I was shocked. Speechless. Confused. Empty. Numb.
The whole storyline just made me sick to my stomach. The career underachiever, fighting his way through years of frustratingly-barely-above-average seasons hiding in the shadow of his father and more successful older brother, finally has his day. In one night, he's transformed from New York's scapegoat to its hero, simultaneously becoming the most hated man in Boston.
No, not Eli Manning. I said "above-average," remember?
I'm referring to Aaron Boone. Up until Sunday night, I thought that Game 7 of the 2003 ALCS was the worst pain I could ever feel as a sports fan. The thought of that Tim Wakefield knuckleball-gone-wrong floating into the left-field seats of Yankee Stadium still makes me cringe to this day. That moment symbolized the underdog mentality that made the Red Sox who they were for 86 years. In three innings, Sox fans had gone from the top of the world, proclaiming the joyous end of an era, to the top of the tallest building they could find, ready to jump. "Misery" had found an entirely new meaning.
Sunday night was worse.
Here's the difference. With the Red Sox, losing was expected. Anyone who knew their history had a sneaking suspicion that '03 wasn't about to end well. Even if we weren't alive for Gibson in '67, or Dent in '78 or Buckner in '86, there was still a collective sense that we knew our place. We had come to accept it.
With the Patriots, the opposite was true. Never during the Pats' unforgettable regular season did I doubt them for a single second. Not once. In Week 9, when the Patriots found their first fourth-quarter deficit of the year - 10 points, with nine minutes to play, in Indianapolis - I knew they would win, and they did. When the Ravens took a lead into the final minute in Week 13, I expected the miracle penalty calls and the spot-on touchdown pass from Tom Brady to Jabar Gaffney. When the Giants led 28-16 in the third quarter of the regular season finale ... you get the picture.
My confidence lasted for 18 games, three quarters, 14 minutes and 25 seconds. I didn't really truly believe that Eli could derail the Pats' perfection until it had already happened. Everything had changed in a matter of seconds. There's no pain quite like that - a pain that comes so powerfully and so suddenly - from the source you'd least expect.
Eli.
Aaron Boone can now breathe a sigh of relief - in a sense, he's off the hook. Eli Bleeping Manning stands alone.
It's fitting that the pipe dream of 19-0 came to an end at the hands of New York's ultimate underdog. In Manhattan, the Knicks are 14-34, wondering if Isiah Thomas will ever find the decency to step aside. In Queens, the Mets are second fiddle to J-Roll's Phillies, wondering if Johan Santana is enough to erase the memory of one of baseball's worst-ever September chokes. And in the Bronx, the Yankees are immersed in a seven-year title drought, as the aging fingers of Mike Mussina, Jason Giambi and Alex Rodriguez remain ringless.
But in East Rutherford, of all places, the rivalry has been renewed. This moment belongs to Eli - and to Osi, and Strahan, and Burress, and Tyree. They are enjoying their 15 minutes of fame.
So here's the real question - what happens next? How does Boston answer?
In 2003, New York had Boone. In '04, Boston had Dave Roberts - and Ortiz, Schilling and Damon to boot. And now in '08, the Big Apple has answered back. And no one this side of north Jersey is na've enough to think the saga ends here.
So here's where the fun starts. It's time to get even. Again.
Evans Clinchy is a junior majoring in English. He can be reached at Evans.Clinchy@tufts.edu.
