Most sports fans can think of a few ultimate high points in their watching career. My peak moment came at the ripe old age of 7.
My dad was from Minnesota, so I unfortunately inherited the likes of the Vikings, the Timberwolves, and the North Stars. (Aside: I try to get into Minnesota Wild hockey, but cannot.) Fortunately I also inherited the Twins, whose first World Series in 1987 I was too young to remember.
In 1991, the Twins played the Braves in an epic seven game World Series that ESPN called the best ever. My mom, being a good mom and all, did not allow me to stay up to watch game 5 because it was on a Thursday night. I have a sneaking suspicion that this caused a fight between my parents. My dad, being a good dad and all, felt I needed to stay up to watch my (his) favorite childhood team in the World Series. I went to bed but was not happy about it. Game 6 was on a Saturday night, and my dad and I stayed up the entire time, eventually seeing Kirby Puckett just barely clear the glass to force a game 7. The bad news: game 7 was the next night. Sunday night. ANOTHER SCHOOL NIGHT. I begged my mom and dad to let me stay up to watch, but my mom had gotten to him this time. My dad, through clinched teeth, said “You need to go to bed.”
I watched through seven or eight innings of what would go on to be one of the best World Series game 7s of all-time and then made my way upstairs. What my parents didn’t know was that I’d actually taken a right instead of a left and ended up in their room. I sat as quietly as I could on the carpet, turned on the small black & white TV they had, and silently watched the rest of the game on mute. In the 10th inning, as soon as the ball left Gene Larkin’s bat and Jack Buck made his famous “The Twins are gonna win the World Series!” call, I bounded down the steps. My dad and I jumped up and down in the middle of our living room, yelling and hollering to the point that our neighbor came to make sure we weren’t being attacked. It wasn’t until five or so minutes later that my mother, who had been downstairs watching with my dad, figured out that I wasn’t supposed to be up. But what was she going to do? THE TWINS JUST WON THE WORLD SERIES. I got up the next morning and wore my Kirby Puckett jersey to school, freshly washed from having worn it the previous Friday.
None of my teams, amateur or professional, have won a championship since. (Sad trombone.)
What’s your favorite sports memory?
