True story of the Gibson homer......
My youngest was born in April 1988. She was one of those beelzebub babies that have the inhuman ability to stay awake for days at a time and are usually sleepy only when you HAVE to be awake.
As a long time Dodger fan I cannot miss the WS in 1988, and I sit down to enjoy game 1. About inning number 7 my ex-wife comes into the room and hands off my cherubic little angel from hell to my potato chip encrusted arms.
I get a bottle to go with the baby so things aren't too bad, but my team is losing and I HATE that. So I rock away in my steaming mood trying desperately to put this kid to sleep so I can get back to the greasy chips and beer.
By now the ninth inning arrives and by some miracle the Dodgers get a run and a base runner. The drama starts to unfold... I'm rocking.... Kirk hobbles to the plate... I'm rocking .... I look down and the little demented package is FREAKIN ASLEEP! Almost simultaneous with this revelation is Gibson's wristed slap over the right field wall.
I want to scream! I want to yell! I haven't slept in 6 months!!
So I stand up with the baby and walk slowly around the house whispering "no F...ing way", "no F...ing way", "no F...ing way", "no F...ing way", while Gibson limped around the bases.