GROWING UP IN Boston’s Dorchester neighborhood, the Red Sox were everything to me. We would gather in a vacant lot at the intersection of Callender and Lucerne streets to play baseball. One of the older kids, a left-handed batter, would yell “Yaz!” following a swing that sent the ball flying across the street — hitting it across Callender was our definition of a home run — serving as a tribute to Carl Yastrzemski. We were a group of elementary school kids contorting ourselves into various shapes, trying to mimic the motions of the legendary right-hander, Luis Tiant, who passed away on October 8.
The year of the World Series, 1975, stands out as my earliest significant memory of the Red Sox. At just six years old, I vividly recall our fifth-grade teachers bringing televisions into our classrooms so we could watch the opening moments of the one-game playoff between the Sox and the Yankees just before the school buses arrived in the afternoon.
The 1975 team embodied pure joy. While there was a lament for not securing the championship, we felt no fear, dread, or sense of choking.
Then came 1976, followed by 1978 and 1986. The latter’s catastrophic collapse became a haunting memory that attached itself to the franchise’s history, turning into a curse — evidence that losing seemed both inevitable and a form of punishment for past transgressions. Thus, one historical narrative evolved into another.
“The Comeback,” directed by Colin Barnicle, is a documentary celebrating the 20th anniversary of the 2004 Red Sox’s World Series win. It premiered on Netflix this past week, and I participated as an executive producer. This project brought forth a torrent of emotions and insights regarding the significance of those clashes, even two decades later.
I have always navigated life between two worlds. As a child, I cheered for the Red Sox while also supporting the Yankees, thanks to my admiration for Dave Winfield. Later, from 2001 to 2005, I covered the Yankees for the Bergen Record and then shifted to the Red Sox as a columnist for the Boston Herald.
Time ages us all, some more gracefully than others; Theo Epstein and Kevin Millar, Joe Torre and Roger Clemens appear to have aged very little in the past twenty years. Conversely, Curt Schilling has faced significant health challenges. For some, time has cruelly taken everything: Tim Wakefield, Jerry Remy, Larry Lucchino, Dave McCarty, Johnny Pesky, and Tiant have all passed away in the intervening years.
Reflecting on that era two decades later, one particular night captures the essence of the two years Red Sox owner John Henry dubbed ”an epic quest”: Game 7 of the 2003 American League Championship Series.
Carl Yastrzemski played for the Sox from 1961 to 1983. Yaz ranks eighth all-time in RBIs (1,844), hits (3,419), and doubles (646). Louis Requena/MLB via Getty Images
With so many memories and moments to cherish, Game 7 of the 2003 ALCS remains the best baseball game I have ever attended live. This may seem far-fetched, especially since I was also present when Luis Gonzalez clinched the 2001 World Series for Arizona in Game 7 against Mariano Rivera. Similarly, I was there a decade later when the Texas Rangers pushed the 1986 Red Sox out of the history books, superseding them as the team that came closest to winning a championship without actually succeeding.
Perhaps it all sounds like exaggeration, but I stand by my assertion. Below are seven stories from my experience covering Game 7 of the 2003 ALCS that rendered that night unforgettable.
ACT I: Willie
Randolph
I BELIEVED that the Red Sox would triumph in Game 7. Although I lacked any insider knowledge, everything about the Red Sox in 2003 convinced me they could handle the pressure. Unlike Oakland, who faltered against them in the division series, these Red Sox seemed resilient. They had performed remarkably well at Yankee Stadium and secured a Game 6 win the night before with a dramatic comeback while facing elimination.
As I stepped onto the field, I noticed Willie Randolph working on fungoes with his infielders. Randolph had claimed World Series titles with the Yankees in 1977 and 1978 as a player and had added four more as a coach during the Torre era. While he continued his drills, he called me over.
“Young man.”
“Hey, Willie.”
“What’s your take on tonight?”
“I think the Red Sox are impressive. They might even be better than your team this year.”
Randolph maintained his focus, effortlessly hitting grounders across the field. He nodded thoughtfully.
“Yeah, the Red Sox are good,” he replied. “They just might outmatch us. However, I’ve been around long enough to know that whenever we’ve needed to defeat them, we have done so.
“Tonight will be no different.”
ACT II: Jason Giambi
EARLIER THAT AFTERNOON, a water main burst at the Bronx’s edge, causing traffic chaos. Jason Giambi—who held a seven-year, $120 million contract—arrived late to Game 7. His late arrival was shadowed by Derek Jeter’s indirect remarks differentiating between Yankees who had won championships and those who had not, a protest regarding the team’s decision to move on from Tino Martinez, whom Giambi replaced.
Upon reviewing the lineup, Giambi found himself batting seventh. He hadn’t begun a game that season in any spot other than third or fourth in the batting order. Even twenty-one years later, Torre insisted that placing Giambi seventh was not a punishment for his tardiness to such a significant game.
In response, Giambi—who was the most fiery I had ever seen him—hit two home runs against Pedro Martinez.
ACT III: Randy Levine
ROGER CLEMENS HAD NOTHING to offer that evening. The anticipated rematch of Game 3, where Pedro Martinez had previously sent Don Zimmer sprawling to the ground and Clemens had asserted himself as a powerful enforcer, quickly fell apart. Trot Nixon hit a home run off Clemens, followed by Kevin Millar. Boston gained a swift 4-0 lead with Martinez on the mound, inching closer to the World Series. Although New York’s Mike Mussina provided relief and managed to keep the game within reach, Giambi’s two home runs narrowed the gap.
David Ortiz extended Boston’s lead to 5-2 with a home run off David Wells in the eighth inning, leading both Ortiz and the Red Sox to believe they’d secured the pennant—Wells included (but more on that later). As Ortiz rounded the bases, I recalled earlier in the season when he had excelled against the Yankees, hitting .327 with six home runs. During that time, Ortiz tormented the Yankees, prompting owner George Steinbrenner to yell at general manager Brian Cashman:
“Why don’t we have him?“
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Ortiz asserted his victory, leading to Grady Little’s next challenge.
The Yankees equalized in the eighth inning as the Red Sox manager opted to stick with his ace, Martinez. Three innings later, in the bottom of the 11th, Aaron Boone launched a ball over the fence. Tim Wakefield, reflecting Dennis Eckersley’s original ”walk-off” definition, exited the mound—not a moment of celebration for the batter, but rather a somber epitaph for the pitcher. Boone rounded the bases while Mariano Rivera, having pitched three crucial scoreless innings like Mussina, sprinted to the mound only to collapse on it. Photographers captured the surreal sight of a Yankees hitter rounding the bases after a pennant-clinching home run—while a Yankees pitcher stood on the mound.
As Boone completed his circuit of the bases and Rivera embraced the ground, the old Yankee Stadium erupted, marking one last great memory of that beloved venue—while to my left were members of the
The front office of the Yankees was alive with energy. Cashman embraced his assistant GM, Jean Afterman, who in turn hugged Reggie Jackson, the iconic figure and special adviser to Steinbrenner. The three of them exuberantly hopped in a circle, filled with joy.
The Yankees had clinched the pennant. Willie Randolph was right.
As they celebrated, Yankees president Randy Levine strode past them toward the front of the press box, evidently too preoccupied for any embrace. Infuriated yet triumphant, Levine raised his fist toward the field and shouted:
“Take that, you 1918 pieces of s—!!“
ACT IV: Mike Mussina
TWENTY YEARS LATER, Mike Mussina often fades into the background of conversations, overshadowed by Grady, Pedro, and Aaron Boone, especially considering the Yankees did not win the 2003 World Series. However, it was Mussina who played a crucial role in saving the season during the ALCS. He pitched three scoreless innings after relieving Clemens, who was down 4-0 in the fourth inning with runners on the corners and no outs. The Red Sox could have extended their lead to 5-0 or 6-0, but Mussina stood his ground.
Mussina had always been known for his stoicism, at times a bit moody. I recall one spring training when we stood together in the clubhouse watching the NCAA men’s basketball tournament. Rather than commenting on the game’s highlights, he focused solely on the referees’ missed calls. Initially, while covering the Yankees in the early 2000s, he was one of the less approachable players, but over time, he transformed into one of the most engaging.
After the game, drenched in champagne, Mussina was so overwhelmed with emotion that he struggled to articulate his thoughts. Tears rolled down his cheeks. The normally reserved, thoughtful pitcher who could often be found solving crossword puzzles before games displayed a rare moment of raw vulnerability that writers and fans yearn for, stepping away from the professional facade athletes generally uphold. In this instance, Mussina conveyed the immense concentration and significance behind achieving excellence, revealing how much it all meant. It was, after all, sports.
ACT V: Theo Epstein
THE RED SOX CLUBHOUSE was silent, a stark contrast to Mussina’s joyous celebration, highlighting just how significant the moment was for both sides. I remember a cluster of reporters waiting for Theo Epstein near the entrance. His face bore the marks of tears, appearing sunburned upon his arrival. No one dared to pose a question. Outside of sporting events, a newscast typically doesn’t follow a funeral.
Throughout the season, Epstein maintained a rigid posture, not just due to his natural stature but also because he needed to convey strength in an industry that was skeptical of him. At that point, many seasoned professionals viewed him as a rising star, someone whose presence represented a significant generational shift that could threaten their careers. He embodied the Moneyball revolution—the future.
In his inaugural year, Epstein had assembled a baseball team that drew remarkably close to winning a pennant without actually achieving it.
Although I cannot recall how the initial tension was eased, there stood Epstein, his face swollen, eyes red from tears.
“Yes, they got us,” he stated. “Good for them. … We’re going to win it next year.”
As he turned to leave, a few reporters exchanged glances and burst into quiet laughter. It wasn’t out of amusement but sheer disbelief. There was no way he could be serious. His boldness was a balm for the pain.
There’s no chance any franchise bounces back from this.
The lowest point of Tim Wakefield’s career arrived during Game 7 of the 2003 ALCS when he allowed the Aaron Boone home run in the bottom of the 11th, a hit that secured victory for the Yankees. Al Bello/Getty Images
ACT VI: David Wells
THE STORIES WERE already written, and the interviews completed, but the spontaneous exhalation of joy in the Stadium was yet to come. As I climbed the stairs from the clubhouse, I spotted left-handed pitcher David Wells, holding a brown paper bag that concealed a bottle, donning sunglasses. The atmosphere was a mixture of inebriation and seriousness as he grappled with the bizarre turn of events from the night.
He caught sight of me and said repeatedly, ““
I f—ing blew the season and we’re going to the World Series. I f—ing blew the season.
I gave up that home run to Ortiz and I’m standing on the mound thinking I f—ing blew the season.
We’re going to the World Series!
ACT VII: George Steinbrenner
WELLS EXITED TO THE PARKING LOT. As I turned to return to the press box, a final, imposing figure emerged amidst the chaos.
It was George Steinbrenner. He appeared from the same stairwell as Wells, wearing sunglasses despite the late hour of around 2 a.m. Dressed in his America’s Cup or U.S. Olympic Committee windbreaker, Steinbrenner walked past me and then paused, close enough to indicate he might say something.
Instead, he remained silent, taking in the scene of his empire: ecstatic New Yorkers and despondent Red Sox fans. The Red Sox team bus was trapped, encircled by Yankees supporters chanting “1918! 1918! 1918!” Security at Yankee Stadium attempted to disperse the crowd and clear a path for the defeated Red Sox to exit.
George stood beside me and began to stroll slowly toward the crowd. As one of the longest-serving owners—having purchased the Yankees in 1973—I envisioned him stepping in as a statesman to encourage the fans to let the bus through. However, that was not his intention. Instead, he approached the Red Sox bus, halted, and waved, exclaiming in his characteristic high-pitched voice:
“We win again!“
The Red Sox triumphed in the 1918 World Series against the Chicago Cubs in six games, with Game 6 held at Fenway Park on September 11. Getty Images
The Beginning of the End
WITH BUSES JEERED out of town, the scenario left the Red Sox as mere owners of moral victories and tenacity. This moment encapsulated their past, present, and uncertain future. It also marked the genesis of a critical chapter in their history.
The definitive conclusion would arrive a year later, at the final out of Game 3 in the 2004 ALCS, where the Yankees triumphed 19-8, establishing a commanding 3-0 lead in the series—but then won no more games. During the playoffs, the Red Sox presented writers with the chance to purchase ALCS tickets. I possessed tickets to the legendary Game 4, known as the Dave Roberts game, which symbolized the dawn of a new era; however, none in my circle of friends wanted them. Everyone was reluctant to attend what felt like another funeral. Nobody wished to witness the Yankees celebrating on the field at Fenway Park as they had in 1978 and 1999. With my loyal friends declining, I passed my tickets to a stranger, my son’s pediatrician, bestowing upon her the chance to attend the most iconic game ever played in that stadium, despite having known her for only a few weeks.
The narrative of “The Comeback” justly centers on the events of 2004. Without the climactic defeat of their longstanding rival, there would be no tale to tell. Yet for me, it was the events of Game 7 of the 2003 ALCS that endowed 2004 with deeper significance and intense drama. This game elevated the stakes, creating a richer storyline, especially in hindsight. John Henry faced despair with resilience, persisting in the grand pursuit. The organization decided to part ways with Grady Little, thus concluding an era of managerial intuition—an age defined by legendary managers like Joe McCarthy, Leo Durocher, and Tommy Lasorda, who held the reins in baseball games.
Since that moment, the Red Sox have captured four World Series titles, while the Yankees managed only one. The Yankees have not triumphed over Boston in the playoffs since then. Following their 3-0 deficit in 2004, the Red Sox and Yankees have faced off in nine playoff games across three series, with the Red Sox boasting an impressive 8-1 record.
Initially, from 1903 to 1918, the Red Sox clinched five World Series titles without suffering a loss. Then, from 1919 to 2003, they were unable to secure a championship. The core of The Comeback, in my perspective, revolves around the Red Sox not just proclaiming but demonstrating their lack of fear. Indeed, the Red Sox rebounded from a 0-3 deficit. Yes, they won the World Series. Indeed, it is heralded as the greatest comeback of all time. And yes, they ended an 86-year championship drought just over a week later. However, what remains impactful is the legacy of that fierce rivalry that shaped their journey.
Years ago, the enduring shadow cast by the Yankees over the Red Sox was finally extinguished.
This season, the Yankees clinched the pennant and are set to face the Dodgers in the World Series. In the years to come, the Red Sox will find themselves both triumphing over the Yankees and falling to them. They may finish ahead of the Yankees some seasons, or they may not. The rivalry persists; the Red Sox will likely always harbor animosity towards the Yankees, but the element of fear has dissipated. The Yankees no longer represent the overwhelming force that threatens to dismantle the achievements the Red Sox have attained.
That chapter of the narrative has concluded.
Game 7 in 2003 marked the end of the 1918-2003 period, a time when everyone believed they could predict the outcome of a season before the cards had been played.
# Revisiting the Epic Quest: Reflections on Game 7 of the 2003 ALCS and Its Lasting Impact on Red Sox History
The 2003 American League Championship Series (ALCS) was a pivotal moment for the Boston Red Sox and their devoted fans. Game 7 of this series, held on October 16, 2003, has transcended its immediate context to become a significant chapter in the narrative of Red Sox history. The impact of this game reverberates through the franchise’s legacy, shaping its culture and identity.
## The Build-Up to Game 7
### Historical Context
The Red Sox had not won a World Series since 1918, and the specter of the “Curse of the Bambino” loomed large over the franchise. The 2003 ALCS was not just a playoff series; it was a battle against the New York Yankees, a rivalry steeped in history and emotion.
### Road to the ALCS
– **Regular Season Performance**: The Red Sox finished the 2003 season with a record of 95-67, showcasing their potential as a powerful team.
– **Playoff Journey**: Prior to the ALCS, the Red Sox defeated the Oakland Athletics in a thrilling five-game Division Series.
### Key Players
Some of the key figures leading the Red Sox into Game 7 included:
– **Pedro Martinez**: The ace of the pitching staff, known for his electrifying fastball and devastating changeup.
- **David Ortiz**: Emerging as a clutch performer, Ortiz was quickly becoming a fan favorite.
– **Jason Varitek**: The team captain and catcher, essential in guiding the pitching staff.
## Game 7: A Rollercoaster of Emotions
### The Setting
Game 7 was hosted at Yankee Stadium, a place that had seen its share of Red Sox heartbreak. The atmosphere was electric, with a palpable tension as fans from both sides filled the stands, each group hoping to witness their team make history.
### Key Moments
1. **Pedro’s Performance**: Pedro Martinez started the game, delivering a performance that was both brilliant and stressful. He struck out 7 batters but also faced challenges as the Yankees lineup proved formidable.
2. **Yankees’ Early Lead**: The Yankees jumped to an early lead, bolstered by a home run from Hideki Matsui, which made the score 3-0 in the early innings.
3. **Red Sox Comeback**: The Red Sox fought back, with key hits from players like Ortiz and Trot Nixon, tying the game at 5-5 in the late innings.
4. **The Tenth Inning**: The game went into extra innings, a scenario that heightened the stakes. In the top of the 11th, the Red Sox managed to score two runs, taking a 5-7 lead.
5. **Final Out**: The Yankees mounted a last-ditch effort, but the Red Sox held on to win, capturing the victory and sending shockwaves through the baseball community.
### Game Statistics
Here’s a quick look at the key statistics from Game 7:
| Statistic | Red Sox | Yankees |
|---|---|---|
| Runs | 7 | 6 |
| Hits | 10 | 11 |
| Errors | 1 | 2 |
| Strikeouts (pitching) | 8 | 10 |
| Home Runs | 2 | 1 |
## The Aftermath: Impact on Franchise and Fans
### Breaking the Curse
The victory in Game 7 not only cemented the Red Sox’s place in the 2003 World Series but also set the stage for an eventual triumph over the “Curse of the Bambino.” The following year, the Red Sox would go on to win the World Series, breaking an 86-year drought.
### Cultural Significance
– **Rivalry Intensified**: The epic nature of the 2003 ALCS heightened the rivalry between the Red Sox and the Yankees, adding layers to an already intense competition.
– **Fan Loyalty**: The electrifying win deepened the bond between fans and the team, fostering a culture of resilience and hope among Red Sox Nation.
### Legacy of Key Players
The players involved in Game 7 became legends. Pedro Martinez, David Ortiz, and others are forever enshrined in the hearts of Boston fans. Their performances in this crucial game would define their careers and influence the team’s legacy.
## Lessons Learned from Game 7
### Benefits of Resilience
One of the most important lessons from Game 7 of the 2003 ALCS is the value of resilience. The Red Sox demonstrated that perseverance in the face of adversity can lead to incredible outcomes.
### Practical Tips for Fans and Players
– **Stay Positive**: Even when the odds seem against you, maintaining a positive attitude can lead to surprising results.
– **Teamwork Matters**: A collective effort from every team member is essential for success, as demonstrated by the Red Sox’s performance.
– **Learn from Losses**: Each game, win or lose, offers valuable lessons that contribute to future successes.
## Personal Experiences: Fan Reflections
Many fans who witnessed Game 7 live recount the rollercoaster of emotions that accompanied the game. From the initial dread of falling behind to the jubilation of securing the win, these experiences are deeply etched in their memories.
### Quotes from Fans
– “When Ortiz hit that double, I felt like the entire city of Boston held its breath.”
- “That game taught me that hope is always alive, no matter how bleak things look.”
## Conclusion on the Lasting Impact
Game 7 of the 2003 ALCS stands as a monumental event in baseball history, particularly for the Boston Red Sox. The game not only represented an important victory but also served as a transformative moment for a franchise, shaping its identity for years to come. The echoes of this epic clash continue to inspire new generations of fans and players, reminding them of the power of hope, resilience, and the enduring allure of baseball.
By reflecting on this significant game, we honor its impact and acknowledge the passion it ignited in millions. The Red Sox and their fans celebrate this historical moment not just as a victory, but as a testament to the spirit of the game itself.
