i had that poster too. i wish i still kept all of my ols a's memorabilia. i think i still have a grip of pins and baseball cards of course, but i used to have a ton of posters that i just threw away.
NOW WE ARE TALKING ABOUT THE A'S CHOKING HERE, NOT THE RED SOX. THAT IS OLD NEWS. NOBODY WANTS ANOTHER RED SOX CHOKE THREAD....
but I will delight in watching it happen
Actually I posted the Hendu in Sox gear because he represents one of the greatest pre-2004 Red Sox non-[/b]choke moments - the home run he hit against Anaheim in the 1986 ALCS:
When the curtain rolls up for Game 5 of the ALCS on October 12, Henderson is in his usual place -- on the bench. But when Tony Armas, the Red Sox' starting center fielder, suffers a leg injury, manager John McNamara has no alternative but to call on the least effective player on his roster: Dave Henderson.
Shortly after Henderson's entrance, disaster strikes for him and for Boston: the Angels' Bobby Grich launches a deep drive to center field that Henderson snags on the run. But when he slams into the wall, the ball comes loose and drops over the fence for a two-run home run that gives the Angels a 3-2 lead. "I wanted to bury myself," Henderson says.
When Henderson walks to the plate to face Moore in the ninth, the Angels are just one out away from a 5-4 win, the Sox have a runner on base, and the stadium is ready to explode in wild celebration. Henderson is in a daze, a confused state of mind. He is also hitless in the series. Moore, meanwhile, is in deep physical pain -- his right shoulder had been injected with a shot of cortisone the day before -- yet his fastball has unusual zip; he is working on pure heart and emotion in the electricity of the moment. His splitter, however, is his out pitch, and because of the shoulder pain, it doesn't have its normal devastating drop.
Henderson feels fortunate to have worked the count to 2-and-2, considering his feeble swings. But then, as Moore spins around and releases another splitter, Henderson's psyche changes. His focus somehow appears, however briefly. As the pitch rolls toward the plate, hanging a bit, Henderson quickly flicks his wrist at a pitch that is down and away. He connects -- solidly. Time freezes. All eyes watch the flight of the ball. The Angels, standing on the top step of the dugout, ready to storm the field in celebration, their necks craned, watch the flight of the ball. This is the defining moment for Henderson, Moore, Angels manager Gene Mauch, and Angels owner Gene Autry, a moment in time that alters careers, franchises and lives.
Just when you think the ball is going to settle into the glove of Angels left fielder Brian Downing, it somehow keeps sailing, as if some force or power is directing it ... and as Downing runs out of room, he buries his face into the outfield wall as the ball descends into the stands. Home run. 6-5, Red Sox.
As a deafening stillness falls over Anaheim, Henderson jumps and twirls his body around in the air in one breathless motion and begins a home-run trot that ultimately turns him into a Boston folk legend.
I snuck into a hella crowded bar in Fanieul Hall Marketplace (I was 16) to watch the end of that game...probably the greatest moment I had as a Sox fan, last year incuded...just the madness of a thousand people all jammed into a little bar, going insane when that ball went out, hugging strangers and dancing on tables...the night they blew game 6 in the 10th, I was smoking weed for the second time in my life and too zooted to care. Hendu lives on.
Comments
HENDU
Going a lil further back...
These two dudes held it down with Ricky back in the day. Tony Armas had a cannon.
The Red Sox never gave Hendu a championship
NOW WE ARE TALKING ABOUT THE A'S CHOKING HERE, NOT THE RED SOX. THAT IS OLD NEWS. NOBODY WANTS ANOTHER RED SOX CHOKE THREAD....
but I will delight in watching it happen
Actually I posted the Hendu in Sox gear because he represents one of the greatest pre-2004 Red Sox non-[/b]choke moments - the home run he hit against Anaheim in the 1986 ALCS:
When the curtain rolls up for Game 5 of the ALCS on October 12, Henderson is in his usual place -- on the bench. But when Tony Armas, the Red Sox' starting center fielder, suffers a leg injury, manager John McNamara has no alternative but to call on the least effective player on his roster: Dave Henderson.
Shortly after Henderson's entrance, disaster strikes for him and for Boston: the Angels' Bobby Grich launches a deep drive to center field that Henderson snags on the run. But when he slams into the wall, the ball comes loose and drops over the fence for a two-run home run that gives the Angels a 3-2 lead. "I wanted to bury myself," Henderson says.
When Henderson walks to the plate to face Moore in the ninth, the Angels are just one out away from a 5-4 win, the Sox have a runner on base, and the stadium is ready to explode in wild celebration. Henderson is in a daze, a confused state of mind. He is also hitless in the series. Moore, meanwhile, is in deep physical pain -- his right shoulder had been injected with a shot of cortisone the day before -- yet his fastball has unusual zip; he is working on pure heart and emotion in the electricity of the moment. His splitter, however, is his out pitch, and because of the shoulder pain, it doesn't have its normal devastating drop.
Henderson feels fortunate to have worked the count to 2-and-2, considering his feeble swings. But then, as Moore spins around and releases another splitter, Henderson's psyche changes. His focus somehow appears, however briefly. As the pitch rolls toward the plate, hanging a bit, Henderson quickly flicks his wrist at a pitch that is down and away. He connects -- solidly. Time freezes. All eyes watch the flight of the ball. The Angels, standing on the top step of the dugout, ready to storm the field in celebration, their necks craned, watch the flight of the ball. This is the defining moment for Henderson, Moore, Angels manager Gene Mauch, and Angels owner Gene Autry, a moment in time that alters careers, franchises and lives.
Just when you think the ball is going to settle into the glove of Angels left fielder Brian Downing, it somehow keeps sailing, as if some force or power is directing it ... and as Downing runs out of room, he buries his face into the outfield wall as the ball descends into the stands. Home run. 6-5, Red Sox.
As a deafening stillness falls over Anaheim, Henderson jumps and twirls his body around in the air in one breathless motion and begins a home-run trot that ultimately turns him into a Boston folk legend.
I snuck into a hella crowded bar in Fanieul Hall Marketplace (I was 16) to watch the end of that game...probably the greatest moment I had as a Sox fan, last year incuded...just the madness of a thousand people all jammed into a little bar, going insane when that ball went out, hugging strangers and dancing on tables...the night they blew game 6 in the 10th, I was smoking weed for the second time in my life and too zooted to care. Hendu lives on.
Whoa that brings back some memories. Not to highjack but I had this one-
And my friend had The Wizard of Boz poster. (brian bosworth raer)