"Somewhere around midnight, as Francisco Cabrera lined a baseball into left field and Sid Bream chug-a-chug-chugged around third base and then spilled underneath the tag of a catcher nicknamed Spanky, thereby euthanizing a generation's worth of baseball in Pittsburgh, my friend JB briefly lost control of his faculties. It was a Wednesday night, October 14, 1992, Game 7 of the National League Championship Series, bottom of the ninth, and JB stood alone in a dorm room the size of a walk-in closet, brandishing a 7-iron for channel-changing purposes (his remote control was broken). As soon as it was over, as soon as Bream scored the winning run for the Braves and completed a three-run comeback, JB took aim at a bottle of Rolling Rock and perpetrated a senseless act of violence against what was then western Pennsylvania's finest pale lager." Grantland
No comments:
Post a Comment