Picture this in your head: It is Nov. 1, 2001, Game Five of the World Series. There are 56,018 people surrounding you in that one place you dream about being at in October, under the bright lights in the Bronx. You are coming up to bat in the bottom of the ninth, and the opposing team has already gotten two of your teammates out. You are facing a submarine-type pitcher with a runner on second base. Your team is down by two runs. You are the last chance to save the game. That’s important enough, but picture this happening during a time when a city, and even a nation, is watching your every move, just waiting for something to scream and go nuts about. Scott Brosius didn’t have to picture himself in that situation: he was that situation. To paraphrase Yogi Berra, a man who usual ...
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Article written by Andrew Devereaux