My Red Sox finally didn't blow their chance for a ring

The Curse of the Bambino is over. The dark, ominous clouds that had been hanging over the Boston Red Sox organization are now gone. It is a thing of the past.

When first baseman Doug Mientkiewicz squeezed the underhanded toss from closer Keith Foulke, 86 years of frustration flew out the window.

With that throw, which seemed to take 86 seconds to reach its destination (by the way, Manny, this is the proper use of the word), I fell to the ground and tears of joy and relief streamed down my face.

They had done it. We had done it.

We stared a 3-0 deficit to the New York Yankees in the ALCS in the face and fought it off. We looked at a 105-win Cardinals squad and didn't flinch.

It was a magical ride that brought peace to an entire nation — Red Sox Nation. The names Babe, Bucky, Buckner, and Boone can now finally become things of the past. Let's take a look back at the roller coaster ride that was the 2004 Boston Red Sox postseason run.

The Red Sox stormed into Yankee Stadium on Tuesday, Oct. 12 confident that this was the year they were going to finally exorcise all of the curses that hung over that franchise. They finally had better pitching, better defense, and a comparable offense. They were ready to fight both the Yankees and 86 years of history.

Approximately 28 hours later, the city of Boston was teetering on the edge of disaster. Twice the hated Yankees had shot down our beloved baseball team. Our star pitcher, Curt Schilling — the savior who had been brought in solely to beat the Yankees — had been shelled for six runs in only three innings. It was unlikely he would pitch again in the playoffs. We knew that to battle back from a 2-0 deficit was going to be incredibly difficult. There were some of us who kept faith, however, and remarkably I was one of them.

A large part of that was due to the forecasted rain out of game three, which was originally scheduled for Friday, Oct. 15. The rain out meant that Pedro Martinez would start a potential game five in Fenway Park instead of making his next start in the Bronx.

The hope didn't last long however. At the halfway point of game three, the Red Sox found themselves trailing the Yankees 11-6. Fenway Park was as silent as I've ever heard it. After the top of the seventh inning, with the Yankees leading 15-6, Boston faithful headed for the exits.

This series was over. I believed it, the media believed it, and the Yankees believed it.

Someone apparently forgot to give the Red Sox that memo. Johnny Damon was one of the last Boston players to leave the clubhouse after Game Three. A writer noted that Damon had a remarkably calm expression on his face. Without being asked, Johnny offered the following question: "How many times this year did we win four games in a row?" In fact, the Red Sox had won at least four games in a row eight different times during the season. The Sox players believed it was that simple.

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The next four nights were perhaps the most stressful nights of my life. The drama that accompanied each pitch was beyond anything that I had known before. Despite the midterms that were coming up later that week, everyone was drawn to the drama that was unfolding at Fenway. Boston pitcher Derek Lowe was forced into the starting role because Tim Wakefield had been used up in the Game 3 blowout. He was facing the Yankees best pitcher down the stretch, Orlando "El Duque" Hernandez, who was coming off an injury.

The Sox stormed to a 3-2 lead thanks to a two-run single by David Ortiz. The Yanks responded with two of their own in the top of the sixth. The scored remained 4-3 as the game entered the bottom of the ninth.

On the mound for the Yankees, the best postseason reliever of all time, Mariano Rivera – three outs away from driving a stake through the heart of the Red Sox.

Kevin Millar walks. Dave Roberts steals second when everyone in the entire stadium knew he was running. Bill Mueller shows bunt on the first pitch, and then smacks the third one past Rivera into center field. Roberts scores from second. Tie game.

We know what happens then. The Sox bullpen comes up huge once again. They get it to the bottom of the 12th without allowing a run, when David Ortiz steps in with one on and nobody out against Paul Quantrill. Four pitches later, a ball sails over Sheffield's head and the Sox are back in the Series.

If we thought Game Four was bad for our health, Five was even worse — a 14-inning marathon where each pitch seemed like the deciding moment of the whole season.

Once again the Sox are down near the end, trailing 4-2 going into the bottom of the eighth. We have to deal with Tom Gordon, and we know that the Sandman is waiting in the Yankee bullpen.

In the past 86 years, the Yankees have never lost this game. They have always had the killer instinct, especially against the Sox. But now, Ortiz leads off with a monster home run off the Volvo sign above the Monster. Then the Sox load the bases with no outs, and Jason Varitek ties the game with a sacrifice fly off Rivera.

You knew the cosmic forces were even more out of whack in the bottom of the ninth. Ruben Sierra drew a two-out walk for New York and Tony Clark followed with a ground-rule double to the right field corner. The ball cleared the fence by about an inch. If it doesn't, Sierra scores the potential winning run. Instead, Miguel Cairo pops out with two on to end the inning.

As if these last two days weren't enough, we then get the gutsiest postseason performance since Kirk Gibson in 1985, and his was just one at bat. Schilling was pitching thanks to an out of this world medical procedure and he gave Boston seven innings of one-run ball. This could be the defining performance of a whole new generation of baseball fans.

There were more signs that the apocalypse was nearing. The umpires actually corrected two calls that had wrongly gone in favor of the Yankees. They rightfully awarded Mark Bellhorn with a three-run homer in the fourth, and they properly called out Ms. Alex Rodriguez for interference in the eighth after he slapped the ball out of the glove of Boston's Bronson Arroyo.

Quick side note: Notice how it took only one year in New York for the country to realize that Rodriguez is a classless, spoiled brat (this is the clean version of what I wanted to say). I never thought I'd write this, but he should learn from Derek Jeter.

Finally we arrive at Game Seven. Derek Lowe again pitched himself to a big payday in the offseason with a gutsy performance on two days' rest. The Sox shelled Yankee pitchers Kevin Brown and Javier Vasquez.

The game highlighted why the Sox were the better team in the ALCS. In the end they had more reliable starting pitching. They had an offense that could play small ball (Roberts' steal and score in game four) and bat the ball out of the park (Bellhorn and Damon each go deep twice).

And while I don't know what this is actually worth, the Sox were definitely a more connected team. The Yankees and Red Sox are both a collection of purchased talent. Thanks to Millar and Manny Ramirez, however, the Sox became a team and the Yankees remained a collection of individuals.

Bring on the Cardinals. Time to put the Babe to rest once and for all. Time to forget about '46, '67, '75, '86, which were all seven-game World Series losses.

From the beginning this series lacked the drama of the ALCS. Against the Yankees, my emotions were hanging on every pitch. Every time the Yankees scored a run, I thought the world was coming to an end. While the pressure was certainly present against the Cardinals, the Sox had already exorcised many of their postseason demons.

In addition, while I was never going to admit it while the series was going on to avoid jinxing the team, my gut told me that the Sox were going to win this series.

The Cardinals starting pitching was suspect. They were missing their best starting pitcher from the regular season, Chris Carpenter, and they thus sent out a rotation of Woody Williams, Matt Morris, Jeff Suppan, and Jason Marquis. In addition, none of these hurlers are power pitchers, which are the ones that give the Sox the most trouble. They are not able to blow hitters away, and against a patient Red Sox squad, this was not a good matchup.

In addition, heading into the World Series, the top of the Sox lineup finally started to hit. Damon and Bellhorn were getting on base, setting up Ramirez and Ortiz with RBI opportunities.

Finally, the Sox pitching staff had stepped up in the final four games of the ALCS, shutting down a loaded Yankee lineup. They had the hottest, albeit overused, closer in the game in Foulke. Lowe showed signs of overcoming his terrible month of September and Schilling looked good after his medical miracle.

In the end, Boston proved to be the best team in major league baseball. They dominated the Cardinals in every aspect of the game.

In games one and two they showed their patience at the plate, drawing a total of 14 walks. Even when Cardinal pitchers got ahead in counts, which was not often, the Sox were able to foul pitches off and prolong at bats. This led to high pitch counts and the Red Sox hitters were able to get a good read on pitches.

Boston pitchers were able to stifle the Cards offense by doing exactly the opposite. They consistently got ahead in counts and were able to get St. Louis' vaunted hitters to chase breaking pitches out of the strike zone. This was exemplified by an at bat by Albert Pujols against Lowe in Game Four. He weakly chased a breaking pitch that started at the outside corner and ended up almost a foot off the zone.

The Sox were also able to make timely pitches, squashing the few scoring chances the Cards had in the series. On the other hand, the Sox scored all six of their runs in Game Two with two outs.

In the end, the fact that the Sox were a well-rounded club spelled doom for both the Cards and Yanks.

Boston played small ball when necessary — they worked counts, stole bases, and advanced runners – while complimenting this with a dose of home-run ball. Add a dominant pitching effort and one gets a record eight straight postseason wins and an end to 86 years of frustration and futility.

In the end, Manny summed it up much better than I could. "I believe you make your own destination."

Destination indeed, Manny.