Grob: Dozing through World Series history

Charlie Leibrandt and I will both remember it for the rest of our lives.

Everyone else was asleep.

Don’t believe them if they tell you otherwise.

One of the wonderful things about witnessing great sports moments is the fact that they’re often shared with friends and loved ones. Whether you’re actually at the game or simply watching it on television or listening to it on the radio, the moment can help create a lifetime bond with those around you. In the least, it’s a treasured shared memory.

When Lute Olson’s Iowa basketball team defeated Georgetown to head to the Final Four, my dad and I were jumping up and down in our living room like a couple of little kids. Of course, I was a little kid. And my dad was so excited that he gave me a hug. Sometimes when I watch a game by myself I think about that day, and think about how good it made me feel.

When Drew Tate found Warren Holloway wide open for a game-winning 56-yard touchdown as time ran out in the 2005 Capital One Bowl, it was my wife and I cheering and hugging together. Like little kids.

This past January, it was my oldest daughter and I watching in amazement as Boise State pulled off trick play after trick play to upset Oklahoma in overtime of the Fiesta Bowl. We both yelled and laughed so loud we frightened the cat, and I was afraid we were going to disturb the neighbors. For her entire football-watching life she’d heard me joke about “the old Statue of Liberty play,” and finally — right before our very eyes — such a play was pulled off successfully.

And then there was that day in October in 1991. The 27th — exactly 16 years ago this Saturday. The World Series. My beloved Minnesota Twins versus the Atlanta Braves.

Game Six.

It just so happened that the day was also the opening day of Iowa pheasant season — a big event in my family. Two uncles, one cousin, my dad and I spent the day with all of our dogs, trudging up and down fence lines and tree lines, stumbling through picked beanfields and battling through seven-foot-tall “Jabbar Corn.” (This is my uncle’s term for corn that is so tall he can’t see over it. Over the years the expression has been altered. For a while we called it “Shaquille O’Corn.” Most recently, it’s become known as “Yao Ming Corn.”)

It was a tough, tiring hunt, but a successful one. By the end of the afternoon, we shot our limit of pheasants and even brought down a few partridges. The dogs were working wonderfully and were a pleasure to watch. And even I was shooting straight.

All the while we hunted, we talked about the game that was going to be played that evening. We were excited with anticipation, and could hardly wait for the first pitch. We all agreed, the Braves had better watch out, because Kirby Puckett was due.

Back from hunting by sunset, we cleaned birds, we took showers, we prepared and devoured a magnificent feast, we cracked open cool beers and we all plopped down in front of the television to see if Kirby was going to come through for us.

Right away we knew he wasn’t going to let us down.

We all sprung out of our seats at the sight of Kirby’s RBI-triple in the first inning to open the scoring. High fives all around.

But then, something happened. The sandman went to work. A combination of the day’s hard walking through the Jabbar Corn, the bellies full of hot food and cold beer and the warm comfort of the soft furniture created an ideal dozing situation.

By the time Kirby leapt against the left field wall to steal an extra-base hit from Ron Gant in the third inning, both uncles were already sawing wood.

Dad was snoring by the fifth inning, when Kirby’s sacrifice fly scored Dan Gladden and put the Twins on top, 3-2.

My cousin and I were still awake in the seventh, when the Braves manufactured a run by Mark Lemke to tie the game, but my cousin was drifting awful close to dreamland. By the bottom of the ninth, I was the only one still awake.

And that’s the way it stayed, until the bottom of the 11th. Atlanta manager Bobby Cox brought in left-handed Charlie Leibrandt to pitch to Kirby, who led off the inning. Kirby sent Leibrandt’s fourth pitch on a straight line over the left-field fence, and my cheers awakened the entire family.

Once the cobwebs cleared out of their minds, they all watched it on the replay, and cheered as much as I did. The Twins had won Game Six, and we all knew that there was no doubt they would win Game Seven — and win the World Series.

To this day, my dad, my uncles and my cousin will all recall that game, and recall how we all watched that home run together. To hear them tell it, we were all wide awake, from the first pitch all the way through to the end, when Kirby raised his fist as he circled the bases.

It was a great moment for baseball, and a great moment for family. And over the years, each of them has actually talked himself into believing we were all wide awake.