Ah, the memories

This part of June always brings back memories of people who are important to me.

Paul McCartney's birthday is the 18th, Brian Wilson's is the 20th, my mom's is the 21st, my great-grandmother passed away on a June 22nd, and then there's June 23rd.

I can't even see today's date on a calendar without thinking of the Sandberg Game, June 23, 1984. There are a couple hundred guys in the Hall of Fame, but try to name another one with a synonymous "Game" with-a-capital-G. Ruth? Cobb? Aaron? Mays? Mantle? Nope. Go down the list and you'll keep getting the same answer. Nor will you find references to the Gaedel Game or the Holloman Game or the Thomson Game or the Mazeroski Game. Or the Gibson Game or the Carter Game or, well, you get the point.

Those two late-inning, game-tying homers off of one of the greatest relievers in history set a lot of things in motion that summer. I'd never heard chants of "M-V-P" before. Rick Sutcliffe was about three starts into going 16-1 stretch as a mid-season acquisition. They even beat the team that the last generation of Cub fans taught me to despise.

But the one thing I'll always take with me from watching the Sandberg Game is that it was the first time I really Believed. Sure, it bit me in the ass more times than I can count. But what a rush...