There is nothing like a Game 7 in baseball. Yes, the NBA and the NHL have had their moments in win-or-go-home games, but baseball is just different. Every pitch and every managerial decision is magnified, sometimes early and often late in games. You can dribble out the clock or play keep-away with the puck (and in football, you can take a knee), but there is no clock in baseball. You have to get that 27th out.
You probably don’t need to be reminded that the Rangers got 26 outs in Game 6 of the 2011 World Series and were one strike away from the 27th. They wound up getting 29, after blowing a pair of two-run leads to lose the game and, one night later, the series. The memory still haunts this 66-year-old fan, whose Rangers allegiance dates to the franchise’s infancy in Arlington. (Full disclosure: I didn’t stay up for the end of Game 6, and I was so devastated I didn’t even watch Game 7. I knew how the movie was going to end.)
So it should come as no surprise that I was filled with trepidation as I sat down to watch Game 7 of the ALCS in Houston on Monday night. The Rangers had squandered a 2-0 series lead by losing three straight at home, the last in the most unfathomable fashion. How do you even begin to rebound from a loss like that, knowing one defeat would send you home?
Then I thought back to the 2004 ALCS, when the Boston Red Sox dug a 3-0 series deficit against the New York Yankees, losing the third game, 19-8 at Fenway Park. Before Game 4, Red Sox first baseman Kevin Millar famously uttered five words: “Don’t let us win tonight.” Millar’s reasoning was that Boston had its pitching lined up for the next two games if it could just survive the first elimination contest. And then anything could happen in Game 7. Sure enough, Dave Roberts stole a base in the ninth, Bill Mueller got him home, and David Ortiz delivered a walk-off home run in the 12th. The rest of the story lives on in sports lore.
So with the Rangers on the brink of elimination, I thought, Don’t let us win tonight.
If only it were that easy. They were returning to a ballpark where the defending champions had lost four straight. Sure, the Astros had been abysmal at home in the regular season, but that trend couldn’t continue, could it? Never mind two. It was expecting a lot to steal even one win.
But then came a 9-2 Texas victory that surprised many but probably shouldn’t have. That’s because for 172 games, these Rangers had been nothing if not resilient.
There would be a Game 7.
And it would play out eerily like Game 7 of the 2004 ALCS. I remember that night vividly because our son, Steven, is a Connecticut-born Red Sox fanatic. As 9-year-olds are wont to do, he didn’t want to hear that teams don’t come back from 3-0 deficits. In fact, it had never happened—not in baseball, anyway. Steven littered the family room in our New Jersey home with signs in support of the Red Sox. And for three nights, he nodded off not knowing if his team had lived to fight another day.
Boston jumped to a 6-0 lead that night, buoyed by a Johnny Damon grand slam in the top of the second. Nineteen years later, the Rangers plated three runs in the first inning of Game 7, Corey Seager getting things started with a bomb to right-center. And in the bottom half of the inning, Max Scherzer made arguably the biggest pitch of the night, inducing an inning-ending double-play grounder after the Astros had cut the lead to 3-1 and had a runner on third. Every pitch magnified.
The texts started soon after.
“Starting to feel like 10/20/04?”
It was Steven, watching from his apartment in Austin. The score was 4-2 now, and the Rangers had something going. That was followed almost immediately by this:
“Who wants to be Johnny Damon?”
With the bases loaded and one out, sensational rookie Evan Carter was a worthy candidate; he proceeded to rip a two-run double down the right-field line. However, the guy who reprised the Damon role would be Adolis García, who followed three pitches later with a two-run single to left. Like that, it was 8-2. Considering García, who would finish 4 for 5 with a pair of homers and 5 RBIs, was the hottest hitter this side of Yordan Alvarez, why didn’t Dusty Baker walk him with first base open? Every managerial decision magnified.
It was still 8-2 in the sixth when I texted Steven: “Remember what we did in 2004? Well, I am counting outs.”
Nathaniel Lowe lined a two-run homer, and when Alvarez delivered yet another run-producing hit, the score after seven was 10-3.
Another text from Steven, who was counting outs himself: “6 outs. 10-3. Closing it out on the road. It’s the same script.”
I had forgotten the final score in ’04, so I googled it. And I’ll be damned if he wasn’t right. The Rangers would win by the same seven-run margin, 11-4, and García would join Damon, Jason Giambi, and a Yankees catcher by the name of Yogi Berra as the only players to homer twice in a Game 7.
The 27th out in New York came on a sharp ground ball directly at second baseman Pokey Reese.
And I’ll be damned if the 27th out in Houston didn’t come on a sharp ground ball directly at second baseman Marcus Semien. Just as the Red Sox had done, the Rangers had conquered the evil empire.
There’s another reason I remember a lot about Game 7 in ’04. That’s because it fell on the 11th anniversary of my father’s death … and on the eve of Steven’s 10th birthday. (Yes, he was born one year and one day after his grandfather. Eerie, isn’t it?) My mind raced as I watched the game unfold. Baseball can bond a father and son like no other sport, and Dad and I watched a lot of games together. He was a Rangers fan who would follow games on WBAP, the transistor radio close to his ear as he listened to the call of Dick Risenhoover. One of the beauties of the game is the idle time it offers between batters and innings to debate pinch-hitters and pitching changes and whether to bunt or hit-and-run, among other strategies. Tackle a lot of life problems, too. Dad and I did plenty of that. Steven developed a similar passion for the game, and we have engaged in the same kind of discussions. I can still see him jumping off the couch when the 27th out was recorded in ’04. It came a minute after midnight on October 21. What a birthday present!
Time flies. Steven is 29 now, gainfully employed and happily engaged. He has been spoiled by his team’s success—four championships in the past 19 years. Oh, to experience just one here in North Texas! I know we will exchange texts, if not talk, as this World Series plays out. These Rangers have weathered significant injuries to four All-Stars and a beleaguered pitching staff. They were going to win the AL West. And then they were going to miss the playoffs altogether. They would’ve captured the West had they won on the final day of the regular season. They lost. 1-0! They flew cross-country and swept the two teams with the best records in the American League. Then came the three home losses to Houston, capped by the unfortunate events of Game 5. Who overcomes that?
These guys do. And that’s why I’m confident the Rangers will win this World Series. They are the better team. And did I mention their resilience? Some have seized on the talking point that they’re going to have to scratch out at least one victory at Globe Life, conveniently ignoring the fact that this team is 50-25 at home this season in games in which the Astros haven’t occupied the third-base dugout.
I doubt we’ll see a Game 7, but at some point there will be an elimination game, and the quest to get 27 outs will begin. Steven and I will be counting. Dad will be with us, too.
