Now that we're well into our third month without sports, Star Tribune sports writers and editors have been thinking back on the favorite events they've covered. They range from the biggest of games to others that have been long forgotten by most people, if they knew about them in the first place.
Some were covered for the Star Tribune, some for other news organizations. The only thing in common was we covered the events instead of just attended them. We're publishing our memories this week, and we hope you share some of your favorites in the comments.
This group of stories focuses on great individual performances.
Baseball writer Phil Miller says the anticipation of a no-hitter is more important than whether the pitcher actually performs the feat.
I've never witnessed a no-hitter in person. I can recite the near-misses I've attended — Rick Wise, LaMarr Hoyt, Corey Kluber and Reggie Cleveland, of all people — but I have never watched a pitcher get 27 outs without a mistake.
But I've seen, and covered, something better. The best part of a no-hit attempt, particularly when it's the home team's pitcher doing it, is the growing tension, the pitch-by-pitch excitement, the roar of the crowd after each out. That energy begins in the fifth inning, perhaps the sixth, when it dawns on people what's possible. Even the writers covering those games get swept up in the excitement.
Johan Santana ignited that reaction in the second inning on Aug. 19, 2007, a Sunday afternoon against Texas in the Metrodome. The day was filled with can-he-will-he tension for two solid hours, and it was electrifying, not exhausting.
The Twins, in a month-long hitting slump, managed only one run, a solo homer by Michael Cuddyer, but it was enough for Santana. The two-time Cy Young winner was absolutely unhittable, the most dominating performance I've ever seen. It wasn't that Santana's changeup looked so much like his 92-mph fastball, though it did. It's that the dastardly pitch, at its best, took a sharp break toward the dirt, a wiffle ball sleight of hand that batters were never prepared for.
Armed with that pitch that day, Santana struck out two Rangers in the first inning, three more in the second, and two in the third. By that third inning, the 36,353 in the stands already sensed that they were witnessing history. Every time Santana got the count to two strikes, the crowd went crazy, flinching at a foul ball, groaning at a grounder or pop fly — but more often roaring when the batter swung and missed.
Two more strikeouts in the fourth. Sammy Sosa spoiled the no-hit bid with a leadoff single in the fifth, but few cared once Santana struck out the next two. The crowd seemed deflated when all three Rangers put the ball in play in the sixth, but Santana struck out three more in the seventh, and went whiff-whiff-whiff in the eighth, pumping his fist as Jarrod Saltalamacchia swung wildly at a strike three. No chance.
Santana had 17 strikeouts, a Twins record, and just three away from the MLB record of 20. But he had thrown 112 pitches and was tiring, having protected a 1-0 lead. As he walked off the field, he stopped short of the dugout, took off his cap, and waved it to the fans, a dramatic curtain call to the best game I ever covered.
Mark Craig was on the scene for some of the greatest golf played by Tiger Woods, including the 2000 U.S. Open.
Maybe it's time to let the kid with the swoosh play through. Send him to Hollywood.
Let him play with computer-generated recreations of Hogan in 1950, Arnie in 1960 and a pre-senior Jack.
After all, aren't those the players Tiger Woods is competing with anyway?
That was my opening paragraph from Pebble Beach on June 18, 2000, when 24-year-old Eldrick Woods completed the greatest, most dominant, jaw-dropping performance in golf history. With a degree of power and precision previously unfathomable for a U.S. Open, Woods outmuscled the mighty USGA while never three-putting its diabolical greens.
He finished 12 under par and won by 15 shots, setting a record for margin of victory that had stood for the majors since Old Tom Morris won the 1862 British Open by 13.
"I've got my work cut out for me the next 10 years, I'll tell you that," said Ernie Els, who tied for second at 3 over.
Pebble Beach was the first of 10 majors I covered as the Star Tribune's golf writer from 2000 to 2003. Tiger won five of the first seven, including the first three. So, yeah, someone paid this 14-handicapper to go to Pebble, Valhalla for the Bob May playoff two months later, and Augusta for the completion of the "Tiger Slam" in 2001.
Not a bad wave to catch, eh? Tigermania I began at Augusta in 1997. But it was launched into another universe three years later during a magical week of freakish golf that saw Woods win his first U.S. Open, his third major and his 12th tournament in his past 21 starts.
"He's like Texas in the old Southwest Conference," joked Tom Kite, the 1992 U.S. Open winner at Pebble Beach.
The most famous swing of Woods' iconic performance came on the sixth hole in the second round. I was on the other side of the fairway, about a pitching wedge away. Woods had pushed his drive 319 yards into 4-inch rough on the right side of the uphill par 5 that runs along Stillwater Cove.
Hack it back into the fairway with a wedge like the USGA expects? Not exactly.
Woods took this a gargantuan swing. The ball rocketed over the edge of the Pacific to an elevated green none of us down there could see. A 205-yard 7-iron. From U.S. Open rough. To 15 feet. He turned bogey into a two-putt birdie.
"He's playing a different game than the rest of us," said Darren Clarke.
Another memory from that week was how Woods' side of the draw caught the best weather. Els even joked after the weather-delayed second round that there was a higher power at work, saying the weather was terrible when he played and perfect when Woods played.
Jack Nicklaus, who missed the cut in his 44th and final U.S. Open that year, was asked about that coincidence.
"That used to happen when Hogan teed off," Jack said. "Now it happens when Tiger tees off."
Basketball writer Kent Youngblood was starting to cover pro football when Brett Favre was starting to make a name for himself in Green Bay.
By fall of 1992 I'd been covering high school sports at the Wisconsin State Journal in Madison for two years. But with the 1992 NFL season already underway, our Green Bay Packers beat writer took another job. So on Sept. 20, I'm at Lambeau Field with columnist Tom Oates – who taught me more than anyone else in this business – to watch the 0-2 Packers host 2-0 Cincinnati.
My second professional game as a writer. Early in the game, Packers quarterback Don Majkowski was injured. Enter Brett Favre.
Packers general manager Ron Wolf had sent a first-round pick to Atlanta for Favre in February. The former University of Southern Mississippi star had thrown four passes as a Falcons rookie, two of them picked off. By the time Favre entered the game against the Bengals, he had thrown 18 NFL passes with no TDs and three picks.
And he struggled, at first, as Boomer Esiason led the Bengals to a 17-3 lead after three quarters. But early in the fourth, rookie Terrell Buckley had a 58-yard punt return for a touchdown. After the Bengals kicked a field goal, the Packers' next drive ended with a 5-yard scoring pass to Sterling Sharpe, Favre's first TD.
Cincinnati responded with another field goal, so the Packers were down 23-17 with 1:07 left and the ball at their 8.
Two plays later, a strike down the right sidelines to Sharpe put the ball at the Bengals 46. Injured on the play, Sharpe was replaced by Kitrick Taylor
Three plays after that, with 19 seconds left, Favre dropped back. He pump-faked, then let go with a laser down the right sidelines to Taylor, who caught it as he entered the end zone with 13 seconds left.
Back then, writers would often go down to the playing field at Lambeau for the final moments of the game. I was sitting at the end of the field where Taylor scored. The sound of that crowd is something I remember today.
It was Taylor's only NFL touchdown. It was the start of the Favre legend, and the rest is history. I covered him in two Super Bowls. My last game covering the Packers was that Monday night game at Lambeau in 1998 when Randy Moss went wild. A week later, I was covering the Vikings for the Star Tribune. I've covered Kevin Love's 30-30 game, two 50-point Wolves performances. I covered Maya Moore when she scored 40 points in a playoff game, and her buzzer-beating three-pointer in Game 3 of the 2015 WNBA Finals.
All great memories. But that day in Green Bay in 1992 is special.
Preps reporter David La Vaque recalls the key role Whitney Meierotto played in Concordia University's volleyball dynasty.
Two fierce competitors took flight on either side of the net, suspended for a moment in pursuit of the same volleyball, hoping to tally the defining point in a close national championship match. From my vantage point on press row that evening on Dec. 6, 2008, I marveled at the greatest individual effort that I had seen to that point in my journalism career.
One that still holds up more than a decade later. There is Jessica Granados, the fine Cal State-San Bernardino hitter, elevating to pound a kill. There is Whitney Meierotto, perhaps the last hope for Concordia University, rising up to attempt a block and seize control in a fifth set tied 13-13.
Volleyball is a fluid sport. Rally scoring means every ball is worth a point. Momentum is hard to track. Despite all this, you just knew this was the key moment of the match.
The home fans inside the Gangelhoff Center in St. Paul froze as they watched Granados swing her left arm. A second later, they went crazy. Meierotto blocked the attempt clean, giving her team a 14-13 lead and match point. Cal State-San Bernardino called timeout. But the match was essentially over.
Granados tore up the Golden Bears with 23 kills in the teams' regular-season meeting and handed them their only loss. But in the all-important rematch, Meierotto stifled Granados with a resounding block.
"There could not have been anything to get more emotion out of us at that point," setter Maggie McNamara said.
Tell me about it. On press row, I remember letting out a, 'Oh!' after Meierotto's block. Not as a Star Tribune homer. But as an impressed spectator. Those moments are thrilling.
On their ensuing serve, the Golden Bears closed out their victory and the second of what would become a remarkable seven consecutive Division II national titles.
Beyond the great Meierotto block, I recall that match as one nicely summed up by visiting Coyotes coach Kim Cherniss. "The best two teams in the country were playing tonight."I was engrossed and swept up from the first serve."
