#90. Game Seven (Sunday, October 26, 1997)

What was your best day…of witnessing a new kind of high drama?

The two most beautiful words in sports, and – in my book at least – among the two most beautiful words ever.

To this day, there’s something about the confluence of rarity, built-up tension, and high stakes of a Game 7¹ that hits me in a particularly special spot. If there’s a Game 7 going on – in baseball, hockey, or basketball – I’m pausing whatever else is going on in my life and putting my full attention on it. The ability to watch a Game 7 is one of the truly great things that life has bestowed upon me.

And if it’s a finals, then we’re talking another level. And if it’s the World Series… forget about it.

And all of that stems from one night when I was seven.

The unusual circumstances around this night only add to its effect on me all of these years. It was the night before the start of a two-week teacher’s strike in our province, and I didn’t yet know how to feel about the prospect of just sudden complete freedom from school. Except it was new, and exciting, and I was all for it. In addition, one of my earliest other sports memories occurred earlier that very same day: Canadian Jacques Villeneuve sliding in third at the European Grand Prix to clinch the World Championship over Michael Schumacher (thanks to a controversial collision between them that knocked the latter out of the race).²

So the stage was set for the deciding game of the 1997 World Series between the Cleveland Indians and Florida Marlins (both defunct names now). Earlier that season, I had started watching Blue Jays games with my dad and had picked up most of the basic rules; and I’d been watching the playoffs off and on that year, grasping most of their significance despite my young age. I saw all of Game 6: happy that Cleveland had won (was cheering for American League because of Blue Jays), and that there would be one more game to watch. One more game, for all the marbles.

My mom or dad must have said something about how special this was, because I recall being more excited in the game’s lead-up than any seven-year-old not watching their favorite team should be. And as first pitch neared at 7:30, with our TV in the bedroom, and me with my spot staked out on the big bed with permission to stay up as late as I wanted (there was no school tomorrow after all!), I was ready to go.

The detailed pitch-by-pitch I’ve long forgotten, though I can still feel the air of tension that emanated through every moment of that game. Like I was in another dimension, where things were actually life-or-death, unlike the trivial stuff I’d been dealing with in my kid life to that point. (I would have to say the unique gravitas-inducing intonation of play-by-play man Bob Costas also added to this feeling; and to date he remains my favorite announcer.)

I can recall the two-run hit by Cleveland to give them the early lead, as well as them holding on to that lead for seemingly forever. My memory must have gone foggy as the hours stretched way past my bedtime, as my recollection was that Cleveland had a 2-0 lead going into the ninth when Bobby Bonilla homered on the first pitch to make it a one-run game. (It was actually the seventh.)

Then, an instant later (in my mind at least), the Marlins had tied it. Cleveland had just blown a late two-run lead in Game 7 of the World Series. Even me in that moment could appreciate how devastating that was.³

So the game went on into extra innings. Extra innings, in Game 7. Even as I was starting to fall out of consciousness and doze off, I could sense how significant it was. (In hindsight, my half-conscious state through the latter part of the game only further imprinted this whole surreal experience in my memory.) But time was running out for seven-year-old me. And when Cleveland ended the top half of the 10th without scoring, that was it for me.

I fell asleep, missing Edgar Renteria’s dramatic walk-off hit in the 11th to win the championship for the Marlins.

Just to add to the surrealness of that night, I didn’t even find out how it all unfolded (or even that the Marlins had won⁴) until a good half year after.⁵ The excitement from just watching my first ever Game 7, let alone a World Series Game 7, was good enough for me.

Game 5s of a five-game series don’t have nearly as much of all three, so they don’t count. Though I have also seen my share of memorable Game 5s as well (#97).
Interestingly, that moment represented the peak of my interest in Formula One (or any form of race car driving) and I held literally no interest in that for the rest of my life. While my interest in baseball was just getting started…
I apologize to all Cleveland Guardians fans reading this.
I recall my dad quickly mentioning something about how Florida won the next morning, but he said it in a way that I didn’t actually believe him until they showed a replay on TV several months later.
This was all before the internet, mind you.