8:15 p.m.: As I sit down to watch the last game of this bizarre series, I have no clue what to expect. I don't think I've ever seen any game with such possible historic consequences before. The Red Sox could be the first team to come back from 3-0 down at the expense of the Yankees. Wow. 2-0-0-4 is hard to chant.
What could happen in Game 7 to top this thing off? A Sox win would do it I guess.
Anyway, game on from the MGC couch room.
8:54 p.m.: There's about 10 of us here now. The crowd will grow. Some Sox fans here, some Yanks fans, and neutrals who hate the Yankees enough to root for the Sox.
First inning and the craziness has started. Johnny Damon is sent home from second on a Ramirez single and thrown out. Dumb decision. "This is going to come back to haunt them," I think. Then Ortiz smacks a two-run blast over the right-field wall. My friend Pat screams "Big Papiii!" as I leave for MGC. He's a Pirates fan.
9:00 p.m.: As the Sox bat in the top of the 2nd, here comes Mel Stottlemeyer. If only I could spell Stottlemeyer.
9:11 p.m.: DAMON GRAND SLAM! 6-0 RED SOX IN THE TOP OF THE 2ND! STUDENTS DROP THEIR JAMBA!
Yankee Stadium is eerily quiet. For the amount of Sox fans and sympathizers in MGC, it's strangely mum here as well. I guess nothing is impossible, and a 6-0 lead just makes hearts pound faster.
9:49 p.m.: Red Sox pitcher Derek Lowe gives up a run on a Jeter RBI single, but gets out of a jam. I visit the "high-tech" - i.e. cheap - no-water urinal, and steal some iced tea from the tavern with a paper cup.
9:51 p.m.: JOHNNY DAMON TWO-RUN HOME RUN!
Former Delmarva Shorebird Orlando Cabrera trots home from first while former Delmarva Shorebird Javier Vazquez hopes his car hasn't been vandalized (the Shorebirds are my hometown A-level ball club).
Johnny Damon's wife worries for their marriage.
Still, the Sox strand the bases loaded. It should've been worse.
10:42 p.m.: Joe Buck said the word "curse" for the first time all series. I am the only one in the room who noticed.
10:49 p.m.: Torre pulls Loiza in favor of Felix Heredia, with Yankee-killer Damon coming up. Meanwhile, Pedro Martinez will pitch for the Sox in the bottom of the 7th.
Why pull Lowe, who has been fantastic?
Iced tea consumption makes me grow to love admire the sleek, no-water urinals.
10:54 p.m.: Damon grounds into a double play, and leaves another runner stranded. It's seventh-inning-stretch and God Bless America time. I get it already.
11:02 p.m.: Why pull Derek Lowe after 69 pitches? 8-2.
11:04 p.m.: Why pull Derek Lowe after 69 pitches? 8-3.
11:11 p.m.: Inning over, two runs score, and all is quiet at MGC.
11:13 p.m.: An ad for that new movie with the puppets that have sex comes on. The room starts laughing again. Then Mark Bellhorn hits the foul pole. 9-3. Four women in the room propose marriage to him.
11:22 p.m.: One Sox fan insists it's the top of the ninth. It's only the bottom of the eighth.
11:29 p.m.: Timlin, who usually doesn't inspire me, pitches a clutch no-hit 8th inning. The Sox are three outs away from the unthinkable.
What do I do if they win? I know it doesn't break the curse, but still.
Should I go to bed? Or watch ESPNews straight through until my 11:20 a.m.? Or drop everything and go live with Sherpas in the Himalayas?
Perhaps I should file this first. Still, I'm nervous.
11:46 p.m.: Sox get a run on a Cabrera sacrifice fly. 10-3. Seven better be good enough.
11:56 p.m.: Timlin is pulled for Embre. The Yogi Bera AFLAC commericial comes on. It ain't over 'til it's over, but man that duck is funny.
12:00 p.m.: At 12 midnight on October 21, 2004, the impossible happens.
People are jumping, screaming and calling relatives.
I'd call my dad, but we're O's fans. I know my buddy Mike is calling his. I just smile for all the little kids, and all the older little kids, who stayed up way past their bed-time, and for once aren't going to sleep crying.
12:06 p.m.: MGC is empty.
