The Two Worst Sports Games of My Life!!!

After coming off what was probably one of the most amazing weeks I’ve ever had (golfing Pebble Beach, followed by my Vegas Bachelor Party), along with what will be the greatest day of my life coming up (my pending nuptials – about two months out), and one-year removed from the greatest sports day of my life (Giants winning the World Series), I’ve been pretty lucky throughout the course of my life.  Not a lot of "worst" days in my short life.  But while listening to the Grant Napier Show on the radio today, the topic was “the worst sports game of your life?”  These are games that just make you sick to your stomach and even throw up in your own month.  Just seeing the replay of the highlights makes you want to throw the remote through the TV, again.  They are burned and etched into your memory. 

When posing the question to myself, I started to think about it and there are two games that without question stick out the most in my head.  While I try to be original with my blog posts, I thought this was too good of a topic to not keep alive and also became curious about other people's worst sports game.  Here are my 1 and 2a and 2b (2a and 2b will come tomorrow) worst sports games of my life. 

Game 1 - Game 6 of the 2002 World Series, San Francisco Giants v. Anaheim Angels.  Giants lose 6-5. 

10-12 people were crammed into my 8 x 12 dorm room with one futon and a 20 inch TV.  Cans of silver bullets were being shared, calming nerves but spirits still high.  The Giants had a 3-2 series lead going into game 6.  With one victory, they would be crowned World Champs, a first since moving to San Francisco.  The setting was perfect for an eruption of celebration.  Made up of mostly Giants fans, my packed dorm room was electric.  The atmosphere felt like a stadium of 40,000.  We were determined to bring home the championship.  

The game started out being somewhat subdued, as through 4 innings it looked like a pitchers duel between the Giants starting pitcher Russ Ortiz and the Angels Kevin Appier.  In the 5th inning however, the game broke open as the Giants scored 3 runs off of a Shawon Dunston (Giants designated hitter) 2-run homer run and Giants center fielder Kenny Lofton hitting a double to deep center field and then eventually scoring on a wild pitch.  Giants would go up 3-0 and Russ Ortiz was cursing.  In the following two inning, GOD Wears 25 (Barry Bonds, left fielder) would hit a home run off of Angels reliever Francisco Rodriguez and then that next inning, second baseman Jeff Kent would single home Kenny Lofton to put the Giants up 5-0 going into the bottom of the 7th inning.  Then; tragedy!!

During the commercial break between the top and bottom of the 7th inning, some other diehard Giants' fans and I would begin to map out where we felt the Giants World Series parade would start and finish, where we would position ourselves on the route, and what day and time the parade would be on, so that we could ditch class and go to San Francisco for the festivities.  The confidence level in that room was so high that Prop. 19 users would be jealous.  The bottom of the 7th started off fine with Russ Ortiz getting Angels left fielder Garrett Anderson to ground out to second base for the first out.  Then, Angels third baseman Troy Glaus and designated hitter Brad Fullmer would go back-to-back singles, leaving Giants' manager Dusty Baker to make a discussion that would live in Giants infamy.  Dusty would pull starting pitcher Russ Ortiz from the game in favor of bullpen reliever Felix Rodriguez.  Upon Russ Ortiz leaving the pitcher's mound, Dusty Baker would pull him back after taking a couple of steps, and hand him the game ball in his mitt for keeping.  Strike one.

During the pitching change, the Anaheim Angels thought it would be a perfect time to unleash their symbolic good luck charm, that freaking Rally Monkey.  Throughout the latter part of the Angels' regular season and carrying into the postseason, the Angels had adopted what they would call, "The Rally Monkey," as their good luck, comeback charm.  They would employ it whenever they needed a comeback and or felt that the tide of the game was changing in their favor.  This was that moment. 

Subsequently, a toy stuffed monkey had made its way into my dorm room during the World Series, and prior to the game, we had ceremonially killed and buried it under pillows.  During the pitching change, a person who shall remain nameless and is dead to me, decided to unearth the monkey, and play with it as if he were a 4 year old.  Sternly, I tell him to put away the monkey, as I am a very superstitious human being.  He reneged on the request and brushed it off as if I were a crazy person to think that a stuffed toy monkey could change the course of the World Series.  I let it slide for the moment and wait to see if just maybe the Giants were bigger and more powerful.  I was dead wrong.  After an 8 pitch at-bat, on a 3-2 count, Angels first baseman Scott Spiezio would 9-iron a slide in the dirt over the right field fence for a 3-run homer.  As Spiezio would round the bases, I would rip the stuffed toy monkey from said person's hands and unleash a fury of words and obscenities at this person that the FCC would have a field day fining me.  I also throw him out of the room and continued to yell at him some more as he walked back down the hall.  Strike Two.

The following inning, the Giants would retire in order, still up 5-3.  Hope remains, but doubt has succumbed over the room.  Giants reliever Tim Worrell was brought in to face Angels center fielder Darin Erstad, and like dooms day clockwork, Worrell gives up a solo home run to him to lead off the inning.  Rage is starting to bubble within myself.  After giving up a single to right fielder Tim Salmons and another to Garrett Anderson, Giants closer Rob Nen is summoned from the bullpen in an act of desperation and hopefully prevent the runners on base from scoring.  My fingers start to move up and down frantically as the cold silver bullets used to calm the nerves have rapidly wore off.  Hope is fading.  Nen would give up a double to Troy Glaus, scoring both runners, and giving the Angels a 6-5 lead.  Outburst would ensue.  Losing my mind and becoming a shell of myself, I grab the first thing I see, which happens to be my alarm clock, grab said alarm clock by the cord and rip it from the wall and outlet, and fling the clock down the hall and into a solid brick wall, shattering it into pierces.  Strike Three.  Oh, I'm not done!!!

The inning would end with the Angels now leading 6-5, and their closer, Troy Percival, greased up and ready to go.  What little hope remained, quickly vanishes as he retired the Giants in order in the top of the 9th inning, ending the game.  Still in my fit of rage, I leave my dorm room and occupants in silences.  I see my alarm clock, still at the base of the brick wall.  I pick up the only piece still attached to the cord, move my hands down to where the cord is located, grab it by the chord, and begin repeatedly swinging the remains of my alarm clock against the brick wall, yelling obscenities at the top of my lungs.  Seeing that I'm not making any progress, I take it then to my neighbor's door (well, he lived across from me), and began hitting his door with the remains of my clock.  After getting tired of swinging the remains by the chord, I tie the remains of my clock to his door knob using the chord, and begin kicking the remains with my foot against his door.  Still yelling obscenities, I walk down the hall, still looking to give it to the person who unveiled the monkey from the pillows and started this whole disaster.  After being extremely calmed down, I begin to start breathing again.  

After this whole spectacle was over and the dust and obscenities were settled, someone had the nerve to remind me that there is still a Game 7.  But to me, the series was already over.  I knew what the outcome of that Game 7 would already be.  The next day, the Giants would go on to lose Game 7 by a score of 4-1, also losing the World Series.             

Tomorrow, I will unveil my second worst sports game / day of my life.  

Mr. Armchair Speaking