ESPN's Top 100 Moments of past 25 years

[Gert T 0]

I really hope the Tiger Woods-Bob May shootout at the PGA Championship in 2000 (?) will be on there. Really who has ever shot three straight 66's and still lose?

[Art Sandusky 0]

Reading about the Winslow Sr. performance still gives me chills. Now THAT'S a "fucking soldier."

 

The Theismann injury gives me chills also, but for different reasons. I've still never actually seen it, but I'm not sure if I ever want to.

[Vern Gagne 0]

I didn't know so many players where involved in Theisman's injury. Always thought it was just LT.

[Bored 0]

#73: Johnson blazes to record, gold medal in 200 meters

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

The clock reads 9 p.m. as American sprinter Michael Johnson coils himself into his starting blocks in a corner of Olympic Stadium in Atlanta, Ga., right beneath the glow of the Olympic flame.

 

This is the moment for which he has been waiting -- the Olympic 200-meter race. He has already won the Olympic 400, having blown away the field. Yet this race, the 200, is the one Johnson has had on his mind, the race that will distance him from the rest of the sprinting world, putting him in a class all by himself, for it will mean he is the first person ever to win both the 200 and 400 in the same Olympics.

 

THE MOMENT

July 29, 1996. Johnson is more focused, faster and sharper than ever before in his lifetime. Just an hour earlier, three blocks away from the Olympic stadium, he has run so fast and so precisely in a practice run that his coach, Clyde Hart, had to tell him to slow down. He was that fast.

 

As Johnson gets into set position for the race, he experiences his usual emotion -- fear. "I was petrified I wasn't going to get this gold medal," he would later say. "I was desperate to make history and I was afraid, at that particular moment, that I wasn't going to do it."

 

But for Johnson, the fear of failure isn't a big problem; it actually enhances his performance. "Being nervous," he would later admit, "makes me run better, faster."

 

The gun sounds. The race begins and 82,884 spectators rise as one. With thousands of flash cameras sparkling in the evening sky, Johnson rises from his position and explodes out of the box.

 

Just a few steps into the race, Johnson stumbles, ever so briefly, rekindling the memory of the previous Olympics in Barcelona, when food poisoning deprived him of the gold medal. But this time, he quickly regains form, without losing a beat. As he slingshots out of the turn, he suddenly finds himself in a zone of pure speed, testing the laws of physics. His gold shoes flicker through the stark light of the stadium. The gold chain around his neck shines brightly as it bounces off his jersey. His arms chop through the thick summer air, like a machine.

 

At the 80-meter mark, Johnson finds an extra gear, one he didn't know he had. He accelerates like no man ever has before in this race, reaching a speed never seen before. As he approaches the straightaway, he finds yet another gear, despite feeling a slight pull in his hamstring. "I saw this blue blur," bronze medalist Ato Boldon would say afterwards, "and I thought to myself, 'There goes first place.'"

 

Jaws drop and eyes widen as Johnson comes soaring down the backstretch, five meters ahead of silver medalist Frankie Fredericks of Namibia.

 

"When you come off the turn into the straightaway, you can tell how fast you're going," Johnson would say later. "I knew I was running faster than I had ever run in my life."

 

His stride is low and compact, his back stiff, his knees pumping, his face contorted, his feet a blur over the rigid, orange surface. He's on a mission. As he blazes across the line, victorious, his arms fly up. He glances at the clock and then throws his arms toward the heavens again and screams in ecstasy. The clock freezes a ridiculous number: 19.32. Fastest time in history.

 

Johnson falls to his knees in elation, relief and amazement in the aftermath of perhaps the greatest performance in track history. He realizes he has just accomplished what no man ever has -- winning both the 200 and 400. He has obliterated his own five-week-old world record of 19.66, which had erased Italy's Pietro Mennea's 19.72, a record that stood for 17 years.

 

Amazingly, if not for the early stumble and the pulled right hamstring he suffers at the end that will keep him from running in the 4 x 400 relay for a third gold medal, Johnson's time would have been even better.

 

Boldon, the bronze medalist, is so astounded by Johnson's record time that it isn't enough for him to shake Johnson's hand. He bows instead.

[Art Sandusky 0]

The inclusion of so many Olympic moments makes me very happy.

[Guest Anglesault]

Call me crazy but I'd think more people remember Theismann's injury more than this.

 

#74: Van de Velde triple-bogeys on the 18th hole

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

Tournament officials had already engraved his name on the championship trophy. There was just one hole to go. Just one. Jean Van de Velde of France had such a huge advantage going into the final hole at the 128th British Open that he could shoot a double-bogey and still walk away with the championship. The gallery cheered as he walked to the box, saluting the man they assumed would be the new British Open champ.

 

But what transpired was what many consider the worst collapse in sports history. Worse than the 1964 Philadelphia Phillies, who blew the National League pennant after leading by 6½ games with 12 games left. Worse than Greg Norman, who entered the final round of the 1996 Masters with a six-shot lead but shot 78 and lost to Nick Faldo by a staggering five shots. Worse than the Houston Oilers, who blew a 35-3 lead and lost to Buffalo in the 1992-93 AFC playoffs. Worse than the 1986 Boston Red Sox, who were one strike away from winning their first World Series since 1918 but blew a two-run lead in Game 6 of the Series, lost the game, and then lost Game 7.

 

THE MOMENT

As Van de Velde approaches the 18th and final hole on a cold, damp Sunday afternoon at Carnoustie, the little voice in his head says, "Play it safe. Take no risks. Stay out of trouble. Tap three eight-irons up the fairway if you have to. Just stay out of trouble. All you need to win is to make double-bogey. That's it. A double-bogey and you still win. How easy is that?"

 

But Van de Velde whips out his driver. Mistake No. 1. His tee shot drifts more than 20 yards to the right of the fairway. He lucks out, however, when the ball sails over the water, lands safely on dry ground and winds up sitting up on low rough, in a little horseshoe-shaped peninsula just behind a curve.

 

Now Van de Velde is faced with another choice: whether to just play it safe, take a wedge, chip back into the fairway, then hit an approach shot onto the green, followed by two putts, and walk away with the championship.

 

Instead, Van de Velde goes for the green with a 2-iron. "I only had 185 yards to carry the water," he would say later. "The ball was lying so good." He carries the creek all right, but the ball sails wildly to the right, hits the grandstand beyond the creek and caroms backward over the creek again into rough that's knee high. Big problem. So he needs to get over the creek again, and his ball is buried. Now he can't even pitch into the fairway with his next shot.

 

His third shot on the par-4 No. 18 flies weakly out of the deep rough and lands in the creek. The gallery gasps. Suddenly, Justin Leonard, who shot 6-over and is in the clubhouse, rushes to the driving range to warm up for a possible playoff. After having sat in the clubhouse for more than 90 minutes, Paul Lawrie likewise realizes that yes, he could still win this thing, despite being 6-over, just like Leonard.

 

Now working on his fourth shot, Van de Velde is looking at his ball sitting in the creek. He has two options: he can take a penalty stroke and a drop or play the ball from the water. He removes his shoes and socks, raises his pants legs over his knees and walks into the water. The crowd roars. Photographers practically fall over one another as they slide down the bank, taking pictures.

 

Van de Velde considers a 60-yard pitch shot from the water onto the green. But when he steps into the water, the ball sinks, forcing him to scrap the idea. He is forced to take his drop and penalty stroke, and yet he still finds himself in deep rough.

 

He's now 60 yards from the pin. His pitch shot clears the creek, and lands in the front green-side bunker. He needs to get up and down just to tie. He hits a nice bunker shot from about 25 feet that rolls five feet past the cup. Then, on his seventh shot of the hole, he makes the pressure putt, sending the match to a playoff with Lawrie and Leonard. As the ball disappears in the cup, the stands erupt and Van de Velde celebrates -- pumps his arm, twirls his visor and hurls his ball into the stands -- as if he had just won the Open.

 

Van de Velde has played the first 71 holes of the tournament at 3-over. Now he plays the 72nd hole at 3-over. He has birdied No. 18 two days in a row, and now he triple-bogeys it.

 

Into the four-hole playoff they go -- Lawrie, Leonard and Van de Velde. All three players start badly at No. 15, hitting drives left of the fairway. Van de Velde's is the worst of the three tee shots. He hits a provisional second tee shot in case his first shot isn't found. The ball is located, but Van de Velde makes a double-bogey, while Leonard and Lawrie bogey.

 

Lawrie takes the lead at the difficult No. 17th hole, hitting a 4-iron from 225 yards that lands about 25 feet left of the pin. He makes the putt for birdie to take a one-stroke lead. Van de Velde also makes a 26-foot birdie putt at No. 17, tying him with Leonard, one stroke behind Lawrie as they go to No. 18. On the final hole, Lawrie clinches the title with a beautiful 4-iron from 221 yards that stops three feet from the pin and an allows him an easy putt for the win.

 

"Maybe it was asking too much for me," Van de Velde would say afterward. ""Maybe I should have laid up. The ball was laying so well. Next time, I hit a wedge, and you all forgive me?"

You're crazy.

 

Why WOULDN'T you remember whatever this is more than one of the most famous sports injuries ever?

[Guest Anglesault]

The Theismann injury gives me chills also, but for different reasons. I've still never actually seen it, but I'm not sure if I ever want to.

You don't. If you couldn't force yourself to watch when it initially happened, time doesn't make it any better.

[Vern Gagne 0]

The inclusion of so many Olympic moments makes me very happy.

I think it helps the Summer Olympics is being held this year.

[Art Sandusky 0]

The Theismann injury gives me chills also, but for different reasons. I've still never actually seen it, but I'm not sure if I ever want to.

You don't. If you couldn't force yourself to watch when it initially happened, time doesn't make it any better.

I was one year old when it initially happened. Even if I saw it then, I had no idea what the hell was going on.

[Bored 0]

#72: Decker's gold medal dreams atripped up at '84 Olympics

The greatest female distance runner in the world was in the midst of her obsessive quest to secure her first Olympic gold medal. It was a medal she was desperate to win after having missed the previous two Olympics -- in 1976 and 1980 -- because of an injury and a U.S. boycott.

 

But suddenly, halfway through the Olympic championship showdown in the 1984 Summer Games at the Los Angeles Coliseum, disaster struck for Mary Decker Slaney. It completely altered her life and career, as well the life of the woman who created the calamity, Zola Budd. Budd was the barefoot sensation from South Africa who created a worldwide controversy by obtaining last-minute British citizenship in order to race in the Olympics and evade the anti-apartheid ban on South African athletes.

 

THE MOMENT

It's another picturesque day in Los Angeles as the women's 3,000 Olympic race nears. The favorite is Decker, the U.S. world champion and America's queen of distance running. As the gun sounds, the runners take off in a cluster. Soon, there's separation. Decker, Budd and Wendy Sly of the U.S. are among the leaders as the race passes the halfway mark.

 

When the runners approach the 1,700-meter mark of the race, a box forms, a cluster of bodies merging together as one. The 18-year-old Budd, the barefoot wonder who captured the world's attention with her record-smashing performances and controversial political decision, moves a half-stride ahead of Decker.

 

Suddenly, Budd abruptly cuts in, slightly, on Decker. Suddenly, Decker gets tangled up in Budd's foot, and falls and crashes to the ground in agony. As Decker cries out with the pain of a torn hip muscle, tears running down her cheeks, and the vision of her Olympic dreams sprinting away before her eyes, boos are showered upon Budd. Budd is so distraught that she gives up, refusing to make any effort whatsoever to win the race. She winds up finishing seventh.

 

The end of the race is surreal, a total maze of confusion. No one really knows what's going on or what's going to happen. Is it true? Did America's running queen really tumble to the ground and lose her chance at her first gold medal -- again? Did the young and innocent Budd cause this disaster on purpose? Or was it an accident? Will the race stand?

 

Budd claims that when the mass of runners had come around the turn at the 1,700-meter mark, Sly veered close to Budd, trying to pass. That forced Budd to speed up and move closer to Decker. "Otherwise," Budd would say later, "Sly would have run into me." The move forces Budd to cut inside, at an angle that was too short, and boom -- she finds herself right on top of Decker.

 

Later, in the mass confusion of a world event, Budd shyly approaches Decker. But Decker, angry, bitter, heartbroken and depressed, tells her, "Don't bother," and she flicks her away like a pesky bug buzzing near your ear. Both leave the Coliseum, tears running down their faces, flanked by dozens of media members. Both refuse to comment on the controversial race.

 

Decker's injury prevents her from competing for the rest of the year. The anger and bitterness subside enough for Decker to write Budd a note, apologizing for her attitude and snippy remark. Budd later admits that yes, she cut in too quickly. Decker later admits she should have handled the situation better, saying, "I should have nudged her and let her know that she was cutting in at a dangerous angle."

 

The lives of both runners changed dramatically after the Los Angeles Games, both for the worse initially. But now, even though they'll both be remembered primarily for the Olympic disaster, they live in relative harmony. Time heals wounds of the past.

[Bored 0]

#71: Dan Jansen finally wins a gold medal

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

All the misery, all the heartbreak, evaporated in a magnificent span of 1 minute, 12 seconds and 43 hundredths of a second. At the 1994 Winter Olympics in Lillehammer, Norway, all of Dan Jansen's disappointment of the past 10 years, seemed, at this most glorified of athletic achievements, worth it. All the agony he had suffered for all those years suddenly had a purpose, a meaning.

 

Jansen, who was considered the best speed skater in the world, had established world records while winning world championships and World Cups. The only award he had not captured was a medal in the Olympics, the biggest stage for his sports. He was 0 for 7 in Olympic competition, in the 500 and 1,000-meter races. No medals at all. Each time, disaster struck in one form or another. First, Sarajevo in 1984. Then Calgary in 1988. Then Albertville in 1992.

 

Calgary was the worst. Jansen's older sister, Jane, had died of leukemia the day of the 500-meter race. Later that day, with the world rooting for him, a grief-stricken Jansen -- the gold-medal favorite -- fell. Later that evening in the 1,000, with the world cheering even harder for him, he fell again.

 

Four years later, in the Albertville Games, redemption and success did not come as everyone had hoped. Jansen lost his balance in a turn in the 500 and finished fourth. Everyone who followed the sport thought Jansen was cursed. They became even more convinced later that day when Jansen staggered home 26th in the 1,000.

 

Then came the 1994 Olympics in Lillehammer, his last shot at a medal. He was 28. He was the favorite to win the 500, his best event. Yet, Jansen amazingly and agonizingly slipped again, finishing eighth.

 

He went into the 1,000, the final Olympic race of his career, with such low expectations that it wouldn't set him up for disappointment if he lost again.

 

THE MOMENT

When Jansen takes the ice at Hamar's Vikingskipet Skating Hall before a capacity crowd, he lines up against seven competitors who have better times than his career best in the event. To make matters worse, his timing is off during warmups and he struggles for traction on the ice. He isn't "gripping" the ice well -- and he knows he has to skate at least three-tenths of a second faster than he has ever done, just to have a chance.

 

The race begins. Jansen skates a dynamic 16.71 over the first 200 meters. He then shoots into the next turn. Jansen's wife, Robin, notices something special about this run, that her husband is skating "as smooth as glass," she would later tell the media.

 

But in the minds of all of Jansen's fans -- which is everyone, from all corners of the world -- there is doubt. When will disaster strike? At which point? It always does, after all. Every Olympics.

 

With one hand behind his back, the other swinging at his side, a relaxed Jansen makes it to the next-to-last turn without a hitch. He's now skating in the inner lane, where the turn is tighter and the chance of a fall greater. He is fatigued. Suddenly, he slips, ever so slightly. His left hand grazes the ice, just barely. He loses two, perhaps three hundredths of a second, but he keeps his rhythm and balance. "For some reason, I was calm when I slipped," he would say later. "There was no panic."

 

As Jansen hits the straightaway, the crowd rises. The entire stadium is in a frenzy as Jansen flies home, crossing the finish line. The clocks reads 1:12.43 -- a new world record.

 

Jansen raises his arms to the heavens, flings his head back, squeezes his eyes shut, and throws his hands on his head in disbelief. At the same time, wild, uncontrollable applause erupts all around him. "Finally," he says to himself. "Finally."

 

More than a decade-long saga of Olympic hope, despair and failure was finally over. Jansen is numb. When his time flashes on the scoreboard, showing his first-place finish, his wife and mother hug and scream and jump in place in an euphoric embrace. Jansen's wife is so overcome with joy and emotion that she begins hyperventilating and has to be rushed to get treatment from an emergency medical technician after the race.

 

"I feel I've made other people happy instead of having them feel sorry for me," he would say later. "I was thinking, 'Just skate.' I figured this was going to be my last Olympic race ever, no matter what happened. Winning here was the only thing left for me to do. It seems like I had to quit caring too much to skate my best."

 

Everyone in the arena is flushed with joy. The bliss isn't just exhibited by Americans. It is shared by people of every nationality, particularly Norway and Holland, where speed skating is religion. The ecstasy, however, is just beginning.

 

As emotional moments go, there's perhaps nothing better in all of sports than standing on the center podium at the Olympics, having a gold medal placed around your neck, and having your country's national anthem played for the world to hear, for the world to see. As Jansen stands on the podium, tears roll from Jansen's eyes into the lipstick left by a kiss from Robin.

 

"I was shaking," Jansen would say later. "I kept saying, 'I can't believe this.' As the anthem plays, his career, his life, flashes before his eyes. All the years of training. All the wins. Some of the losses. At the end, he looks upward and extends a salute. To Jane, his sister.

 

After leaving the podium, Jansen skates the Lap of Honor, as is customary in Europe. The arena lights are dim and a spotlight trails him while the crowd sings along to Strauss's "VienneseWaltz." Someone throws Jansen a Dutch flag. Then comes an American flag. Then a bouquet of flowers. Then one of those large, yellow, foam-rubber wedges of Swiss cheese that sports fans in Jansen's home state of Wisconsin wear as hats at athletic events.

 

Then a security guard passes Jansen's daughter Jane -- named after his sister -- over the heads of photographers and into Jansen's arms. With the spotlight boring in on him, Jansen cradles his daughter tightly and carries her around the rink, to the strains of the waltz.

[Guest Evolution]

Not sure if anyone has mentioned this, and it's SLIGHTLY off-topic, but ESPN's presentation of their top 25 countdowns (25 Worst Teams, 25 Best Sports Movies), with the girls calling out the numbers from 1-25.

 

Ugh. Annoying.

 

"Seventeen."

"Seventeen."

"Seventeen."

 

THIS DOES NOT MAKE THE PROGRAM ANY BETTER!

[Guest MikeSC]

The Theismann injury gives me chills also, but for different reasons. I've still never actually seen it, but I'm not sure if I ever want to.

You don't. If you couldn't force yourself to watch when it initially happened, time doesn't make it any better.

Sadly, I still say Sid's leg break in 2000 was worse than Theismann's.

-=Mike

[Art Sandusky 0]

They had Rudy as the #24 best sports film of the last 25 years. It's top 5 of all time, goddammit.

[The Czech Republic 0]

Not sure if anyone has mentioned this, and it's SLIGHTLY off-topic, but ESPN's presentation of their top 25 countdowns (25 Worst Teams, 25 Best Sports Movies), with the girls calling out the numbers from 1-25.

 

Ugh. Annoying.

 

"Seventeen."

"Seventeen."

"Seventeen."

 

THIS DOES NOT MAKE THE PROGRAM ANY BETTER!

As if that's not obnoxious enough, they repeat THE WHOLE LIST coming back out of every break. I couldn't even get past #15 (fifteen, fif-fi-fi-fifteen). It was so bad that I made a conscious decision not to watch any more of these lists.

[Guest Evolution]

Not sure if anyone has mentioned this, and it's SLIGHTLY off-topic, but ESPN's presentation of their top 25 countdowns (25 Worst Teams, 25 Best Sports Movies), with the girls calling out the numbers from 1-25.

 

Ugh.  Annoying.

 

"Seventeen."

"Seventeen."

"Seventeen."

 

THIS DOES NOT MAKE THE PROGRAM ANY BETTER!

As if that's not obnoxious enough, they repeat THE WHOLE LIST coming back out of every break. I couldn't even get past #15 (fifteen, fif-fi-fi-fifteen). It was so bad that I made a conscious decision not to watch any more of these lists.

Actually, I think you're right.

 

It's the fact that they insist on catching us up where we left off at commercial using the same exact shit that they do during the countdown itself.

 

A simple rundown would be sufficient...or maybe, *gasp*, a rundown before you show the #1 of whatever the hell you're trying to countdown.

[Guest MikeSC]

It came across, to me, as if they were simply filling time. Which is odd, considering how fertile a subject this was.

-=Mike

[The Czech Republic 0]

Like I said, I wouldn't know because I only made it through three fifths of the "best sports teams" list, but in addition to the girls, there was a black guy in sunglasses and a top hat who would shout out names in an annoying fashion. Geez. All the jump-cuts, obnoxious voiceovers, and short-attention-span crap amidst an insipid list...this is like what would happen if RAW moved to VH1.

[Bored 0]

#70: Mary Lou gets the gold in Olympic all-around

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

The golden smile. The adorable pixie hairdo. The sweet cocker-spaniel eyes.

 

They got us.

 

Mary Lou Retton, a 16-year-old acrobatic gymnastic from Fairmont, W. Va., stole America's hearts as the curtain rolled up on the 1984 Summer Olympics in Los Angeles. An American gymnast -- male or female -- had never captured an Olympic gold medal. And as Retton strode into L.A. with her all-world talent and distinctive persona, the nation watched to see if she could deliver the first gold medal in U.S. gymnastics history.

 

THE MOMENT

It's August 3, 1984. The evening competition begins with Retton leading all 36 women in the gymnastics all-around event. Romania's Ecaterina Szabo is the closest to Retton, trailing by only .15 of a point.

 

On the beam, Retton has two shaky landings, one on a forward flip, the other on a back walkover. She performs her double-somersaulting dismount flawlessly, but her score is 9.80. She now trails Szabo by .15 of a point, with the floor exercise and vault remaining.

 

Szabo, up first throughout the four rotations, performs her first vault -- nearly flawlessly. She is awarded a 9.90. Meanwhile, Retton, flawlessly tumbling and dancing in her floor exercises, gets a 10, narrowing Szabo's lead to .050 points -- 69.225 to 69.175.

 

Up first again, Szabo spins like a trapeze artist on the uneven bars, but when she's awarded a 9.90 for a final total of 79.125 points, Retton knows she can swipe the gold. She knows that if she can ''stick it" for a 10 on either of her vaults, she wins by .05 of a point. She also knows that if she wobbles to a 9.95, she'd tie for the gold. And if she scores anything less, the gold turns to silver.

 

The only color on Retton's mind is gold. A 9.95 would not suffice. She wants it all. She's come too far to share the gold. Szabo and the world settle in to watch Retton. It's gold medal time.

 

Retton tells herself that she vaults her best under pressure, that it makes her fight and scrap harder. She knows that if she "sticks," she'll win. "I kept thinking 'stick, stick, stick,'" she would say later. "I knew I had to get a 10."

 

Behind the fence, Retton's coach, Bela Karolyi, encourages her. Before he gives her any advice about the vault on which she needs a perfect 10 to win the gold, Retton looks at him with those big eyes of hers and says, "I'm going to stick it." Karolyi breaks into a wide grin.

 

"Stick it" is the hottest phrase in gymnastics; it means landing so firmly and solidly that a gymnast sticks to the mat without even as much as a wobble.

 

Retton does not think at all about her right knee that required arthroscopic surgery for the removal of torn cartilage only two months before the L.A. Games. Rather, she thinks about the day she stretched out on the floor of the family room in 1976 after watching Nadia Comaneci of Romania win the all-around gold medal in Montreal. She remembers being enthralled. She remembers thinking, "I want that to be me."

 

Now it is.

 

The 9,023 fans at Pauley Pavilion are silent as Retton prepares to determine the result of the Olympic competition. To excel on the vault, a gymnast must transform herself to be part sprinter, part acrobat and part skydiver. Retton, at this moment, morphs into all three.

 

She stands erect, then sprints the 73 1/2 feet to the board and launches herself high into space. As she descends from midair, twisting and turning in absolute perfect form, she lands and then performs a backward somersault in a laid-out position with a full twist, 360 degrees, and lands upright and rock still. She "sticks it." It's a staggering effort, an easy "10."

 

"10 ... 10 ... 10," bellows the sellout crowd. Seconds later, a "10" flashes on the small electronic scoreboard near the vault. The crowd goes absolutely wild, knowing they've witnessed the first American to ever win a gold medal.

 

Retton leaps into the air. She holds her arms up to the heavens, smiling, waving, throwing kisses to the crowd. She has the gold medal, but she has to interrupt her celebration to comply with the rule that a gymnast must do two vaults, with the higher score prevailing. She sprints the 73 1/2 feet to the board again and lifts herself again into the air & and & she knows can't top the first score, but she wants to equal it. She leaps again, and she "sticks it" again. Another 10. The crowd goes wild, chanting "USA! USA!" and "Mary Lou! Mary Lou! Mary Lou!"

[Vern Gagne 0]

They had Rudy as the #24 best sports film of the last 25 years. It's top 5 of all time, goddammit.

Sandlot wuz robbed.

[Bored 0]

#69: Abdul-Jabbar scores 31,420th point, passes Wilt

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

He created an unstoppable shot -- the sky hook. He developed it after dunking was banned in the college game by the NCAA in the 1960s -- banned specifically to neutralize him because he was so tall, so dominant.

 

All Kareem Abdul-Jabbar would do is take a little stride, turn his big body, take a little hop and flick the ball from far above his head. So simple.

 

Therefore, on the night Abdul-Jabbar was expected to became the NBA No. 1 all-time scorer, the only appropriate way to score the historic point was, of course, with . . .

 

THE MOMENT

April 5, 1984, the Los Angeles Lakers vs. the Utah Jazz, Abdul-Jabbar vs. The Record. The game is being played in Las Vegas, the Jazz' home away from home this season. No one is betting against Kareem.

 

All Abdul-Jabbar needs to snap the all-time NBA scoring record of 31,419 points, held by Wilt Chamberlain, is 22 points. The world knew this was the night the record would go down, the night the NBA would crown a new scoring king.

 

The crowd of 18,389 at the Thomas and Mack Center greets Abdul-Jabbar with a 45-second standing ovation. He responds with a double thumbs-up sign and a smile. Then he starts the game with a surge, hitting his first four shots, three dunks and a 14-foot fadeaway. He winds up scoring 12 points in the first period.

 

Every time Abdul-Jabbar, 37, touches the ball, the crowd buzzes with anticipation and excitement. But Kareem is his characteristic self on this night, despite the milestone in sight, often passing up shots against double-teams, slinging passes to open teammates. He finishes the first half with a thunderous dunk with five seconds left, his 15th and 16th points.

 

Nearly half of the third quarter passes before Abdul-Jabbar scores again, this time on a 12-foot hook on the baseline with 6:54 remaining, leaving him just four points shy. But the next two times he receives the ball, each time prompting a rising buzz from the crowd, he passes off for assists. He scores just one basket in the quarter. Lakers coach Pat Riley wants to take him out of the game, to preserve the record, to allow Kareem to break it at home in Los Angeles, in the Forum, in front of the Lakers' fans. But Kareem tells him, "No, let's get it over it." It has become a burden for him and the team.

 

As the game enters the fourth quarter, the Lakers have a huge lead over their inferior opponents and they begin looking specifically for Abdul-Jabbar every trip down the floor. James Worthy drives the lane and can easily score, but he dishes off instead to Abdul-Jabbar, who slams home a dunk, tying Chamberlain's scoring mark. The crowd rises in delight, anticipating that history is about to be made, right in front of their eyes.

 

Two minutes pass without a basket. Then, with about 10 minutes left in the contest, Kareem get the ball in the post, swings his body around and takes one of his patented sky hooks. The crowd rises, thinking this is the record breaker. But Abdul-Jabbar misses.

 

On the Lakers' next trip down the floor, the crowd rises again, in unison, waiting for The Moment. With 8:53 left, Abdul-Jabbar, stationed along the baseline, takes a pass from Magic Johnson. Abdul-Jabbar contemplates passing up the shot as Jazz center Mark Eaton and guard Rickey Green engulf him. But the 7-foot-2 star takes a little stride, turns his big body, skips a step and flicks the ball from far above his head, 12 feet away from the basket. The parabola falls cleanly through the net. "There it is!" yells Lakers announcer Chick Hearn.

 

Typically, Abdul-Jabbar is nonchalant, at least initially. This proud, introverted intellectual lets the madness, the celebration, come to him. As the crowd applauds wildly, the Lakers rush toward the NBA's new scoring leader. A swarm of photographers converge. The game stops. NBA Commissioner David Stern tells the crowd: ''NBA players are the greatest in the world. And Kareem, you are the greatest of them all.''

 

Cradling the game ball, Abdul-Jabbar takes the microphone and says: ''It's hard to say anything after all is said and done." He goes on to thank his parents, his family, the fans. After an extensive ovation and ceremony, Abdul-Jabbar is taken out of the game, having made 10 of 14 shots from the field and 2 of 2 from the foul line, along with five rebounds and three assists, in a 129-115 victory.

 

Afterwards, Abdul-Jabbar says the record-breaking shot is "nothing spectacular," just one of the many sky hooks he has nailed throughout his stellar career. "I just faked the pass and I just shot it," he would tell the media.

 

So simple. For one man alone.

[The Czech Republic 0]

Kareem Abdul-Jabbar is awesome. You just can't hate Pat Riley's Lakers, it's not like the recent bunch at all.

[Bored 0]

#68: Elway's gutsy run inspires Broncos to victory

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

Nothing was going to stop John Elway. Not after what he'd been through in his career.

 

He was 37 years old. His body was beaten and broken down. And he didn't have a Super Bowl victory to his name. Only Super Bowl losses. Three of 'em. Three Super Bowl blowouts, in fact. Three forgettable Super Bowl performances.

 

And now in his fourth Super Bowl -- Super Bowl XXXII against the Green Bay Packers at San Diego's Qualcomm Stadium on January 28, 1998 -- Elway was in the midst, statistically, of his worst championship performance. However, this phenomenal quarterback, who holds so many records and was considered the most lethal two-minute drill QB in history, was nevertheless locked up in an intriguing duel with the defending Super Bowl-winning quarterback and MVP, Brett Favre.

 

With three minutes left in the third quarter of a 17-17 game, Elway dropped back to pass on third-and-6 at the Packers' 12-yard line. He looked to his right, then to his left, then down the middle. He could not find an open receiver. Would he run out of bounds or throw the ball away?

 

THE MOMENT

As Elway looks downfield, his feet shuffling one way, then the other, he spots a seam in the defense. His eyes zero in on it, like an arrow soaring toward its target. Defying age and defying laws of gravity, Elway takes off for that seam of daylight, down the middle of the field.

 

Elway, running like a creaky 37-year-old who's never won a Super Bowl, quickly darts to his right and races to the 10-yard line, then the 8, then the 7. He refuses to slide or run out of bounds. He knows, at some point, he is going to take a hit. He doesn't care. This is January and he has everything in life but a Super Bowl ring. This is not the time to slide, not the time to run out of bounds.

 

At the 6-yard line, right near the first-down marker, Elway is met, face to face, by Packers strong safety LeRoy Butler. As Butler lowers his head and prepares to unload, Elway hurls his old body right at Butler and then leaps in the air. Airborne, Elway foresees the inevitable: a vicious collision with Butler, one of those moments that make you cringe. Elway's leap averts a direct hit by Butler, yet as Elway's body begins to soar over the Packers' safety, Butler gets a piece of Elway and spins him around like a helicopter.

 

Just as Elway is about to land on the turf, feet forward, near the first-down marker at the 6-yard-line, Packers defensive back Mike Prior closes in and lands a brutal hit.

 

Elway crashes to the ground, landing at the 4-yard-line. First down, Denver. But is Elway OK? Without missing a beat, Elway leaps to his feet, thrusts his arm in the air, and races toward the huddle to a group of teammates who just had the adrenaline surge of a lifetime.

 

"We never felt so much energy after John ran like he did, refusing to go out bounds, absorbing that hit like he did," defensive lineman Mike Lodish would say later. "When I saw that, I just shook my head and said, 'That's some kind of leader.' We were energized beyond control. After John's run, we knew we were going to be Super Bowl champions. Finally."

 

Denver scores two plays later on a 1-yard plunge by Terrell Davis. But the Packers, led by the unflappable Favre, drive 85 yards to tie the score again, this time on a 13-yard Favre strike to Antonio Freeman.

 

There's 3:27 left in the game, with the score deadlocked at 24, when Elway jaunts onto the field, smiling, riding an unbreakable wave of confidence. "We knew that we were going to win it on this drive," Broncos tight end Shannon Sharpe says today. "You never saw any fear, any doubt, in John."

 

Elway, however, has thrown for only 123 yards and didn't complete a pass to a wideout until midway through the third quarter. But when it mattered most, on that last drive, Elway made a perfect delivery, throwing a quick toss to fullback Howard Griffith for 23 yards, giving Denver a first-and-goal at the eight with two minutes left. That pass set up Davis' winning 1-yard touchdown run with 1:45 left.

 

Moments later, Favre's fourth-and-6 pass to tight end Mark Churma arrives just as Broncos linebacker John Mobley does. They collide. The ball drops to the turf. End of game. Redemption for Elway and the Broncos -- thanks in great part to that 8-yard run by Elway in the third quarter.

 

"That's the play that inspired us," Mobley would later tell reporters. "It got everybody on the team going. My adrenaline went off the charts. We're saying, 'This guy is almost 40 years old and he is laying his life and body on the line.' Who wouldn't be inspired after that play?"

[Bored 0]

#67: Pine tar nullifies home run, so Brett goes ballistic

Rick Weinberg

Special to ESPN.com

 

Martin's moment has arrived. Finally. Billy Martin, the mischievous manager of the New York Yankees, had waited for this moment for more than a year. He knew that George Brett, the Kansas City Royals' all-star third baseman, was breaking an obscure rule. But Martin wasn't going to reveal his secret until it mattered, until it had an effect on a Yankees-Royals game.

 

That time finally came on July 23, 1983. The Yankees led, 4-3, in the 9th inning. Goose Gossage, the Yankees' dominant closer, was called in to protect the lead. The Yankees, locked in a first-place tie with Baltimore, needed this victory.

 

THE MOMENT

Two out and one on. Brett steps in against Gossage, a hard-throwing righty with a menacing persona and delivery. He unleashes one of his signature fastballs, and Brett connects, hammering a bomb over the right field wall. The dramatic two-run homer gives the Royals a 5-4 lead.

 

As the ball descends into the stands, Martin turns to Sammy Ellis, one of his coaches, and winks. As Brett happily rounds the bases, Martin pops out of dugout to protest the fact that Brett's bat is covered by more than 18 inches of pine tar, the most allowed by major league rules.

 

His hands in his back pockets, Martin walks slowly toward home plate ump Tim McClelland. "That bat is illegal," Martin says, pointing to the bat lying a few feet from the on-deck circle. "There's too much pine tar. Measure it."

 

McClelland is speechless. The Royals have no idea what's happening. Brett is sitting in the dugout, relaxed and confident, his arms stretched out along the top of the dugout seats, confident that whatever Martin is saying will be overruled by the umps.

 

McClelland retrieves the bat, walks to the plate, places it along the side of the plate, which is 17 inches wide. He sees that the pine tar on the bat is more than 18 inches. McClelland confers with a rulebook and his fellow umpires, then slowly walks toward the Royals' dugout, the bat dangling from his right hand. He stares inside the Royals' dugout, slowly brings his arm up and signals out. Martin is correct -- the bat is illegal, the home run is nullified, Brett is out, and the Yankees win, 4-3.

 

Brett bursts out of the dugout, sprinting to the umpires, insanely, hysterically, out of control, screaming, eyes bulging, arms waving. He nearly runs over McClelland and has to be restrained by several umpires.

 

"The sight of George coming out of the dugout is etched in my mind forever," Yankees first baseman Don Mattingly would say on the 10th anniversary of the game. "That roar symbolizes the way he plays the game, the kind of fire he has."

 

Later, Brett is seething in the clubhouse. Meanwhile, Martin walks around the Yankees' clubhouse gloating, realizing he had just pulled off a doozy, a first in baseball history.

 

The Royals file a protest with the league office, and the events of the next few days and weeks are both comical and tense. Questions arise as to whether the umpire's ruling will be upheld. Rumor and speculation run rampant.

 

On July 28, four days after the game, with the baseball world waiting breathlessly, American League president Lee McPhail announces that even though Brett's bat had too much pine tar, only the bat should have been removed from the game, not the batter. He upholds the Royals' protest and says the two teams must resume the game in Yankee Stadium in 21 days, on August 18, with the Royals leading, 5-4, and two out in the ninth. While the Royals rejoice, the Yankees -- especially Martin and Yankees owner George Steinbrenner -- seethe.

 

McClelland is displeased too, saying, "We can't arbitrarily rule on which rules we're going to enforce."

 

Naturally, Steinbrenner will not let it go quietly. The blustery owner goes all out to try to prevent the game from being resumed. First he claims he cannot provide adequate security for the game. Then he disputes the league's raincheck policy. Anything to prevent the game from going on.

 

Several hours before the scheduled resumption of the game, the State Supreme Court in the Bronx issues a preliminary injunction barring the completion of the game. But the American League, which had ordered the game to be played over the objection of Steinbrenner, appeals. Just 2½ hours before game time, Justice Joseph P. Sullivan of the Supreme Court's Appellate Division overrules Justice Maresca's decision, proclaiming, "Play ball."

 

Anticipating the game, the Royals have been forced to fly to New York on their way to Baltimore for a series with the Orioles. When they arrive, they still are not sure they are going to play because of the court hearings. Finally, word arrives: head over to Yankee Stadium. The game is on.

 

Brett, however, is not required to go to the stadium because he had been ejected from the game, so he watches on TV with his manager Dick Howser, also ejected. What they -- and everyone -- see is astonishing: first, Martin tries to make a joke out of the game by putting lefthanded first baseman Mattingly at second base and pitcher Ron Guidry in center field. Then, before a pitch is even thrown before the crowd of 1,245, Martin protests that Brett didn't touch first base on his homer. He orders his pitcher, George Frazier, to step off the rubber and toss the ball to Ken Griffey at first. Tim Welke, the first-base umpire, signals safe. Then Martin protests that Brett didn't touch second. So Frazier throws to second base, and Dave Phillips, the umpire there, also signals safe.

 

Martin then emerges from the dugout to protest the calls. But the league office has anticipated Martin's move, and one-ups the Yankees skipper when Phillips, the crew chief, pulls a letter from his pocket -- a notarized statement from the umpires at the July 24 game confirming that both Brett and U. L. Washington, who had singled ahead of Brett's home run, had touched all of the bases.

 

Finally, the game restarts. Frazier gets McRae to end the top of the 9th. Royals closer Dan Quisenberry comes on to face the Yankees in the bottom of the 9th. Martin stacks his lineup with lefthanders; Yankee lefthanders are hitting .451 against Quisenberry in his five last outings against New York, while righties are hitless in 13 at bats.

 

But Quisenberry needs only 10 pitches to retire Mattingly on a fly to center field, Roy Smalley on a fly to left field and Oscar Gamble on a grounder to second base.

 

The final out of the top of the ninth and the three outs in the bottom of the inning takes all of nine minutes and 41 seconds, ending a 25-day, 4-hour and 14-minute episode that will live forever.

[Art Sandusky 0]

Pine Tar > Defining moment (unfortunately) of arguably the most exciting Super Bowl ever.

 

Amazing.

[The Czech Republic 0]

Come on Kotz, that Pine Tar thing is nuts. Super Bowls are never good games.

[Art Sandusky 0]

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

[Guest Anglesault]

Pine Tar is legendary. It should be higher (or lower). It's a top thirty moment.

[The Czech Republic 0]

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

Okay of the last seven years:

Two of them were crappy squashes.

Two of them were won by the New England Patriots.

Rams-Titans sucked until it neared the end.

Did anyone think the Falcons would win?

 

 

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

[Spaceman Spiff 0]

I'd *SO* kill to have that Chargers/Dolphins game on DVD. I haven't seen the whole game, just highlights.