Sure, watching the Red Sox win the World Series on the 98" projection screen at Christie's Sports Bar was pretty fucking awesome. And yes, standing on Boylston Street covered in rain and confetti as the team, and the trophy, rolled by was something I'll never forget. But one of my favorite Red Sox related memory of 2004 can be traced back to July, before the Sox were known as World Champs, before the Nomar trade, before the Sox were anything more than just a pesky zit on the nose of the Yankees.

It was a chilly, dreary summer day in Boston. We woke up to the sound of rain pounding the sidewalk, and our first thought was of the 3pm Sox/Yankees game to which we held tickets. Unsure if the game would be played, we quickly dressed and headed down to Fenway, where throngs of sweatshirt covered fans had already convened, glancing skyward every so often, hoping to see the clouds part. After meeting up with friends and taking advantage of Boston Billiards' dollar drafts, we bid farewell to the cheap brew and the warm confines and made our way into the park.

There was something in the air that day besides the overwhelming humidity and smell of meat sizzling on outdoor grills. There was a buzz, an energy lingering in the atmosphere, due, in part, to the abundance of Yankee fans on Yawkey Way. But, looking back, it was almost as if we all felt that something special was about to happen.

Ever since the previous Thanksgiving, there had been an expectation that the 2004 Boston Red Sox accomplish something; the team had signed Curt Schilling and Keith Foulke, and fans felt that it was finally the right time to avenge past losses and overtake the Yankees. But things hadn't been going right up to that point: the team's defense was horrific, the pitching had been woeful, hitting hadn't exactly been timely, and at 9.5 games behind the Yankees, things just weren't looking good.

Fast forward. The Red Sox were down 3-0 when Bronson Arroyo, who had looked shaky at best, went inside with a pitch and hit A-Rod on the elbow. Instead of taking first base like a man, A-Rod blew up and begged Varitek to put his fist in his face. Varitek complied, and before you could say "A-hole," the benches and dugouts were empty and chaos had ensued.

The rest of the game was a bit more uneventful, and by the time the bottom of the ninth inning rolled around, the Sox were down by 2 runs. With Mariano Rivera on the mound, things seemed hopeless, but then, just as the last drops of our $6 Fenway beer slid down our throats, Nomar doubled and suddenly, anything was possible. Anticipation filled the stadium as we restlessly shifted in our seats.

Trot flies out. More nail biting. Constant peeks at the scoreboard. Kevin Millar is up at the plate. Three homers the night before...can he possibly do it again? Then - a run scoring single. It suddenly feels like last October, when this team keeps finding new ways to win. One run down, one out, and last year's batting champ at the plate. Fingernails have been bitten to stubs, beers long since finished. Fans on their feet. A 3-1 count. And then, a solid shot that hangs for what seems like forever before dropping into the bullpen. A two run homerun - Sox win. Fenway erupts in what has to have been the most wild regular season celebration of all time. Dirty Water blasts over the soundsystem not once but twice, because the fans refuse to leave. Billy Mueller is interviewed on the jumbotron and the crowd goes crazy. The celebration lasts at least 15 minutes. Screaming, hugging, disbelief. The scene outside is no different. The streets are a sea of people looking just like they did when the Pats won the super bowl. Feeling like we are floating, we arrive at Boston Billiards, meet up with our friends, and continue the celebration. For the next three hours, every time the TVs airing ESPNEWS show the game highlights, the crowd erupts all over again, like we're seeing it for the first time. (originally posted on July 27)

Bill Mueller, the Yankee killer. He'll be remembered for a lot of things: switch hitting two grand slams in one game at the Ballpark in Arlington, winning a batting title in 2003, and his huge single up the middle in the bottom of the ninth of the 2004 ALCS to keep the comeback rally alive. But every time I remember what transpired at Fenway before my very eyes that rainy evening in July, I'm overcome by chills. Some say that the team started playing differently after that comeback win. Others say it wasn't until the trade of Nomar a week later that things began to turn around.

But no matter how you look at it, one thing can't be denied. It is because of Bill Mueller, and that astonishing homerun, that the Red Sox no longer feared the greatest closer of all time. It's because of Bill Mueller that the Red Sox learned a lesson that would serve them well a few months down the line - that no game was over until it was over, even if Mariano Rivera was on the mound.

In Bill Mueller's regular season career with the Boston Red Sox, his line against Mariano Rivera looked like this:
5-11 1 HR 3 RBIs 1BB 2K .455/.500/.727

There will be other third baseman, some who will hit better than Bill Mueller, and some who will field better than Bill Mueller. But there will never be another July 24, 2004, and there will never be another Bill Mueller.