Home to Nagasaki – Chapter 2

Tokyo, Japan

1936

 

Palace Castle, the home of the Imperial family and Emperor Hirohito. Masaru and I had been invited to Chōwaden Reception Hall, a flat featureless building with a roof that curved to a point, and home of this official state ceremony. I was being promoted to the rank of Captain in the Kwantung Army. Masaru, forever my superior, was promoted to Major.

I stood at attention trying not to drown in this tide of nationalism. I had not been invited to meet the Emperor, as few were. But it was a special ceremony to initiate me, Masaru, and six others into a special branch of the Japanese military. A branch established by Emperor Hirohito himself.

This was an incredible honor for us. Masaru and I had studied together at Kyoto University. We became doctors together, and had served together in the Army ever since we engaged the Chinese in Manchuria in 1931.

After a successful stint at a biological research center in Japanese-held Manchuria, we were chosen to work under General Ishii at the Epidemic Prevention and Water Purification Department of the Kwantung Army, code name: Unit 731.

Japan’s premier chemical and biological weapons research facility.

“Stand proud, Captain,” Masaru whispered as General Ishii and a swarm of military brass and Japanese royalty entered the hall. We would never meet the Emperor, but we would serve him proudly. General Ishii suddenly stood before us and we bowed deeply, honored to be serving our country. Humbled to have been chosen by their Emperor for such an important mission.

I stood stiff and proud as a medal was pinned to my chest. I saluted the General, who returned the gesture. “Congratulations, Captain.”

I said nothing, and bowed again.

*                  *                     *

Total war with China was underway.

We were sent to Pingfang, known to my Japanese military brothers as “no man’s land.” Nearly 3,000 Japanese worked at the facility where experimentation on Chinese prisoners had been underway long before we had been summoned to the palace.

I had been given my orders, my staff, my instruments, and we had a fresh and constant supply of logs.

A log was nothing more than a word used by the military to dehumanize each Chinese prisoner. We made it our practice to never refer to them by name. As far as we knew, these prisoners never even had names. Only numbers.

Log 741. Log 622.

“Remember, it is an honor to be serving the Emperor,” Masaru said to me.

I wanted to ask him if it was honorable to test poison gas and contagious diseases on human subjects. Or was their sacrifice also an act of honor?

“Remember,” Masaru said. “This whole thing was your idea.”

Log 321 was brought into the operating room by a pair of Japanese guards. A middle aged Chinese man, shirtless, with gaunt, pale skin textured with a boney ribcage. Log 321 did not fight. He had already tried fruitlessly to escape form captivity weeks ago. He was weak, malnourished, his eyes were blank and seemed to accept that his life would end here. But when he saw the flat, aluminum operating table, the overhead lights, the doctors wearing smocks and latex gloves, his eyes came to life and flickered with fear. Honorable fear.

Log 321 used no words. He made no sound as he thrashed pathetically, unable to break the grasp of the guards. He was laid on the table on his back, his hands and ankles fastened in leather straps – the ultimate symbol of honor.

I studied Log 321, his bony torso, the scrawny arms and legs. His face was a skull wrapped in skin already dead. I would later learn to never look them in the eye. There was nothing to see. These were not humans, they were numbers.

Masaru, the lead doctor on the project, was ready. Our objective was clear. There would be no anesthetic.

I reminded myself. This whole thing had been my idea.

Then I took a deep breath and handed the scalpel to Masaru.

 

Mark McGinty‘s work has appeared in Maybourne Magazine, Montage Magazine, Cigar City Magazine and Germ Warfare. His novel The Cigar Maker won a Bronze Medal at the 2011 Independent Publisher Book Awards and was named Finalist at both the ForeWord Magazine Book of the Year Awards and the 2011 National Indie Excellence Awards.

Home to Nagasaki – Chapter 1

Hiroshima, Japan

August 6^th, 1945 8:11am

I was given a cyanide capsule and instructions to take the secret to my grave. The pill, that pharmaceutical breakthrough was so toxic that once swallowed it would instantly stop all cellular respiration. This little miracle would then block aerobic energy production and hopefully, according to its design, send me into an instant coma. Then I’d break into a violent seizure and if all went according to plan, fall into cardiac arrest and be dead in a matter of minutes.

I’ve tested cyanide capsules like this. Never on myself, of course! Only on test subjects. I’ve observed the drug’s effect on humans and the poisonous black and yellow tube does exactly what it is designed to do. A triumph of chemistry, and one that works quickly. Sitting inside a small metal vial with a screw-top lid, one of these pills waited in the inside pocket of my jacket, ready for its call to action.

The idea is that if I’m captured, the cyanide will kill me so fast that our project, all of our work, will remain protected. No one will ever know what we did. Years of research wiped away instantly with a violent seizure followed by cardiac arrest.

So when the boat reached the island and I stepped into Hiroshima I saw a city untarnished by the fires of war. A place our research was meant to protect. A town crippled with anticipation of an inevitable attack.

The signs were everywhere. A column of soldiers trotting up the road wearing clean, pressed uniforms. Pristine bomb shelters made from cement sat by the roadside waiting to protect however many people could cram into one of those dark stone boxes. Citizens sharpened spears from bamboo, ready to defend their homeland.

I tucked my briefcase under my arm.

The rumor was that the Americans were saving Hiroshima for a special attack, but I would not be there to see it. I planned to be gone by the end of the day. I was merely passing through town. My memory custodian of the secrets I had sworn to protect, and in my pocket, the eternal honor of Japan was stored in an easy-to-swallow pill.

“Kiyoshi.”

An unmistakable voice. Masaru’s.

“You had no clearance to leave the facility.”

I turned to face my superior officer. “My research has ended, Major. The facility is being dismantled.”

“There is work to be done, Captain.”

“You mean there is work to be erased. Nothing is to remain but our memories. Secrets we must take to our graves.”

Masaru nodded. “My memories no longer exist. They have already been purged.”

As we inspected each other a trio of planes flew overhead. American B-29s on a scouting mission to a nearby city, or possibly observing the weather over Hiroshima. Not an air raid. Air raids always came in swarms. Air raids caused panic: a loud siren followed by a swarm of people running for those flat gray bomb shelters.

These planes were merely passing over our territory, a daily reminder that our American enemy owned our skies.

Sweat dripped from Masaru’s black flattop, and a pair of hairs curled forward towards his eyes. He wore his uniform, and his brass insignia shined, never in need of a polish.

He peered at my briefcase and nodded towards the city. “Where do you think you are going?”

“I’m going home.” Some would say I was a traitor. Others would insist I acted honorably. Both would argue what my actions had done for the good of Japan.

For the good of the human race.

The sound of airplanes faded. It was 8:15 in the morning. I looked over the quiet city and saw its peacefulness, a serenity that represented the opposite of all the terrible things I’d seen during this war. The men shot, the bodies dismembered. Their eyeballs melted, their hair in flames or reduced to stubbles of black ash as the men lay dying, screaming for their mothers. Legs bleeding, fingers and limbs severed.

Would we, the human race, always fight? Would we always try to make ourselves better fighters?

I tried to believe that we wouldn’t. That we were satisfied with the weapons we had invented. That we decided we had gone far enough. Up until 8:15 that morning, I tried to believe we had halted our progress.

Then a flash. A brilliant yellow light.

Mark McGinty‘s work has appeared in Maybourne Magazine, Cigar City Magazine and Germ Warfare. His novel The Cigar Maker won a Bronze Medal at the 2011 Independent Publisher Book Awards and was named Finalist at both the ForeWord Magazine Book of the Year Awards and the 2011 National Indie Excellence Awards.

Crowded Comics Gives YOU a Chance to Bring the Funny — Every Day!

Created by David Burnett, Kevin Cannon and Oleg Terenchuk, Crowded Comics has cleverly democratizing the editorial cartoon by combining crowd-sourced punchlines with  original, high quality, timely cartoons on political and cultural issues. Instead of a political cartoon on the editorial page of the daily newspaper, at Crowded Comics THE READER writes the captions. Featuring daily artwork by a team of prolific cartoonists, Crowded Comics has built a new way of engaging news fans directly with editorial cartoons. The power of comedy and opinion has been surrendered to the hands of readers. The artists draw the comics but you write the captions.

They usually add a pair of comics each day, on issues ranging from the presidential election to Miami Marlins manager Ozzie Guillen’s incomprehensible admission that he “loves Fidel Castro.” Always up to date with the latest news, the clever and captivating comics are often funny without the captions but scrolling through the variety of captions added by CC readers is the true fun. The captions are ranked by the readers and fall into a ladder that allows you to vote for your favorite caption and increase its rank. You can also “vote down”  a caption you don’t like and watch it fall. At the end of the day a winner is declared. That winner could be you!

Featuring the artwork of Ken Avidor, Lupi, Lance Ward, Dan Murphy, Kevin Cannon and Kirk Anderson the artists are open to your ideas and will draw a comic based on your requests as long as the subject is relevant and captionable. I’ve posted a few samples here but doesn’t can’t be done unless you go to Crowded Comics to view the comics and add your own captions! It’s a fun, easy way to stay up to date on the news (and let’s face it, to kill a few minutes while at work!!).

Their comics – your voice!! Pay them a visit right here!!

Mark McGinty is the Author of The Cigar Maker and Elvis and the Blue Moon Conspiracy. His work has appeared in Maybounrne Magazine, Germ Warfare and Chrono Chaos.

Give Joe Mauer a Break

I hear a lot of people trashing Joe Mauer. I understand why they do it, but I don’t like it. Sure, he only hit a measly .287 in 2011, even with the flu, pneumonia and some weird leg-something ‘r other.  He’s not worth $22 million a year, they say. Worst mistake the Twins ever made, they say. He has no power, he’ll never last at catcher, I even heard one theory that claimed his upcoming marriage would somehow destroy his production at the plate.

Joe Mauer is the worst…player…ever.

People can say these things, I don’t care. Fact is Modest Joe is a once in a generation, home grown ballplayer who has won three AL Batting Titles before the age of 30. The Twins have had him in their organization for 8 years and have him until at least 2018, maybe even for a bit longer if his health holds up. He won’t get to 3,000 hits but he will continue put up +.800 OPS seasons while being one of the hardest outs in baseball.

In his worst year ever, 2011, his OBP (on-base-percentage) was .360. That same year, beloved Face of Baseball Derek Jeter (fyi, he’s the Yankee Captain) had an OBP of .355. The year before, Jeter was at .340. Mauer was at .402. Yeah, it doesn’t make sense to compare these two except for the fact that it makes perfect sense. Jeter is a once-in-a-generation player and for Twins fans, Mauer is too.

He’s OUR Derek Jeter. Multiple batting titles, an MVP and 4 All Star appearances. And he’s not even 30. Figure 4 more years of healthy Mauer and he’ll start approaching a place where Jeter already has a golden shrine: the Hall of Fame. He’s already won 3 batting titles. I’m willing to bet all the money this blog post earns from click-traffic that Mauer wins at least one more.

But Jeter won 17 World Series rings and hands out gift baskets to vanquished ladies!

Oh yeah? Well here are 10 Ways The Twins Have Bested the Yankees Over the Years, so chew on that.

Enough about Jeter. Back to Mauer. He’s good. Very good. A once in a generation ballplayer who when all is said and done will have been with us for more than 15 years. We’d love to see him win a World Series, but doing so would not make him a more talented player. A great hitter and solid defensive catcher who throws out 35% of base runners (not bad), he is the face of the Twins franchise and will be until the next great player emerges, probably 20 years from now.

The Twins had Puckett in the 1980′s and ’91, Carew before him and the Killer long ago. Mauer is the next one of those guys, and all those guys are in the Hall of Fame. Mauer could be there too one day. As long as he stays healthy and continues to perform. And I see know reason why he won’t. Except that, yeah, he’s getting married.

Sometimes when you go to a game you see Mauer go 5-5 with 2 double and a bunch of offense. We cheer like crazy and realize we’re witness to greatest. So when he goes 0-5, remember it’s five at bats out of 7,500. And you’re still witness to greatness. Mauer is not going to hit a double every time he bats, and he’ll be injured here and there and will continue to frustrate. But he’ll put up solid numbers, sometimes elite numbers. Better numbers than Jeter. And damn it people, he’s one of the best players of this era.  He’s once in a lifetime. Enjoy this ballplayer! He’s likely to be remembered as one of the greats.

Mark McGinty is the Author of The Cigar Maker and Elvis and the Blue Moon Conspiracy. His work has appeared in Maybounrne Magazine, Germ Warfare and Chrono Chaos.

Did Justin Morneau offer a gift of cigarettes and rum?

If not, then what’s with the cigarette lighter?

Answer: eye black. Notice the burnt cork next to the lighter, and a second burnt cork directly above? Burnt corks = cheap eye black. No lie. I didn’t know that!!

Small Press Reviews Calls Germ Warfare “Bizarre, Funny and Kind of Gross”

Cold and flu season is upon us, so what better way to celebrate than with a bit of germ warfare — or at least a copy of Germ Warfare: An Anthology of Comics for Germs and their Generous Human Hosts?

This bizarre collection of comics takes a microscopic look at the world of infectious bacteria and offers, among other things, a germ’s eye view of the atrocities we humans commit every time we pump a dollop of sanitizer onto our hands or take a dose of penicillin.

Other highlights include several visits to the home of germaphobes Stew and Berryl Sterrel as they struggle to remain germ-free despite the best efforts of their baby and a comical retelling of HG Wells’ War of the Worlds.

Overall, this collection carries a strong underground comics vibe – none of the offerings more so than the Mark McGinty penned and Lupi McGinty illustrated “Perched on the Denim Slope,” a graphic homage to JG Ballard’s “The Drowned Giant” whose art is reminiscent of Charles Burns and the Hernandez brothers.

Bizarre, funny, and kind of gross, Germ Warfare is the perfect gift for the germ warrior in your life!

 -Review by Marc Schuster

Seventh Avenue Productions Releases ‘Our McGinty Family in America’

Near the end of the 20^thCentury, Gerald K. McGinty Sr. (Jerry) began researching his ancestry. Fifteen years later he had amassed over 300 years of McGinty family history. From the glens of Ireland to the farms of Pennsylvania to the churches of Georgia and Alabama, this is a comprehensive history of our McGinty family in America.

The book contains dozens of family photos and an index with over 750 entries, most of them names of McGinty family members going as far back as the mid 1700’s and including both blood relatives and family members who had married-in. An excellent reference for researchers of family ancestry and students of Irish-American history.

Our McGinty Family in America will be available on December 10th, 2011. To order a copy contact the author Jerry McGinty at mcgintyboy@aol.com

Also available on Amazon Kindle!

Our McGinty Family in America

Gerald K. McGinty Sr.

Genealogy/Reference

List $29.95

276 Pages 6.14 x 9.21 B&W hardcover

ISBN: : 978-0-9838854-1-2

Seventh Avenue Productions

Media kits, advance review copies and interviews are available upon request.
Contact: Mark McGinty at mmcginty_32@yahoo.com or Jerry at mcgintyboy@aol.com

Seventh Avenue Productions is a small press publisher of books, based in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Call 612-224-1852.

Germ Warfare Has Started!

Germ Warfare

Germ Warfare is now available from Seventh Avenue Productions! An anthology of comics about germs and their generous human hosts features an army of Twin Cities-based cartoonists and the artwork of Ryan Dow, Andy Singer, Lance Ward, James Powell, Danno Klonowski, Vas Littlecrow, Nicholas Straight, David Cohen, Jon Sloan, Jeremy Olson, Mark McGinty, and Athena Currier. Edited by Lupi.

This is a humorous and charming collection of comics by a group of talented artists. The book is now available from Amazon and Barnes and Noble and also from Seventh Avenue Productions.

The book will make its official debut at MIX, the Minneapolis Indie Xpo November 5-6, 2011 at The Soap Factory in Minneapolis. The event is free and open to the public on both days from 10:00am to 5:00pm.

 

Please visit and like our page:

And take a look at some of the artwork right here….

Baseball is a Game of Moments

Go ahead and tell me that baseball’s boring. I won’t disagree with you. Just say it. The pitcher stands there and stares at the catcher, the batter stares at the pitcher, they wait, they wait some more, the batter steps away from the box until finally a pitch is thrown, nothing happens, and then everyone stands around looking at each other until they do it again.

But baseball is a game of moments. You don’t go to the game for the slow periods. You go because no matter whether it’s the Major Leagues or the Little League, you’re guaranteed to see something you have never seen before, and something you will never see again. Baseball is all about these moments. There are at least five or six of them in every game, sometimes more. Sometimes many more. A line drive bounces off first base and skips into foul territory, a fan makes a great catch, an unknown pitcher freezes an All Star slugger with a looping curve, the manager and the home plate umpire find themselves in an epic argument. Then there are the diving catches, the towering homers, the wild pitches and those unforgettable close plays at the plate.  Sure, you’ve seen these things before, but have you seen a 300-pound pitcher lumber off the mound, dive across the grass and nab a pop-up bunt? Have you seen a skinny 5’10” rookie shortstop with no home runs to his credit smash a 420-foot blast over the center field wall? Have you seen two players collide in shallow center field and nearly drop a pop-up until a third fielder dove between them to catch the ball before it hit the ground?

Have you seen any of these things?

I have. Or maybe I haven’t. I’m not sure. They certainly all sound familiar, and all are certainly possible. But baseball is a game of the impossible, which means that seeing all of these things is entirely possible.

I saw a one-handed pitcher throw a no-hitter. I saw a squirrel sprint across home plate as a pitcher wound up and threw home – during a playoff game. I saw a fly ball bounce off a right fielder’s head and land over the fence in right for a home run. I saw baseball’s all time strikeout leader punch out the all-time stolen base leader to log his 5000^th strikeout. I saw a girl with big boobs rush the field and hug one of the outfielders. And I saw Bo Jackson break a bat over his knee after striking out. Sure, other guys have done that, but none of them did it like Bo.

That is what baseball is about. Those moments. The unexpected, spectacular, one-of-a-kind events that change the course of a game, alter the outcome of a season and define a player’s career. A World Series lost on a ground ball through the legs, another one won with an unprecedented 10-inning shutout in Game 7. These are things we will probably never see again, but if we do, they will be slightly different the next time. Could a hobbling player with two bad knees pinch hit in the bottom of the 9^th inning and hit a 2-out game winning home run? Could a no-frills pitcher with one pitch log more saves than any human to ever toe the rubber in the 9^th? Could a pinch running Red Sock steal second base and spark the game’s greatest comeback since now, then and forever?

Yeah, all of these impossible things happen. They happen all the time. The little ones happen in almost every game and the big ones get talked about for years and years and years. Sure, you might have to wait a few minutes while the pitcher shakes off a few signs and the batter takes three pitches in a row. But just be patient – it will happen.

The Best Night of Baseball in Modern History

One Fan Reacts to the Final Day of the 2011 Regular Season

September 28th, 2011, the last of the 2011 baseball season and the most exciting day in the history of the game, yet it was a day that never should have happened in the first place. The Boston Red Sox and the Atlanta Braves had a 9 and 8.5 game lead in their respective races at the beginning of September.  They should have both walked into the playoffs smoking cigars, wearing tuxedos, and carrying champagne bottles. There was no way anyone could blow that kind of a lead in September. It had never happened before. But on September 28th, 2011, it happened.

Twice.

It started with a couple inconsequential day games. The tension built slowly throughout the day when a batting title was decided, and by nightfall, baseball fans across the country were tracking 4 separate games, 4 epic battles for 2 playoff spots. 3 of those games saw 9th inning leads disappear with 2 outs, 2 games went extra innings and 2 were decided on the last at-bat, mere minutes apart, with the last of these four games ending with a home run that completed an impossible comeback from a 7-run 8th inning deficit.

What made this so amazing was that two teams had started the month of September with easy tickets to the post season were in danger of losing their playoff spots. Both of those teams, Boston and Atlanta, seemed to have scripted, organized and executed their own funerals. And it seemed like every baseball fan in America somehow managed to sit through and capture every simultaneous moment of every excruciatingly tense game.

That’s the best part: all of this shit was happening at the exact same time. Here’s how it all went down…

Both wild cards were in play. Four teams, two playoff spots.  Boston and Tampa were tied in the standings. So were Atlanta and St. Louis. On this fateful day, the Cardinals rolled to an easy 8-0 victory against the Houston Astros and returned to their locker room to find chilled champagne and beer sitting on the table, plastic sheets covering the lockers, ski goggles everywhere, and the Braves on TV. They had done their part now all they could do was wait. Boston was in Baltimore hoping to halt their skid against the last place Orioles. Tampa was playing the American League’s toughest team: the New York Yankees. Atlanta needed to stop Major League Baseball’s top-winning Philadelphia Phillies. Around the league, Texas and Detroit for trying to work out home field advantage in their playoff games while Milwaukee and Arizona sat waiting for their opponents to be decided.

The stage had been set. Everyone knew there was a possibility of 2 one-game playoffs the next day. Imagine a day with two game 163s! Calendars were cleared across the country while baseball fans salivated at the thought of a Friday night sudden-death, do-or-die playoff game. Or maybe two of them. What a great day that would be! Turns out, no 163s were needed. And we’re lucky with that, because nothing will ever top what happened instead.

Boston took an early 1-0 lead in the 3rd inning but then J.J. Hardy jacked his 30th homer of a season, a 2-run shot that put Baltimore up 2-1. It Atlanta, Philly scored in the first inning but Atlanta got it right back before Dan Uggla hit a 2-run bomb to put the Braves up 3-1. Down in Tampa it wasn’t so close. David Price gave up a 2nd inning grand slam to Mark Teixeira giving the Yankees a 5-0 lead. The Yanks would add two more and by the 5th inning, the Rays were down 7-0. Red Sox fans were able to breathe. It looked good so far. Tampa was losing badly which provided insurance against a Boston loss. But if Boston was able to hold on and win, the wild card would be theirs and Tampa’s impossible September surge would be quickly forgotten.

Around the league, Texas locked up home-field advantage in round one with a victory against the Angels. Milwaukee would win its game against Pittsburgh while Arizona was just getting started in their finale vs. the Dodgers. And in Minnesota, the disastrous Twins, a usual playoff presence were able to avoid a 100-loss season with a 9th inning walk-off win against the Royals. Carl Pavano pitched a 5-hit shutout and legendary Twins broadcaster John Gordon signed off for the last time with a heartfelt and emotional “Touch ‘em all, Twins fans!”

But at Tropicana Field, the night was slowly turning from the exciting to the improbable. Try and find a historical precedent for what happened. Just try. Or don’t try. Don’t even bother, because it’s not there. Down 7-0 in the 8th inning, Tampa scored 6 runs capped by an Evan Longoria 3-run shot. Still down by one, they were headed into the top of the 9th inning against a Yankees lineup filled with rookies and backups.

Atlanta and Philly were headed into extra innings after Chase Utley tied with game with a 1-out sac fly in the 9th and in Baltimore, Boston fans at Camden Yards gulped when they saw the scoreboard showed 7-6 Yankees. But it was still 3-2 Boston. Aceves and Bard would each hold serve and Papelbon would be coming out for the 9th to lock up the win. The Sox would head back to their dugout and catch the end of the Yankees-Rays game, and then hopefully head straight to their first playoff game soon after, never needing to worry about a game 163. Two games to decide the AL Wild Card and both were one run affairs in the 9th inning. Baseball fans knew they were watching something special.

No one would have guessed how dramatically it would end. Philadelphia and Atlanta would labor into the 13th inning until and exhausted Braves pitching staff finally ran out of gas and surrendered a single to Hunter Pence. David Hearndon would close it down in the 9th giving Philly their MLB-best 102nd win of the season and sending corks flying across the Cardinal’s locker room in Houston. Atlanta’s epic collapse was complete. The Cardinals would go to the playoffs in their place and Atlanta’s fall would be remembered as one of the greatest in baseball history if not for what was about to happen in the American League.

With two outs in the bottom of the 9th inning, Dan Johnson pinch hit for the Rays. Johnson, with a .108 batting average and 1 home run on the season. And he now had 2 strikes, presenting the Rays with their final pitch of the season. Boston was winning and if the Red Sox held on, Tampa would be eliminated. It was up to Dan Johnson. Bottom of the 9th inning, two outs and down by one, two strikes.

Dan Johnson hit a fucking home run and tied the game. It was one of those improbable baseball stories that makes every fan shake their head with wonder and admiration for a game filled with unfathomable moments. Tropicana Field became a mob scene of frenzied fans. Facebook pages blew up with updates like “no way!” “impossible” and “AMAZING!” while Boston fans sat deflated and unsure of which was worse: the reality of their team’s epic collapse or the fact that they had to root for the Yankees to beat the Rays in extra innings. But right now Sox fans had no choice – they had to root for the Yankees.

With clenched fists and scowld, they looked on as the 10th inning in Tampa was a scoreless affair and the 11th ended with the score still tied 7-7. But in the top of the 12th the Yankees put runners on first and third with no outs. Red Sox fans cringed and choked on their cheers as they rooted for a Yankee base hit, a sacrifice fly, a wild pitch, anything that would put a run across. But a young Yankee named Golson was caught too far from third after a Jorge Posada grounder and the next batter struck out. Then Brett Gardner grounded out to second and with that game still tied 7-7 and going ot the bottom of the 12th, the attention turned to Baltimore where Jonathan Papelbon took the mound in teh 9th with a 3-2 lead.

He struck out the first two batters and Red Sox fans, their fingers crossed with white knuckles and their hair turning gray on the spot, sat tensely whispering “One more…just one more out.” But Chris Davis doubled into the right field corner. Baltimore had life. Hoping for the ultimate spoiler, the Baltimore Orioles players stood along their dugout railing while the Red Sox players waited tensely in the field hoping Papelbon would blow the next batter away so they could all retire to their locker room and watch the outcome of the Rays game.

But Nolan Reimold doubled to right-center, a ground-ruler that bounced into the stands and tied the game. Baltimore was ecstatic. Boston couldn’t believe it. It was about to happen. They were about to blow it – not only this game but an entire season. But if they could just get one more out they could win it in extras. Or perhaps these reluctant Yankee fans would see the Rays lose their game. In that case, even if Boston lost they still had a chance to save their dignity in a one-game playoff the following day. A game that would never happen.

In Tampa, the game was tied in the bottom of the 12th inning. B.J. Upston stuck out and Evan Longoria came to the plate. He had already homered dramatically in the 8th inning rally and now Rays fans took to their feet and cheered when they saw a number on the scoreboard change from a 3 to a 4. An F appeared beside the score and the crowd went wild.

Papelbon had worked Andino into a 1-1 count before the Oriole smacked a sinking line drive to left field. Carl Crawford, the Ray of a year before charged for the ball and slid along the grass with his glove opened and welcoming the ball. The inning was over, the game would remain 3-3 and go to a 10th inning. The Red Sox charged back to their dugout and grabbed their batting helmets and bats and got ready for an extra-inning showdown.

Sadly for Red Sox fans, it was all a dream. A mirage. The Red Sox never charged into their dugout ready for the 10th inning. They didn’t switch from caps to batting helmets or replace their mits with their bats. It was a 10th inning that never happened. Crawford didn’t come up with the ball. He ran, he slid, he reached for it. The ball hit his glove, and then fell out. And as the ball fell to the grass, thousands of Red Sox fans felt their hearts fall with it. The game would be over in seconds. Crawford jumped to his feet and desperately threw the ball to the plate but it was too late. Reimold scored and the Orioles stormed the field like they’d just won the World Series.

Red Sox manager Terry Francona immediately turned and disappeared into the dugout tunnel and Papelbon walked off the field with his head hanging while Baltimore fans yelled wildly all around him. It had become one of baseball’s great spoils, and only because of what happened mere seconds later.

Moments after the scoreboard in Tampa flickered to reveal a 4-3 Baltimore victory, Evan Longoria hit a line drive home run over the left field wall. And just like that it was over.

The Rays rushed the field and before the Boston Red Sox even had time to process their 9th inning  loss to the worst team in their division, they had been eliminated. The mighty Boston Red Sox, the team that some said would rival the 1927 Yankees would not even have time to return to their locker room and decompress before watching the end of the Rays-Yankees game. It was already over. Just like that.

The baseball world went nuts. “You can’t make this up!” said hundreds of Twitter feeds. “AMAZING! SIMPLY AMAZING!” said about 50,000 Facebook posts. Phones rang all over the country with shouts of congratulations and exclamations of outright disgust. Two teams had fallen terribly while two others had completed remarkable, storybook-style comebacks. And all in the span of a few minutes. Never in baseball has so much been decided in such a short period of time and in such dramatic fashion. Amazing, simply amazing. The best night of baseball in modern history, and probably forever. September 28th, 2011. The last day of the 2011 regular season. A day I will never forget.

Watch an amazing highlight reel, with all the action broken down chronologically right here: