ESPN's Top 100 Moments of past 25 years

[TheOriginalOrangeGoblin 0]

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

My thoughts exactly. That whole last two minutes owned with Stl's long drive followed by Ten's miracle drive and then, damn, my heart broke when they were a yard short.

[Bored 0]

#34: Len Bias dies of cocaine overdose

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

THE MOMENT

Sitting in the front row of the glitzy Felt Forum in Madison Square Garden in the heart of New York City on this splendid day in June 1986, Len Bias is impeccably dressed in a slick white suit with light gray pinstripes.

 

The 6-foot-8 star from the University of Maryland is about to be selected as the No. 2 overall pick in the NBA Draft by the Boston Celtics. Only seven days ago, the Celtics captured yet another NBA championship with a dynamic team comprised of Larry Bird, Kevin McHale, Robert Parish, Dennis Johnson and Danny Ainge, and now here they are, seconds away from adding a sensational young player to take the sacred Celtics torch from Bird and carry it on through the '90s and deliver additional NBA titles to the city that has more championship banners than any other.

 

"Are you packed for Boston?" Bias is asked by the player sitting next to him, North Carolina State forward Chris Washburn, moments after the Cleveland Cavaliers nab 7-foot center Brad Daugherty of the North Carolina with the first selection. "Better get ready because you're going next," Washburn tells Bias.

 

NBA commissioner David Stern is handed a piece of paper and walks to the podium. He unfolds the paper. "With the No. 2 pick in the NBA Draft," he says, "the Boston Celtics select Len Bias, University of Maryland."

 

Bias, the ACC Player of the Year who averaged a league-leading 23 points and seven rebounds during his senior season, grins shyly as he rises from his seat and walks proudly across the Forum and onto the stage. He is cool and confident, not displaying his excitement outwardly. For he knew he was going to Boston, that he was going to be a Celtic. He had become close to Celtics president Red Auerbach, a friend of Bias' coach at Maryland, Lefty Driesell. Bias had even spent a week the previous summer at Auerbach's New England basketball camp, working with young players.

 

He had also visited the Celtics when they opened the championship series against the Houston Rockets in Boston Garden, just a few weeks before the draft. He sat behind the Celtics' bench. He watched Bird and McHale and the rest of the Celtics warm up and play. Later, when Bias bumped into Celtics GM Jan Volk, he reiterated what he had told Volk once before, "Please draft me."

 

When his dream becomes reality, Bias is walking on air on The Forum. He is, after all, joining a team that has won three NBA titles in the '80s, and is braced to win more.

 

Auerbach, Volk, Bird and everyone else in the Celtics' organization realize that this is the type of opportunity quality teams rarely get, to make the transition from one era of greatness to the next without missing a beat. They feel confident about extending their title run well into the next decade.

 

Everywhere Bias turns at the Felt Forum, somebody thrusts something green in his face -- a Celtics jacket, a Celtics nylon bag, a Celtics jersey and cap. Auerbach says that Bias, the man with the great leaping ability and soft shooting touch, is instantly going to be plugged in as the Celtics' sixth man, the first player off the bench, the spark.

 

"Len Bias is the closest thing to Michael Jordan to come out in a long time," Celtics scout Ed Badger tells the press. "He's an explosive and exciting kind of player like that."

 

As Bias walks out of Madison Square Garden, the glare of bright sun forcing him to squint, he heads toward a taxi on 33rd Street and 8th Avenue with his father, James, his agent, Bill Shelton, and Steve Riley from the Celtics' front office. Children on the sidewalk ask Bias for his autograph. "The Celtics still aren't going to beat the Knicks," one of the children says with a smile. Bias is amused. "We'll see," he says, smiling.

 

He gets into a taxi and heads off to La Guardia Airport and an Eastern Shuttle flight to Boston to meet the media and visit Reebok's corporate offices, where he is discussing a five-year endorsement package worth $1.6 million.

 

Later in the day, tired, weary and excited to return home, Bias and his father board an evening flight and land at Washington's National Airport at 10 p.m. They drive to the family home in Landover. At 11:30 p.m., Bias leaves and heads to his dorm suite in College Park on the University of Maryland campus dorm room that he shares with teammates Jeff Baxter, Keith Gatlin, David Gregg, Phil Nevin and Terry Long, a friend and former Maryland basketball player.

 

It's midnight, June 19, 1986. Bias arrives at his dorm room in Washington Hall. He is met by various teammates and friends, including basketball players Gatlin, Gregg, Long, Baxter and Keeta Covington, a defensive back on the Maryland football team. They laugh, talk, and munch on crabs in the dormitory suite until 2 a.m. They talk about Bias' future as a Celtic, the spectacular opportunity to play with the greatest and winningest organization in the NBA, the incredible break to play with a legend like Bird, and a championship core of players in McHale, Parish, Ainge and DJ.

 

But Bias is edgy, frustrated. He becomes sick of talking about himself, his newfound wealth, his fame and the expectations with the great Celtics. He suddenly feels a mountain of pressure. He decides to escape. "I'm getting away from here," he says to the gang. He abruptly leaves the dorm and takes off in his new Nissan 300ZX. "I figured he was going to see a lady," Covington would later say.

 

Bias speeds toward Cherry Hill, just off the Maryland campus. He stops by a small party and talks to David Driggers, a friend with whom Bias has often played pickup basketball games. Soon, Bias departs. It is 2:30 a.m. At 3 a.m., Bias returns to his campus dorm room. Suddenly, reports will later reveal, cocaine is being passed around the room on a small mirror. For the next three hours, the small group of friends and teammates snort cocaine.

 

At 6 a.m., while sitting in a chair talking to Long, Bias closes his eyes and begins breathing heavily. His body begins to quiver and shudder. Shockingly, a series of seizures wreak havoc on his 6-foot-8, 210-pound body. "Lenny! Lenny!" Long screams. He doesn't get a response. Bias passes out and slumps back in the chair. Long and Tribble begin screaming.

 

At 6:32 a.m., a hysterical Tribble dials 911 as Long and Gregg try to revive Bias. The dispatcher answers the 911 call and Tribble screams, "It's Len Bias. He passed out. His body his shaking. You have to get here fast. You have to save him."

 

The commotion awakens Baxter and Gatlin, who see Bias on the floor, his body convulsing. "I was in a state of shock," Gatlin would say later. "I was so scared."

 

Long begins to administer CPR. The ambulance arrives at 6:36 a.m. Paramedics find Bias, in a blue Reebok shirt, jeans and sneakers, collapsed in a chair. They try, desperately, to restart his heart, to no avail. As paramedics quickly wheel Bias out of the dorm, roommates and other teammates and friends in the dorm follow. The ambulance speeds off to Leland Memorial Hospital, just a few miles away.

 

At 6:45, Gatlin calls the Bias home in Landover. Bias' mother answers. "Len had a seizure and they're taking him to the hospital," he says. She drops the phone, races out of the house and heads toward College Hill.

 

Dr. Edward Wilson, chief emergency room physician at Leland Memorial, injects Bias with drugs designed to help his heart recover from cardiac arrest. Five drugs are administered: sodium epinephrine (a form of adrenaline), sodium bicarbonate (to normalize the acidity in the bloodstream), lidocaine (to control hyperactivity and an irregular heartbeat), calcium (to stimulate the heart muscle) and bretyline (a secondary drug to control irregularity of the heart). It doesn't help. Bias is still unconscious. Electric-shock treatment is then administered. Still no heart beat. A pacemaker is implanted after Bias' heart registers a flat line on the monitor. There's no heart beat. He never begins breathing on his own. He is pronounced dead at 8:50 a.m., due to cardio-respiratory arrest.

 

There is shock and utter dismay all around. Everyone is dumbfounded. Bias' family, friends and teammates are all assembled at the hospital, and stunned. Even hospital administrators take it hard. Bias is an icon in the community.

 

Bias' mother calls Auerbach, informing him that the newest Celtic, the future of the organization, has shockingly and stunningly passed away. Auerbach is speechless. He initially thinks it's some kind of insensitive prank. He quickly learns, by turning on the TV, that it is not a prank, that it is true, that the Celtics' organization and the New England fans have been dealt a sick and unfortunate blow to their present and future.

 

Dr. Wilson says the hospital did not and cannot determine the actual cause of death. But police officials reveal to the media that Bias was using cocaine in the dormitory in the hours preceding his death. "Traces of cocaine were found in Len Bias's urine by doctors during treatment," blares a Washington TV station.

 

There is shock everywhere, from Boston to California. The news of Bias' death rocks the NBA offices in New York and in every NBA city. Sadness and shock hit the league and its cities, knowing it has lost a future star. There is anger too. Celtic fans are enraged. How could this happen? How could a player selected No. 2 in the NBA Draft be so irresponsible? How could Auerbach not know Bias was a drug user? Moreover, how could a well-built, healthy, 210-pound athlete of rock and muscle collapse and die in this manner?

 

Dr. Edward Feldmann, assistant professor of neurology at Brown University in Rhode Island, tells the media that the cocaine probably caused Bias' brain and heart to undergo "major alterations and changes in function." That would explain Bias' seizures and cardiac arrest, he says.

 

The shock of the day's events do not subside. Not in that moment. Not for years.

[Red Baron 0]

sorry, but how does this getting placed over so many achievemnts is beyond me. A cocaine overdose, on a player who could have been mediocore in the NBA, or Joe Carter Game 6 homerun, or many things here.

 

Who makes these lists? The coaching staff of the San Diego Chargers?

[Vern Gagne 0]

The list has no real order. 10 people sat in a room, and which ever events popped into their heads they'd write them down.

[Red Baron 0]

whats next? Miracle on Ice, followed by Tie in the All-Star game.

[Bored 0]

They got to be fucking kidding with this one. By the end of the season this moment had been almost completely forgotten!

 

#33: Sammy Sosa gets caught with corked bat

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

Cheaters come in various forms in baseball. Pitchers who throw spitballs or use sandpaper to create more movement on the ball. Teams hiding video cameras in obscure areas of the ballpark in order to steal signs from opposing teams. Corking a bat.

 

Other players had been caught -- Wilton Guerrero, Chris Sabo, Billy Hatcher, Albert Belle. And then Sammy Sosa.

 

THE MOMENT

June 4, 2003, Wrigley Field, Chicago Cubs vs. Devil Rays. It's the bottom of the first inning and the first two Cubs reach base, bringing up beloved Sammy Sosa, the only player to hit 60 or more home runs three times.

 

Sosa, who joined the exclusive 500 home run club earlier in the season, is currently in the midst of a miserable slump, one of the worst of his career. He hasn't homered since May 1. His power numbers have dropped drastically since being hit in the helmet on April 20 by Salomon Torres of the Pirates. Shortly thereafter, Sosa had a toenail surgically removed, forcing him to go on the disabled list.

 

Activated just a few days earlier, Sosa is just 2-for-15 since coming off the DL. He had struck out five times in a game a few days earlier. With runners on second and third, Jeremi Gonzalez, working from the stretch, fires a pitch, low and away. Sosa uncoils, swings from his heels, connects with the ball. The bat shatters upon contact.

 

As Mark Grudzielanek scores from third on the broken-bat groundball out, umpire Tim McClelland spots something funky when he retrieves Sosa's bat. He looks closely at the piece of shattered wood and notices an odd material inside the bat.

 

"I turned the bat over and there was a half-dollar size piece of cork in the bat right about halfway down the barrel head," McClelland would later tell the media. McClelland huddles with the other umpires to examine the bat. "I wanted to make sure the crew knew it was cork and what the ruling would be," he would say.

 

Major League Baseball rule 6.06 (d) is very specific about tampering with bats: A hitter is declared out and immediately ejected if in the umpire's judgment, a bat "has been altered or tampered with in such a way to improve the distance factor or cause an unusual reaction on the baseball. This includes bats that are filled, flat-surfaced, nailed, hollowed, grooved or covered with a substance such as paraffin, wax, etc."

 

McClelland waves to Cubs manager Dusty Baker, asking him to join the umpire's conference. McClelland shows Baker the bat. Baker stares blankly at the lumber. McClelland tells Baker he has no choice: he must eject Sosa from the game, take the Cubs' run off the scoreboard and send Grudzielanek back to third. As this sequence takes place, Sosa stands in the dugout, motionless. The fans are stunned.

 

Word immediately shoots through Chicago and every other city in the nation: "Sammy Sosa was ejected in the first inning of tonight's game at Wrigley Field for using a corked bat."

 

Sosa doesn't shy away from the controversy. He steps right into the glow of the TV cameras and admits his guilt. But he says it was an honest mistake, that he grabbed the wrong bat. He admits the bat is his, but that he uses it for batting practice, occasionally, just to excite the fans with long and deep 450-foot blasts.

 

"I use that bat for batting practice," he tells the world. "It's something that I take the blame for. It's a mistake. I feel sorry."

 

Still, many see Sosa's excuse as lame and ridiculous. Sure, they acknowledged, it may be true that Sosa only used the corked bat in BP to excite fans with mammoth bombs. But the question is why would a player risk messing up his timing by using a corked 31-ounce bat before the game for BP and then switch to a 33-ounce model in the game?

 

All of Sosa's bats are confiscated by security personnel and turned over to Major League Baseball. Seventy-six bats are impounded. Each one is checked for cork by baseball officials the following day. All are found to be clean.

 

All five of Sosa's bats in the Hall of Fame are tested, including the one in which he hit his 500th home run earlier in the 2003 season, on April 4. The bats were checked with X-rays and CT scans. All the bats are found to be untainted.

 

Sosa winds up with an eight-game suspension, a standard penalty for the crime. He appeals it so he can play in the Cubs' ensuing series with the New York Yankees, whose visit to Wrigley Field is their first since 1938. Sosa winds up with a seven-game suspension -- and with a slightly tarnished image.

[Guest Anglesault]

They got to be fucking kidding with this one. By the end of the season this moment had been almost completely forgotten!

 

#33: Sammy Sosa gets caught with corked bat

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

Cheaters come in various forms in baseball. Pitchers who throw spitballs or use sandpaper to create more movement on the ball. Teams hiding video cameras in obscure areas of the ballpark in order to steal signs from opposing teams. Corking a bat.

 

Other players had been caught -- Wilton Guerrero, Chris Sabo, Billy Hatcher, Albert Belle. And then Sammy Sosa.

 

THE MOMENT

June 4, 2003, Wrigley Field, Chicago Cubs vs. Devil Rays. It's the bottom of the first inning and the first two Cubs reach base, bringing up beloved Sammy Sosa, the only player to hit 60 or more home runs three times.

 

Sosa, who joined the exclusive 500 home run club earlier in the season, is currently in the midst of a miserable slump, one of the worst of his career. He hasn't homered since May 1. His power numbers have dropped drastically since being hit in the helmet on April 20 by Salomon Torres of the Pirates. Shortly thereafter, Sosa had a toenail surgically removed, forcing him to go on the disabled list.

 

Activated just a few days earlier, Sosa is just 2-for-15 since coming off the DL. He had struck out five times in a game a few days earlier. With runners on second and third, Jeremi Gonzalez, working from the stretch, fires a pitch, low and away. Sosa uncoils, swings from his heels, connects with the ball. The bat shatters upon contact.

 

As Mark Grudzielanek scores from third on the broken-bat groundball out, umpire Tim McClelland spots something funky when he retrieves Sosa's bat. He looks closely at the piece of shattered wood and notices an odd material inside the bat.

 

"I turned the bat over and there was a half-dollar size piece of cork in the bat right about halfway down the barrel head," McClelland would later tell the media. McClelland huddles with the other umpires to examine the bat. "I wanted to make sure the crew knew it was cork and what the ruling would be," he would say.

 

Major League Baseball rule 6.06 (d) is very specific about tampering with bats: A hitter is declared out and immediately ejected if in the umpire's judgment, a bat "has been altered or tampered with in such a way to improve the distance factor or cause an unusual reaction on the baseball. This includes bats that are filled, flat-surfaced, nailed, hollowed, grooved or covered with a substance such as paraffin, wax, etc."

 

McClelland waves to Cubs manager Dusty Baker, asking him to join the umpire's conference. McClelland shows Baker the bat. Baker stares blankly at the lumber. McClelland tells Baker he has no choice: he must eject Sosa from the game, take the Cubs' run off the scoreboard and send Grudzielanek back to third. As this sequence takes place, Sosa stands in the dugout, motionless. The fans are stunned.

 

Word immediately shoots through Chicago and every other city in the nation: "Sammy Sosa was ejected in the first inning of tonight's game at Wrigley Field for using a corked bat."

 

Sosa doesn't shy away from the controversy. He steps right into the glow of the TV cameras and admits his guilt. But he says it was an honest mistake, that he grabbed the wrong bat. He admits the bat is his, but that he uses it for batting practice, occasionally, just to excite the fans with long and deep 450-foot blasts.

 

"I use that bat for batting practice," he tells the world. "It's something that I take the blame for. It's a mistake. I feel sorry."

 

Still, many see Sosa's excuse as lame and ridiculous. Sure, they acknowledged, it may be true that Sosa only used the corked bat in BP to excite fans with mammoth bombs. But the question is why would a player risk messing up his timing by using a corked 31-ounce bat before the game for BP and then switch to a 33-ounce model in the game?

 

All of Sosa's bats are confiscated by security personnel and turned over to Major League Baseball. Seventy-six bats are impounded. Each one is checked for cork by baseball officials the following day. All are found to be clean.

 

All five of Sosa's bats in the Hall of Fame are tested, including the one in which he hit his 500th home run earlier in the 2003 season, on April 4. The bats were checked with X-rays and CT scans. All the bats are found to be untainted.

 

Sosa winds up with an eight-game suspension, a standard penalty for the crime. He appeals it so he can play in the Cubs' ensuing series with the New York Yankees, whose visit to Wrigley Field is their first since 1938. Sosa winds up with a seven-game suspension -- and with a slightly tarnished image.

Fucking bullshit. Pine Tar is forty something moments less memorable than Sammy Cheats?

[The Czech Republic 0]

He didn't even intentionally cheat! He's just not very bright!

[Guest Anglesault]

He didn't even intentionally cheat! He's just not very bright!

uhuh

[Slayer 0]

Quick, put Bored on suicide watch

 

I don't know how much more he can take

[Vern Gagne 0]

He didn't even intentionally cheat! He's just not very bright!

uhuh

Believe what you want, but Ted Williams used corked bats for batting practice. That's what Sammy claimed it was.

[Bored 0]

Political correctness strikes again. Although I'll say this moment maybe does belong on the list but much, much lower. I can't wait until the UConn women crack the Top 20.

 

#32: Brandi Chastain's penalty kick wins World Cup

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

Ninety minutes of regulation passed. Then 30 minutes of overtime. Still, there was no score between the United States women's soccer team and China in the 1999 World Cup championship game before a crowd of 90,185 at the sun-scorched Rose Bowl in Pasadena, California.

 

The heat brought many of the players to the threshold of exhaustion and near-collapse. Soccer moms and daughters, their faces painted red, white and blue, sat next to fathers and sons. Even President Bill Clinton was in attendance, having been lured into the swirl of the World Cup's popularity.

 

After the second 15-minute scoreless overtime period, American and Chinese players sprawled out on the grass, gulping from bottles of water, as trainers massaged their aching muscles to help them prepare for the penalty kicks that would determine the World Cup champion.

 

THE MOMENT

July 10, 1999. The stage is set. Five players from each team are designated to kick the ball 12 yards from the net. They alternate kicks, one after another, shooter vs. goalkeeper, one on one, to decide the World Cup.

 

First up is China's Xie Huilin. U.S. goalkeeper Briana Scurry pulls off a slick maneuver, slightly moving forward, off her line, which is not permitted by the rules. Goalkeepers are allowed to move laterally only, not forward. But Scurry's psychological ploy is to test the officials, to see if they're able to detect her play.

 

Huilin steps into her kick and punches it past Scurry, beating her to her right, to the top left corner of the net. Scurry, however, is relieved that the refs don't blow the whistle on her move. She knows she might be able to fool the refs and move up and off her line again,.

 

Following Huilin's kick, U.S. captain Carla Overbeck beats Chinese goalkeeper Gao Hong to the right side to tie it 1-1, and pumps her fists as the crowd roars.

 

Next, it's Scurry vs. Qiu Haiyan. Scurry decides it's not the time to make her move. Haiyan scores, but Joy Fawcett ties it up for the Americans, slotting the ball into the right corner.

 

As China's Liu Ying prepares for the third kick in the series, Scurry says to herself, "OK, now." She moves up, ever so slightly, ever so discretely. Ying, a little hesitant, boots a shot to Scurry's right. Scurry dives and punches the ball away with both of her hands. Her teammates and the crowd go wild, knowing that the save might just be the difference between winning and losing the Cup.

 

"I knew I just had to make just one save because I knew my teammates would make their shots," Scurry would later tell the press. "So I knew if I just got one, we'd win it."

 

U.S. coach Tony DiCicco, a former goalkeeper himself, defends Scurry's decision to push the strict interpretation of the rulebook to its limit, saying, "You've got to stretch it. Sometimes in America, we lack sophistication in international competition. Sometimes in America, we play exactly by the written rule."

 

Following Scurry's save, Kristine Lilly scores to give the U.S. the lead, 3-2. It was Lilly who had made a critical play 10 minutes into the first overtime to save the game. China's Ying had played a corner kick to teammate Fan Yunjie, who flicked the ball with her head past Scurry's outstretched right arm. But there was Lilly, positioned at the left post, and she headed the ball away.

 

Zhang Ouying converts to keep China's hopes alive, tying the contest, 3-3, yet the stalemate is short-lived as Mia Hamm responds with a goal, giving the U.S. the lead again at 4-3.

 

"I was watching Gao during the kicks and she was always going right," Hamm would say. "That told me she wasn't comfortable going left. I wanted to put it in a position where she couldn't get it."

 

Sun Wen, China's biggest star, scores to tie it at 4-4, bringing up Chastain, who can give the U.S. the Cup if she converts. If she fails, the kicks continue, one at a time until a winner emerges.

 

There is concern about Chastain's ability to score clutch goals; she had missed a penalty kick against China in the Algarve Cup final in Portugal in March 1999, resulting in a 2-1 loss. Chastain was positioned to score in the first half of this game after China's goalkeeper punched Hamm's corner kick right to Chastain. But Chastain slipped, blowing the scoring opportunity.

 

Now, here she is, the one who can deliver the World Cup. As she sets up, she refuses to look at Gao, later saying, "Gao likes to get into a staring match and smile at you to make you uneasy. So I didn't look at her."

 

Chastain gets ready. The crowd stands as one, some anticipating glory, some envisioning failure. The U.S. players hold hands on the sidelines.

 

"I felt the pressure," Chastain would say later, "but at the same time I was very confident I could win it." The moment freezes as Chastain surveys the situation, hoping to outthink and outguess Gao. Chastain runs toward the ball and, using her left foot, she booms the ball toward the right-hand corner of the goal. Gao guesses wrong and cannot adjust. The ball shoots past her outstretched attempt to deflect the shot.

 

As the ball whizzes past Gao and settles into the net, Chastain, who is called Hollywood by her teammates and friends, drops to her knees, whips off her jersey and screams wildly. The entire U.S. team races onto the field in celebration. As she twirls her jersey over her head, like a lasso, driving the crowd into a frenzied celebration, Chastain is engulfed by her teammates.

 

"Momentary insanity," Chastain says. "I thought, 'This is the greatest moment of my career,' and I lost control."

[Bored 0]

#31: Payton breaks Brown's NFL career rushing record

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

The sky was gray and gloomy as morning broke over the Chicago skyline. The air was chilly and wet.

 

Perfect football weather. Perfect Chicago Bears weather.

 

THE MOMENT

It's October 7, 1984, and it's a special day for Chicago and the Bears. This is the day Bears running back Walter Payton can become the National Football League's all-time rushing leader at Soldier Field, breaking Jim Brown's hallowed record.

 

There is a buzz in the city, a special feeling in the air, as Payton heads off to the stadium to face the New Orleans Saints in the seventh game of the NFL season.

 

The soft-spoken gentleman is visibly uneasy as he arrives at the stadium. He is tired of the hoopla. The record is a natural progression of years of consistency, years of greatness, years of durability. For Payton, breaking the record seemed always a formality, barring injury, of course. Payton, the ultimate team player, just wants to get it over with.

 

''For the past three weeks, I have tried to conceal it, but there has been a lot of pressure,'' he would tell the media. ''It's been really hard to deal with. I'm glad I don't have to do this every week. There was a lot of pressure, and if you don't know how to deal with it, you can go astray.''

 

As the Bears enter their locker room, one after another, there is excitement, anticipation, nervousness. "I was so nervous," Payton would tell the media later, "that I had the shakes."

 

Payton is highly concerned on this day about the Bears, who badly need a victory. After winning their first three games, they lost the next two in a row, the last to the Dallas Cowboys, a game in which Payton gained 155 yards, leaving him 66 yards shy of the NFL record.

 

The Bears' demise continues on this Sunday afternoon as the Saints seize a 13-7 lead. All week long, Bears officials tried to convince Payton to agree to stop the game after breaking Brown's record and to hold a ceremony to honor the feat. But Payton refuses, saying he didn't want to disrupt the game, upset the momentum and make the moment more important than the game.

 

Unlike the previous game, when Payton needed 222 yards to break the record and ran for 130 in the first 30 minutes, his yards come with much more difficulty today against the Saints. He runs six times for 34 yards in the first quarter. In the second, he runs nine times for only 30 yards, including a 1-yard plunge for a TD with three seconds remaining in the first half, leaving him two yards shy of tying the record, three away from breaking it.

 

The second half begins with the Bears on offense, trailing 13-7. With everyone expecting quarterback Jim McMahon to simply hand the ball off to Payton, and with the crowd of 53,752 chanting, "Walter! Walter!" McMahon trips up the Saints' defense, throwing a first-down pass.

 

As the Bears return to the huddle, McMahon looks every player in the eye, one by one, then says, ''Toss 28 Weak.'' The play, a pitchout that the Bears have run countless times, is for Payton.

 

McMahon brings the Bears to the line, stares at the Saints' defense and rattles off his count. He takes the snap and pitches the ball to Payton. The crowd, already on its feet, freezes. The fans brace themselves for history.

 

Payton, clutching the ball, stations himself behind fullback Matt Suhey, who trails left guard Mark Bortz. Both teammates plow down several Saints, giving Payton ample room to maneuver. Payton blasts through for two yards, then for three and ultimately for a six-yard gain and a place in history.

 

Payton bounces right up from the grass, as he always does, shakes the hands of Suhey and Bortz and the rest of teammates, and then waves to the 53,752 fans surrounding him. The game stops. An official quickly races over to pick up the ball and hands it to Payton, who is then engulfed by his teammates and even several Saints.

 

Payton walks over to the Saints' sidelines and shakes the hand of Bum Phillips, the Saints coach. Then he walks the ball off to the sidelines, hands the ball to Pete Elliott of the Pro Football Hall of Fame, then asks everyone to get off the field.

 

"I didn't want to stop the game and stop our momentum," Payton would say later. "The thing I was thinking about most was getting the photographers off the field and to start playing again so maybe we could get a quick score. We didn't have enough points. I wanted to get everybody off the field so we could score some more.''

 

As the Bears return to the huddle, Payton tells his teammates, ''Forget the record. Just go for the win.''

 

Payton winds up with 90 yards in the second half alone, 66 in the fourth quarter, including his longest run of the day, a 25-yard burst, on the final series of the game. He ends up with 154 yards on 32 carries, giving him a career total of 12,400 yards, 88 more than Brown.

 

Payton also breaks Brown's record of 100-yard rushing games with the 59th of his career. Payton ends his day with a defining statement to the press: "The motivating factor for me has been the athletes who have tried for the record and failed and those who didn't have an opportunity such as David Overstreet and Joe Delaney and Brian Piccolo [players who suffered tragedy and death] . . . . It's a tribute to them and an honor for me to bestow this honor on them."

[Bored 0]

#30: Tyson bites Holylfield's ear in rematch

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

This was the fight everyone had anticipated -- Tyson vs. Holyfield II.

 

They were calling it "The Sound and the Fury," the $100-million rematch between these titans. The first Holyfield-Tyson bout, eight months earlier, produced a shocking upset -- a knockout victory for Holyfield.

 

Now here we are, in July of 1997, and the rematch is drawing more attention than the first bout, with Tyson getting $30 million, Holyfield $35 million, and pay per view fees of $49.95.

 

THE MOMENT

June 28, 1997, MGM Grand Garden Arena, Las Vegas.

 

Tyson, in his usual black trunks and shoes without socks, begins the bout more cautiously than the first fight with Holyfield last November 9, when Holyfield stunned Tyson in the 11th round of a one-sided beating. On this night, Tyson throws several long right-handed bombs, just as he did in the first bout against Holyfield, but this time, for some odd reason, he seldom uses his jab.

 

Midway through the opening round, Holyfield hammers Tyson with hooks and jabs, then rocks Tyson with a right uppercut and left hook that momentarily wobbles the former champ. Tyson is unable to unload his big overhand, but with only seconds left, he finally lands a vicious blow to Holyfield's ribs.

 

Seconds into Round 2, Holyfield leans into Tyson and accidentally head butts him, above his right eye, opening a gash. Referee Mills Lane immediately signals head BUTT, but he does not take a point away, infuriating Tyson and his corner. Tyson's frustration and anger grows as Holyfield smartly and craftily nullifies Tyson's power. Holyfield charges forward time after time, turning up the pressure as Tyson backs up and abandons the jab that his trainer, Richie Giachetti, had ordered him to use.

 

Holyfield wins the first two rounds on all three judges' scorecards. Tyson is clearly frustrated and irritated. As the third round is about to begin, Tyson storms out of his corner. But he is not wearing his mouthpiece. No one notices except Holyfield.

 

Holyfield points to Tyson's mouth and looks toward Lane, illustrating that his opponent does not have a mouthpiece. Lane orders Tyson back to his corner to get the mouthpiece. Tyson then shoots back out of his corner, immediately catching Holyfield with a solid right and then a ferocious combination. The crowd goes wild, chanting "Holyfield! Holyfield!" and then "Tyson! Tyson!"

 

Breathing heavily, Tyson stumbles back as Holyfield charges and nails him with a solid right to the ribcage. Tyson counters with two solid hooks, but neither makes the champion budge. Suddenly, with 40 seconds left in the round, the fight takes an ugly and ghastly turn: Tyson gets Holyfield in a clinch, rolls his head above Holyfield's shoulder, spits out his mouthpiece, and then in an inexplicable and gruesome move, crunches down hard with his teeth on Holyfield's right ear and bites off a chunk.

 

Everyone in the stadium is mortified, unable to grasp what they have just witnessed. As Tyson spits out the chunk of Holyfield's ear, a bewildered and perplexed Holyfield pushes Tyson away, then hops up and down in a frenzied pain, and spins around in a circle in stinging agony.

 

Lane abruptly stops the bout. As a mystified Holyfield, bleeding badly from the ear, turns his back to walk toward his corner, Tyson runs and attacks him from behind, startling the crowd. Tyson slams Holyfield in the back, and the champion falls into the ropes.

 

As Holyfield quickly turns and prepares to go after Tyson, Lane breaks in. "I was ready to tackle him, and throw him down," Holyfield would say later.

 

Holyfield stands in shock, a red line of blood running from his ear to his shoulder and down his back. He stares in disbelief and anger at Tyson. The fight is delayed for several minutes as Lane sternly lectures Tyson and penalizes him only with a two-point deduction. Meanwhile, as a physician examines Holyfield and determines he can continue to fight, Lane turns to Tyson and says, "One more like that and you're gone," referring to the bite.

 

Tyson would tell reporters later: "Holyfield butted me in the second round and then he butted me again. He looked right at me and came right into me. What am I supposed to do? I've got children to raise. He kept butting me. Holyfield is not the warrior he claims he is. He got a little nick on his ear. ... He didn't want to fight, regardless of what he did. Look at me."

 

The fight resumes. The crowd is now juiced up in a wild fury of emotion. Immediately, Holyfield hits Tyson with a solid right. The opponents fight into another clinch, then Tyson, shocking and amazingly, cranes his neck around again, finds Holyfield's left ear and bites it. This time, he rips an even bigger piece of Holyfield's ear.

 

Bedlam and chaos follow as Tyson tries to get at Holyfield in his corner. Tyson, in a wild rage, takes a swing at a police officer who had stormed the ring. Holyfield's trainer, Tommy Brooks, yells at Tyson, "You're a coward. You had Holyfield all to yourself in the ring, but now with 15 people behind you, you want to fight. You're a coward."

 

Tyson turns into a madman, trying to get at Holyfield and Brooks. The nastiness is contagious, spreading from the ring through the stands and outside into the Las Vegas night.

 

Back inside, public address announcer Jimmy Lennon Jr. reads the never-before-heard decision: "Referee Mills Lane has disqualified Mike Tyson for biting Evander Holyfield on both of his ears."

 

The MGM hotel lobby, and around the corner from the arena, is a war zone, with fights, gunfire and stampedes. As Tyson walks back to his locker room, he is showered with empty and half-empty cups of beer and soda by the angry crowd. Police drag rowdy people out of the stands. The boos rain down on Tyson.

 

As a fan tosses a full bottle of water in Tyson's direction, Tyson begins climbing over a temporary railing and up into the stands, making obscene gestures to the crowd and clawing his way up the side of a stairway before he is restrained and dragged to his locker room.

 

Holyfield is taken to Valley Hospital Medical Center, instead of a press conference, where he undergoes surgery by a plastic surgeon to repair his ear. Fortunately for Holyfield, a ring attendant shows up at his dressing room with almost an inch of his right ear wrapped in a latex glove.

 

Tyson, meanwhile, is immediately suspended, his purse withheld. His life, already a chaotic mess, shoots into another stratosphere of muddled confusion and radical wastefulness, another sad chapter his crazy life and times.

[Bored 0]

#29: Harding's associates attack Kerrigan

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

Figure skaters are often delicate-looking young women. But Tonya Harding was not that kind of figure skater.

 

While her competitors floated gracefully through their programs, Harding skated with forceful strokes, like a hockey player.

 

Harding didn't grow up like many skaters -- in a fairy tale world with a close-knit, loving family present at every competition, cheering her every movement. Harding moved eight times before she was 18. Her parents divorced when she was 14. Her mother wound up marrying six other times. Her father Al worked as a truck driver, as an apartment manager and at a bait-and-tackle store. He taught his daughter to be tough. When she was five, he handed her a .22. He taught her to hunt. He taught her to fix a transmission.

 

Harding's grit enabled her to survive the turbulent upbringing, and helped her to emerge as a young figure skating star, a national champion, in a highly competitive, grueling sport.

 

Before she was 18, Harding moved in with her boyfriend, Jeff Gillooly. They married when she was 19. Fifteen months later, Harding filed for divorce. She also filed for a restraining order, saying Gillooly beat her, threatened her with a gun and told her he'd break her legs and end her skating career. But she kept running back to him.

 

After failing to qualify for the 1993 World Championships, Harding, with Gillooly, struggled to pay the bills. At one point, they were evicted from their Portland, Oregon, apartment. They were desperate.

 

As the 1994 Olympic Trials approached, Harding was at the crossroads. She had to perform well enough to make the team. She had to turn this triumph into endorsement opportunities and big dollars. If anything was going to happen in her career, it had to be now. Otherwise, it was likely over.

 

She decided she would do almost anything for Olympic gold, money and fame. Nothing, she vowed, would get in her way -- especially America's Sweetheart, Nancy Kerrigan, the elegant bronze medalist of the '92 Games. Kerrigan had a natural style and grace. People Magazine named her one of their 50 Most Beautiful People. Harding detested her.

 

Kerrigan was a primary threat Harding's chances of making the Olympic team, a threat to kill her gold medal quest and cash in on fame, on glory. So Harding, Gillooly and several others concocted a plan to erase Kerrigan, a chilling plan of assault that rocked the world.

 

THE MOMENT

January 6, 1994. The United States Olympic Trials, Cobo Arena, Detroit.

 

Kerrigan takes the ice for a practice session at 2 p.m., gliding along the ice. At 2:35 p.m., Kerrigan leaves the ice, followed by an ABC cameraman.

 

As the cameraman lays down his equipment, a man sneaks up and darts behind him, toward two security guards standing in front of a blue curtain. The man is Shane Stant, 22, a high school dropout turned bodybuilder, and an acquaintance of Gillooly. Acting as if he's media, Stant strolls past the guards.

 

As he walks behind the curtain, Stant spots Kerrigan in the hallway outside the dressing room. She is talking to a reporter, Dana Scarton of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. Stant draws a black, aluminum, retractable police baton out of his belt with his right hand. In his left hand is a piece of a paper. The scribbling on the paper says that he is a madman seeking to destroy the careers of Olympic skaters.

 

As Kerrigan and the reporter chat, Stant storms between the two women, he takes the baton and strikes a frightening and violent blow to Kerrigan's right leg, just above her knee. He then runs away. Kerrigan falls to the ground and begins screaming, "Why? Why?"

 

"The guy ran by, crouched down, whacked her on the knee and kept on running," Scarton would say later. "Nancy just dropped and started screaming and sobbing, 'It hurts. It hurts so bad. I'm scared.'"

 

Within seconds, dozens of Olympic officials rush toward Kerrigan. Stunned and motionless, the reporter and a small group of people watch Stant run away, toward an exit.

 

With Kerrigan's screams echoing through the hallway, Stant drops the note and tries crashing through the plexiglas doors. To his surprise, the doors are chained, unlike the previous day, when he cased out the area, preparing to commit this crime of assault. Using his head as a ram, he crashes through the lower portion of the doors and falls onto the sidewalk. "Hey, somebody stop that guy!" a voice cries out.

 

Still brandishing his weapon, Stant stumbles back to his feet and runs crazily along a sidewalk crowded with people. Frantically looking behind him to make sure no one is chasing, Stant slips on a small patch of icy snow.

 

As a man walks in Stant's path, Stant slams right into him, knocks him down, flattening him. He then flings the baton away. It slides under a parked car. He glances over his shoulder again. People are watching this wild scene unfolding before their eyes, but no one gives chase, unaware of what's happening inside Cobo Arena, where Kerrigan is sitting on the cold floor, clutching her knee, screaming and crying.

 

Outside, Stant is running further away from the arena. Suddenly, a car pulls up and skids to a grinding halt, nearing hitting Stant. "Get in!" a voice in the car yells. Stant jumps in, tears off his jacket and gloves, and slips into a brown coat. He peers over his shoulder again as the car speeds away. No one is in pursuit.

 

Back inside Cobo, there is complete chaos. Kerrigan is helped up by officials and she hobbles down the hall. Within an hour of the attack, Gillooly is awakened by a telephone call from Harding, according to later testimony. "It happened," she says. "They did it."

 

Newspapers across the country splash the Kerrigan assault all across the front page. Every TV and radio newscast, from Boston to Los Angeles, blast continuous news about the shocking attack. Police conduct an around the clock investigation.

 

Several days later, after an exhaustive investigation, police in Oregon arrest Shawn Eckardt, 26, Harding's bodyguard.

 

Rumors quickly surface that Harding was involved in the planning of the attack. The skating world, the sports world, is on the edge of it seat. Figure skating has never received such attention. Even people without the faintest interest in the sport read the stories and watch the news.

 

The day after Eckardt is arrested, Stant surrenders to authorities in Phoenix. As the days pass, the picture becomes clearer and the worse it gets for Harding.

 

It is learned through an affidavit that a few weeks before the Olympic Trials in Detroit, Harding made three phone calls from her home to Tony Kent Arena, Kerrigan's practice rink in South Dennis, Mass., trying to find out her practice schedule so Stant could attack Kerrigan there, where there would be far less traffic, people and commotion than in Detroit.

 

All the details of the attack fall together, one after another -- the entire plot, from beginning to end. The facts show that Harding conspired with Gillooly, Eckert and Stant to destroy Kerrigan and her Olympic career. Several weeks later, Norman Frink, chief deputy district attorney of Multnomah County (Ore.), says, "The evidence is clear that Tonya Harding was involved and participated prior to the assault, and we are prepared to go forward with charges on each and every crime we believed she was culpable for."

 

Harding is forced to resign as a member of the U.S. Figure Skating Association, which prevents her from competing in the world championships in Japan. She is also placed on three years' probation, assessed $110,000 in fines and legal fees, sentenced to 500 hours of community service and forced to contribute $50,000 to the Special Olympics.

[Bored 0]

You know the UConn women's basketball team still hasn't made their appearance on the list. I just assume they will be since they are on every other ESPN list. If they are on the list they will be higher than one of the greatest upsets in sports history. This one I thought would be in the Top 10.

 

#28: Douglas knocks out Tyson, shocks world

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

He had never even been knocked down to the canvas. Mike Tyson was the most awesome and terrifying specimen to emerge in boxing in years, complete with frightening persona and brutal savagery inside the ring.

 

He was a beast in a human's body, a wild animal stalking the ring, a chilling vision of terror. He fought 37 times and won them all. Thirty-three by knockouts. Tyson was only 23 years old and creating an aura of invincibility and indestructibility never before seen.

 

His combination of power and confidence and dominance had experts calling him one of the greatest heavyweights of all time, perhaps the greatest ever.

 

Until Tokyo, February 1990.

 

Until James "Buster" Douglas.

 

THE MOMENT

As the world's most celebrated fighter emerges from the locker room in Tokyo's Korakuen Stadium, the lights dim and an eerie hush falls upon the packed arena, followed a moment later by a huge roar as Iron Mike Tyson heads to the ring, a menacing vision of terror and strength.

 

This is to be another evening of destruction against a pedestrian opponent whose only qualification, in truth, is that he is alive and kicking. So much of an unknown, the mild-mannered and obscure Douglas fails to draw the attention of a single photographer at his weigh-in. He was a nobody.

 

But, as the bout begins, it is clear that Tyson is not the unbeatable force the world had come to know. As Tyson stands in the ring like a statue, with no focus or concentration, Douglas throws jab after jab. For the first time, the public sees a version of Tyson never seen before. For the first time, an opponent's height and reach advantage -- Douglas is 6-4 -- is significant against the 5-11 Tyson. Douglas' hand speed is crucial, for every time Tyson leaps inside to deliver a punch, Douglas beats him to it with a long right. The most damaging punch, at the end of the second round, a quick uppercut to the chin, staggers the champ.

 

Tyson rebounds, temporarily, in the third round, landing a vicious left to Douglas' body, but the confidence in Douglas' corner is so high that trainer J.D. McCauley screams, "Ain't no iron in Mike! This is your night!"

 

By the fifth, Douglas senses victory as he wobbles Tyson with a vicious right, swelling the champ's eye. But later, in the eighth round, Tyson lands one of his sudden and vicious right uppercuts that drops Douglas to the canvas with six seconds left in the round. Yet the punch -- which ended many of Tyson's earlier bouts in the opening 90 seconds -- isn't as damaging to Douglas, who slams his fist on the canvas in frustration.

 

As referee Octavio Meyran Sanchez's count reaches eight and then nine, Douglas bounces up. The bell sounds, denying Tyson victory. To the ninth round we go. Douglas corners Tyson, pushes him against the ropes, and lands four consecutive quick punches that sting the champ. Tyson's head flops backwards and dangles, dangerously.

 

With his left eye closed and swollen from Douglas' last series of shots, Tyson emerges from his corner for the 10th round. Douglas unleashes another assault, sending Tyson to the mat, dazed, at 1:23 of the round. A lonely, pathetic, demoralized figure of doom, Tyson fumbles for his mouthpiece, finds it and shoves it back into his mouth, backwards and upside down.

 

He stumbles toward the ref, glassy-eyed and foggy. Sanchez, with no choice, signals that the fight over. Douglas and his cornermen leap to the heavens, victors in what many consider not only the biggest upset in boxing history, but the biggest in the history of sports, an upset so huge that it stands right next to the 1980 U.S. Olympic hockey team's victory over Russia and the New York Jets' Super Bowl III triumph over the Colts.

 

"It is the biggest upset in sports history," boxing historian Bert Sugar says. "Douglas had no business whatsoever beating Tyson. None whatsoever."

 

"I wasn't afraid, and to me that was the key," Douglas would later tell the press. By lacking fear, Douglas' confidence rose into another stratosphere. "At one point in the fight, I felt invincible," he would say. "I experienced a feeling I never had before."

[the max 0]

That Kerrigan/Harding fiasco is a mid-80's moment, tops.

[Red Baron 0]

If Douglas defeated Tyson by decision, it wouldn't be this high up on the top 100 moment list

[Bored 0]

#27: Montana-to-Taylor caps Super Bowl-winning drive

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

When the Cincinnati Bengals took a 16-13 lead over the San Francisco 49ers in Super Bowl XXIII on a 40-yard field goal by Jim Breech with 3:20 remaining in the game, Bengals receiver Cris Collinsworth overheard a couple teammates talking as if the game were over, that the Bengals had won their first Super Bowl, that it was time to start thinking about an all-night party.

 

Collinsworth quickly turned to his teammates and yelled, "Are you guys nuts? You think this is over? Don't you see who's out there?"

 

He was referring, of course, to 49ers quarterback Joe Montana, one of the history's greatest comeback magicians. He had already won two Super Bowls -- in 1982 and 1984 -- and his name was already linked to the greatest quarterback winners in NFL history: John Unitas, Bart Starr and Terry Bradshaw.

 

The audacity of these Bengals to insinuate that the game was over, that they had beaten the unflappable Montana and indomitable 49ers. How foolish could they be?

 

THE MOMENT

January 22, 1989, Miami. Montana, cool as always, comes running off the sidelines and into the huddle with 3:10 left in the game, bursting with confidence. He already knows that the Bengals' defense is tiring, that it is not equipped to launch much of a pass rush.

 

Montana and coach Bill Walsh decide that the way to dissect Cincinnati and win the title is with short, precise, accurate passes out of a no-huddle offense. Montana walks to the line on the first play, staring 92 yards downfield at the other goal post, and begins the drive by hitting running back Roger Craig for eight yards, tight end John Frank for seven more and Jerry Rice for seven on a cleverly executed sideline play.

 

"When we looked in Joe's eyes, you could see his confidence," offensive tackle Bubba Paris would say after the game. "And it flowed right through the offense."

 

Calling two plays at a time, Montana hands off twice to Craig for a first down at the 49ers' 35. Montana then completes a 17-yard pass to Rice near the sidelines and a 13-yard dart to Craig, bringing the ball down to the Cincinnati 35. After purposely throwing a pass out of bounds, Montana completes a 5-yard pass to Craig over the middle, but it is nullified as center Randy Cross is penalized for being illegally downfield. That makes it second-and-20 at the Cincinnati 45, the critical moment in the title showdown.

 

As Montana rattles off the call, Rice races out and slithers between the Bengals' Lewis Billups and Ray Horton. Montana then drills a 27-yard pass over the middle to Rice to the Bengals' 18.

 

Never had a quarterback driven his team the length of the field for the winning touchdown in the final minute of a Super Bowl. The only other Super Bowl decided in the final minute was Super Bowl V, when Baltimore's Jim O'Brien kicked a 32-yard field goal with five seconds left, giving the Colts a 16-13 victory over Dallas. That game-winner was set up by an intercepted pass.

 

During this drive, Montana is so excited that while screaming during the drive, he gets dizzy and almost hyperventilates. Yet he never loses his focus and poise. From the Cincinnati 18, Montana throws to Craig for eight yards to the 10, then calls time out with 39 seconds remaining.

 

On the sideline, Walsh and Montana discuss the final-play options. They agree on "20 Halfback Curl, X Up." Craig is the primary receiver on the pass play. From the 10, Montana takes the Niners to the line and surveys the situation in the Bengals' secondary. Rice lines up on side, John Taylor on the other. Taylor is catchless on this day. Rice has grabbed 11 passes for a record 215 yards.

 

The ball is snapped. Rice runs an out. Craig sneaks out of the backfield. Taylor races past the Bengals' linebackers, inside of the weak safety, and heads toward the back of the end zone. Montana spots Taylor and fires a bullet ... which Taylor snares for a title-winning touchdown. The clock shows 34 seconds left. The 49ers' celebration begins shortly thereafter, and a legend grows bigger in stature.

 

"There's only one thing to say about Joe Montana," Walsh would say later. "He's the best there is and the best there ever was. Period."

[lomasmoney 0]

The Len Bias thing was huge because you have this huge star who people were saying was going to be the closest thing to Michael Jordan to come out since Jordan, and because you hand someone so young, so talented throw away their life for nothing. His death sent shockwaves through the nation as far as drugs were concerned. Being that this was a guy who was from the Greater Washington D.C. area, some legislators used his death as an example of what drugs can do.

[Guest MD2020]

So the NFL rushing mark being set is just 2 places higher than some guy using a corked bat. OK ESPN.

 

I fully expect the "Superball" bat to crack the Top 10 the way ESPN does this shit.

[The Man in Blak 0]

The Len Bias thing was huge because you have this huge star who people were saying was going to be the closest thing to Michael Jordan to come out since Jordan, and because you hand someone so young, so talented throw away their life for nothing. His death sent shockwaves through the nation as far as drugs were concerned. Being that this was a guy who was from the Greater Washington D.C. area, some legislators used his death as an example of what drugs can do.

And it was the Boston Celtics, who looked to be in position for another decade of success with Larry Legend and Co. gradually transitioning into a new Dynasty that Bias would carry into the future. Bill Simmons has a phenomenal article on Bias on Page 2 somewhere - check it out.

 

For a good comparison of the shock, imagine if Lebron James would have been killed in a gang shooting the night after the draft.

[Der Kommissar 0]

#32: Brandi Chastain's penalty kick wins World Cup

 

These things seem fairly random. The only thing I remember about this was her running around in her sports and the idiotic controversy that ensued about that, yet 4 spots above that is Tyson being knocked out by Douglas, which, to me, is a pretty memorable upset. It surely should be more than 2 spots above the Tyson ear biting incident, in my opinion.

[EVIL~! alkeiper 0]

I really think most of the listings are random, because otherwise they would become overly grouped by sports. For example, you'd have 5-6 straight NFL moments, followed by five MLB moments. This creates some variety.

 

I fully expect the "Superball" bat to crack the Top 10 the way ESPN does this shit.

 

1974, so its ineligible.

[the max 0]

Bill Simmons has a phenomenal article on Bias on Page 2 somewhere - check it out.

Still haunted by Len Bias

 

Definitely worth a read.

[Guest Smues]

I fully expect the "Superball" bat to crack the Top 10 the way ESPN does this shit.

Superball? Please educate us youngins.

[Guest Agent of Oblivion]

For the record, Evander Holyfield was fighting dirty as shit in both Tyson fights.

[Art Sandusky 0]

Seriously, I was still a young teenager then, but I could tell when I watched the replays.

[EVIL~! alkeiper 0]

I fully expect the "Superball" bat to crack the Top 10 the way ESPN does this shit.

Superball? Please educate us youngins.

Essentially, Graig Nettles broke his bat in a game, and six superballs tumbled out of the bat. For whatever reason, he was not suspended for the infraction.

[Guest MD2020]

I fully expect the "Superball" bat to crack the Top 10 the way ESPN does this shit.

Superball? Please educate us youngins.

Essentially, Graig Nettles broke his bat in a game, and six superballs tumbled out of the bat. For whatever reason, he was not suspended for the infraction.

Yeah, that was basically it. Some fan gave him the bat, but instead of cork, it was superballs--you know, the bouncy balls you get from a toy vending machine.

 

 

Obviously, I was joking, but the fact that Sosa's bat made number 33 is outrageous.