If you grew up in Cleveland, you grew up an Indians fan.
Those mid-1990s teams were loaded. Bats like Manny Ramirez, Jim Thome, Albert Belle. Jaw-dropping fielders like Omar Vizquel and Roberto Alomar.
Ever since I was young, when I would watch games with knee-high red socks like Thome wore, I was crazy about the Tribe. My dad, a former left-handed pitcher who actually tried out with the Indians many moons ago, had me hooked.
That’s why I’ll never forget Aug. 5, 2001. My dad was in Montreal for a pediatric residency. It was one of those Sunday night baseball broadcasts, with Jon Miller and Joe Morgan on ESPN. The Indians were playing the Mariners and were losing 14-2 by the fifth inning. Me, being a loyalist (and a weirdo), had nothing better to do than watch the pounding. The Indians justifiably yanked some of their starters, so I was counting on guys like Eddie Taubensee and Russell Branyan to pull off the miracle.
In the seventh, the Indians knocked in three runs. It was still 14-5. By the eighth inning, after a couple more home runs and a timely double by Vizquel, the Indians had chopped it to 14-9. In the ninth, they were down to their final out and still trailing by five.
After some more clutch magic, Vizquel found himself at the dish down 14-11 with the bases loaded. He ripped a bases-clearing triple to tie the game, tying the MLB record for the largest comeback of all time. The Indians would go on to win in the 11th.
Throughout the course of the comeback, I’d called my dad in Canada maybe ten times. By the end of it, I’d racked up an $80 international phone charge.
Money well spent, in my mind.
