I rarely get to relive those last few days of the ’95 season. I had season tickets which allowed me to be able to see those two games, the Angels and the Yankees. The one of four people who sat in front of us remains on my email list, and I’m going to forward this to him. I can’t recall the exact date when the Angels came to town for the one game play-off. I knew Langston was going to lose. The guy in front said at the start, “We’re going to win this.” I wanted so to believe him. The last pitch, he was done, and people poured out of the stands and raced to get some dirt from the mound. Langston was sitting in the dugout his head down. Then some man next to me kissed me, I’d never seen him before. We got on a bus to go back up town and the whole town was crazy. Our car was parked near the Center, we got off there, the whistles were blowing, cars were honking…all the way up to Queen Anne Hill.
Then the Yankees. I don’t remember anything about the games leading up to the end, but what an end. Griffey on first, Edgar up and Senor Double did it again, I think that’s the way it was. At any rate the ball was hit and Griffey ran faster than he’d ever run before. His legs were a blur. I have a picture I bought later, a photograph of his slide into home plate. In the background, Bobby Walcott, Mike Blowers, the trainer, straight up in the air. I can’t remember the name of the Yankee catcher stretched all the way out. Griffey was in. This time there were police on horseback to keep the crowd back. It was the happiest time of my life. I went home, went to bed, and never closed my eyes until the morning came. I thought there was something wrong with me so I called my Dr.’s office. His nurse said she’d had the same experience.
Much later the man who sat in front of us said, “What if that’s all we’ll ever have.” It turned out to be true.
By Sally Flood