 2-1. After Brooks pulled goaltender Jim Craig, Bill Baker slapped home the tying goal off a centering pass with 27 seconds left. Two nights later, the Americans hammered Czechoslovakia, 7-3. After that, the U.S. knocked off Norway, Romania and West Germany, all on third-period outbursts fueled by superior conditioning, evident by the fact that the U.S., outscored 9-6 in the first period of the tournament, dominated opponents in the final two periods, ultimately outscoring them by an astounding margin of 27-6.

 

But in the semifinals against Russia, none of that was supposed to matter. It was seen as a game of boys vs. men.

 

THE MOMENT

Friday evening, February 22, 1980, Lake Placid, upstate New York.

 

Anticipation in the Olympic Field House is incomparable as the U.S. and Soviet teams circle the ice in the semifinal showdown. The feeling among Americans and the global hockey world is that the Americans have performed wonderfully, capturing the hearts of a country in turmoil, but that this is the night their dreams would be obliterated. The Soviets, after all, are a fast, furious, indestructible hockey machine that lives, breaths and eats the sport.

 

But the cold Brooks, who has utilized psychological ploys from the moment he was named coach, warms up and becomes emotional, for a moment at least, in the locker room before the Soviet game, telling his team, ''You're born to be a player. You're meant to be here. This moment is yours.''

 

With Brooks' words reverberating in its collective psyche, the U.S. team storms onto the ice, confident, prepared and ready to create history and shock the universe.

 

As the final seconds of the opening period tick away, the U.S. trails, 2-1, when American center Dave Christian slaps a 100-foot prayer shot toward the net. Vladislav Tretyak, considered the best goalie in the world, and owner of two Olympic gold medals, a goalie who seldom ever makes a mistake, blocks the shot, but allows the rebound to slip out and slither about 15 feet away. Out of the blue, fleet U.S. winger Mark Johnson swoops toward the puck as the clock ticks down, and with one second left, he slides a shot past the stunned Tretyak. The crowd is delirious. The arrogant Soviets are shaken, which is evident when the teams line up for the face-off with 0:01 left in the period. Shockingly, Soviet assistant coach Vladimir Yurzinov yanks the legendary Tretyak from the net, replacing him with Vladimir Myshkin. For Tretyak, it's the ultimate disgrace, one he'll never live down.

 

But just when everyone thinks the Soviet hockey reign is in jeopardy, the Red Machine comes out and outshoots the U.S. 12-2 in the second period. But the Soviets can muster only one goal because of the acrobatic, sprawling brilliance of U.S. goalie Jim Craig. Russia leads 3-2 in the game, yet because of Craig, it's the U.S. that actually gains confidence heading into the final period.

 

"We were frustrating them," Craig says today. "For the first time in a long, long time, the Soviets panicked. First they pulled their star goalie, then they bombarded us with shots, and only had a one-goal lead. They skated and passed better than everyone in the world, but then they began to throw the puck forward. We wore them down, mentally, emotionally and physically."

 

The heart and superior conditioning of the Americans -- as well as their fierce, relentless body-checking and flawless playmaking -- begins to overcome the Soviets' speed, discipline and experience.

 

At the 8:39 mark of the third period, Mark Johnson scores for the U.S., and 90 seconds later, U.S. captain Mike Eruzione, coming off the bench on a shift change, picks up a loose puck, heads to the slot between the face-off circles, hides behind a Soviet defenseman, and fires a 30-foot shot into the net to give the U.S. the lead, 4-3, with 10 minutes left. Bedlam erupts.

 

The final minutes are frantic and frenzied, as the Soviets charge forward, only to be turned away time after time, shot after shot, by Craig and the stout U.S. defense.

 

For the U.S., the clock moves slowly. "I looked up at the clock with 3:32 left and look up again after what I thought was two minutes and the clock read 3:25," Eruzione would say later. "It was unreal."

 

The final minute of play is simply one of disbelief as the Soviets skate and pass and shoot furiously while the Americans bang away, knocking the Soviets off the puck repeatedly. Every passing moment is like slow motion, everything is magnified, and as the final seconds tick away, the excitement builds uncontrollably as fans see that the impossible is happening, that the invincible is not invincible, that miracles do happen.

 

The final Soviet charge fails, and as the pucks flutters away, and as the clock hits 0:02 . . . 0:01 . . . 0:00, the arena explodes with joy. American flags wave in a wild and beautiful sea of red, white and blue as the U.S. players leap into each other's arms and roll on the ice.

 

The ecstasy spills outdoors. Thousands of people stream onto the Lake Placid streets chanting "USA! USA!" The euphoria is felt across the country, state by state, from Pennsylvania, through Illinois and to California.

 

In the U.S. locker room, the players are still in disbelief, unable to comprehend the magnitude of their achievement. Nearby, at the entrance to the locker room, two security guards wipe away tears from their eyes.

 

Before long, it dawns on everyone that this incredible conquest will be diminished if the Americans don't defeat Finland 48 hours later in the gold medal championship game. TV sets throughout America and the world are tuned in to the U.S.-Finland showdown on an early Sunday morning.

 

The U.S. trails 2-1 going into the final period, but as they have done throughout the seven-game tournament, the Americans dominate the final period with their superior conditioning, scoring three third-period goals to down Finland 4-2 and win the gold.

 

This team belonged to America. The team galvanized a country during a time of turmoil and fear, when 52 Americans were being held hostage in Iran. The U.S. Olympians stopped the planet for 72 hours, the most glorious three-day, two-game period in sports in our nation's history.

 

"What's so great is that when people talk about memorable events in American history, a lot of them are negative, like JFK and now 9/11," Ken Morrow, a member of that U.S. team, would say. "Our victory took on an aura of being much bigger than a game. From a national standpoint, there's never been anything to match what we did. Nothing."

[Spaceman Spiff 0]

Man, you get chills by just reading that.

[the max 0]

All is right with the world.

 

Well, not really, but at least they did the right thing with having that as #1.

 

Reportedly, Brooks came into the locker room before the third period of the gold medal game and said, "If you lose this game, you'll take it to your fucking graves." He turned to walk out of the room, turned around again and repeated, "Your fucking graves."

[Slayer 0]

In all the Top 25 lists that ESPN has been doing, have they done a "Biggest Tragedies" list? That's one I was thinking about this morning

[nl5xsk1 0]

All is right with the world.

 

Well, not really, but at least they did the right thing with having that as #1.

I can't figure out if I'm happier that this made it as #1 or more surprised that ESPN didn't find a way to fuck up this list by making something else #1.

 

I definitely got goosebumps reading that article. It's amazing, if the Soviet coach doesn't pull Tretiak (Tretyak?) the whole game would have had a different feel. But pulling one of the game's great goalies gave the US such a lift.

[the max 0]

If Yurzinov leaves Tretiak in the game, we don't get a sniff of anything resembling a lead for the rest of the game. Craig would have still played out of his mind, but the Soviets would have taken the lead at some point and likely escaped with the win.

[Red Baron 0]

I looked at the top 25 Sports movies, and I see no Slapshot. Slapshot was better than most of those movies on there (except for Raging Bull and Caddyshack)

[treble 0]

It doesn't fit the criteria!

[The Mandarin 0]

Kudos Bored. I read that all 100 days.

[Guest Anglesault]

NASCAR is steadily gaining acceptance finally.

Yes, I can barely contain my glee.

This sounds reaffirming of your opinion of NASCAR fans, but "city folk" just don't get it.

What is there to get? It's a bunch of guys that say "dad-gum" in their everyday vocabulary driving around in a circle a bunch of times while everyone waits for a firey crash.

 

Maybe it's just me, but wrestling more that covers my "redneck fringe" quota.