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This was a great group of guys -- a resilient, likable team that almost always came through, just like they proved in Game Six. Switch Grady Little and Joe Torre and the Red Sox win the series. I would rehash the eighth for you, but frankly, I'm not in the mood. Unlike the other devastating losses over the years, you couldn't blame any of the Sox players for losing the series this time around (no, not even Nomar). ) And it weakened my knees like Kerry Wood's curveball. My friends were in disbelief -- it was like Montecore the Tiger was dragging me off the stage. Ten minutes later, I walked through my front door, sat down next to the Sports Gal -- who was dutifully watching the entire game on the sofa -- then watched Aaron Boone crush that Wakefield knuckler into the stands. When Jackson retired, Musburger became the voice of the Rose Bowl, not the smallest of footsteps in which to follow.He did what all the legendary announcers do, wove a storyline, introduced you to the cast — what the player's daddy did, how until junior year in high school some fleet safety had focused more on the trombone than on football. And, in the end, as rich and autumnal as a Robert Frost poem.The Debacle That Was Game Three -- Pedro acting like a baby and throwing at Garcia, Manny overreacting because Clemens threw a fastball within four feet of his head, Zimmer and Pedro re-enacting the Clubber-Mickey fight in "Rocky 3" -- took care of the rest of my emotions. You know it's a bad loss when one of your friends is saying, "I just spent the last 15 minutes reflecting on everything that's good about my life, and I guess I just have to keep doing that for the next couple of days to get through this" (actual quote from my buddy Hench). As a Sox fan, I take great pride in ignoring the past, thinking positively and blindly believing that "This is the year" under any and all circumstances. When the clock turned midnight on the East Coast, I noticed the "NY 5, Boston 5" score . For the past few days, I was walking around with one of those weird, Daryl Hannah-like half-smiles on my face, like the lights were on and nobody was home. Like I wrote last week, the baseball playoffs can do that to you. And I'm sure this game will be a staple on ESPN Classic, and that it will definitely cost Grady Little his job -- thank God -- but honestly, the last two weeks took something out of me. Nothing was worse than Game Six against the Mets, but this was damned close. If the Red Sox were a girl, you would probably just break up with them. Not with flame-throwing Alan Embree waiting in the bullpen. And the ensuing disaster -- Matsui's ground-rule double, followed by Posada's bloop single to tie the game -- wasn't just predictable, it was downright sickening. Aaron Boone's homer in the 11th wasn't just inevitable, it was practically preordained.
We seem to want to make something mythic of this sport, when it's far more than that. oh, what a rich and resonant game."One word: television," Musburger says.
So the bar fight — over the amount of airtime the Greek was getting — ended quickly.
Not so much Musburger's game, which like a good saloon story, seems to have gotten better with time.
At one time Musburger was at the forefront of sports broadcasting. 1 librettist, he hosted the first studio show, with machine-gun narration of all the action around the NFL, packed into a 30-minute pregame.
Back when the game itself was more brash and colorful, so was he.