How Mariano Rivera saved Enrique Wilson’s life by blowing Game 7 of the 2001 World Series

Mariano Rivera, the greatest closer who ever lived, strode to the mound at Bank One Ballpark in Phoenix, Arizona.

A baseball season prolonged by the heinous 9/11 terrorist attacks sat three outs from completion, and a crowd of 49,589 felt its collective hope fade into the nippy November night.

It was Game 7 of the 2001 World Series, and Rivera’s New York Yankees hauled a 2-1 lead into the bottom of the ninth, poised to beat the hometown Diamondbacks after a brutal, unexpected fight.

The Yankees, after all, had won three consecutive world championships, and the interlocking NY became a vehicle of American pride following the World Trade Center atrocities. So often abhorred outside Gotham, the Yankees became a sentimental favourite, and a soothing victory seemed assured. After all, Rivera had converted 23 straight postseason saves, and the next felt inevitable. (1) For Arizona, prayer became the only recourse.

On this occasion, though, Rivera didn’t have it. And three outs from a four-peat, the mighty Yankees crumbled. 

Mark Grace singled to centre. Damian Miller reached on an error by Rivera. A failed sac bunt put the Yankees two outs shy, only for Tony Womack to tie the game with a double. Rivera then hit Craig Counsell with a pitch, before Luis Gonzalez muscled a single over a drawn-in infield to beat New York, lift the retractable roof off a delirious stadium, and stun the sporting universe.

The unthinkable happened. 

Hell froze over.

The team that won when everyone wanted it to lose lost when everyone wanted it to win. 

For one Yankee, however, the shocking events of that night – November 4, 2001 – were preservative, if unbearably painful. In one cosmic paradigm, the defeat saved his life, while underscoring a broader point about the relative unimportance of sports.

A utility infielder way down the depth chart, Enrique Wilson joined the Yankees from Pittsburgh in June 2001 as general manager Brian Cashman tweaked his roster for the stretch drive. Wilson had a burgeoning reputation as kryptonite to Pedro Martínez, the otherwise unsolvable Red Sox ace, and Cashman eyed marginal gains by trading for the Dominican backup.

Spelling Derek Jeter and Alfonso Soriano, then, Wilson appeared in 48 games for the Yankees as they clinched another AL East title. Hitting just .242 in that span with one home run and a dozen RBI, Wilson was, nevertheless, a likeable accent piece who brought energy and athleticism to the Yankees’ bench. Something of a feel-good cheerleader, Wilson earned just one plate appearance as the Yankees beat Oakland and Seattle to secure another pennant, but being named to the World Series roster was a special achievement for a baseball rat who worked hard to carve out a sustainable career.

Wilson saw action in Game 1 and Game 6 of a classic World Series, in which the upstart Diamondbacks – led by the gutsy pitching tandem of Randy Johnson and Curt Schilling – took a stunning 2-0 lead. Returning home, propelled by a defiant populace seeking catharsis, the Yankees won three straight in the Bronx, however, with heroics from Jeter, Soriano, Tino Martinez and Scott Brosius. Arizona then responded with a commanding home win of its own in Game 6, necessitating the dramatic decider iced by Gonzalez.

Such was the Yankees’ confidence, their annual victory parade down the Canyon of Heroes had already been planned. Anticipating that rite of pinstriped passage, Wilson booked a flight home to the Dominican Republic for 12 November, after the Manhattan celebrations. When Rivera blew Game 7, though, cancelling the parade, Wilson took an earlier flight, on 9 November, with his wife and two-year-old daughter. (2) (3) (4)

The initial flight – American Airlines 587 – took off from JFK Airport at 09:14 on 12 November, bound for Santo Domingo. (1) (5) Shortly thereafter, it hit wake turbulence from a preceding jet, causing the first officer to overuse the rudder pedals. The plane’s vertical stabiliser separated, and the jet crashed into the Belle Harbor neighbourhood of Queens at 09:16. All 260 people on board died in the tragic accident, with five ground fatalities adding to the devastation. (6)

That Enrique Wilson and his family were not among that cohort was a twist of fate tethered – at least optically – to Rivera’s rare blown save in Game 7. If Mo locked down those final outs, the Yankees would have enjoyed their ticker tape coronation, and Wilson likely would have kept his original reservation, meeting a harrowing end.

Of course, Rivera was not solely responsible for the Yankees’ defeat. And yes, any number of unforeseen events could have occurred in the hypothetical week between a Yankee clincher and a Manhattan parade. An in-depth study of quantum calculations, alternative realities and multiple universes would likely debunk any supposed butterfly effect. But at surface level, the cursory connection – illusory or otherwise – between what happened in Phoenix and Queens engenders macabre fascination, regardless. It gestures at a resonant realisation about the meaning of sports in the wider tapestry of life.

“I’m glad we lost the Series, because it means I still have a friend,” Rivera told Wilson when the pair reunited at spring training in 2002. (5) And that, rather poignantly, pokes at the kernel of truth within this rather reductive nugget of sporting kitsch. Baseball is only a game, ultimately, and nothing – not even Game 7 of the World Series – trumps the importance of human survival.

To that end, it is an uncomfortable, sombre reality that somebody bought the seats Wilson vacated on AA587, and those heartbreaking losses should never be forgotten. Those embroiled in sports – players, fans, reporters – tend to be myopic, self-indulgent and simplistic. All too often, we are blinkered within a bubble, so these tales are significant to us solely through the prism of sports – hence the (perhaps unfair) focus on Wilson and Rivera. But even such a reductionist reading can teach us valuable lessons, so the subject should not be ignored. 

“Losing a game instead of losing a friend? I will take that trade a million times out of a million,” Rivera wrote in his 2014 memoir. “As painful as it was to lose, it’s just another reminder that we are not the ones in charge – and that, just because we pray for something, that doesn’t mean it automatically comes to fruition. Prayer is not like a vending machine where you put in your quarters (or words) and then wait for the product to be delivered.” (7)

A devout Christian, Rivera credited the entire episode with reaffirming his faith. In the moment, Yankee fans struggled to muster such philosophical pragmatism, but gradually, the discovery of this wrinkle softened the blow of a gut-wrenching defeat.  

The Yankees lost another Fall Classic in 2003, before Rivera won his fifth and final ring in 2009. Ultimately, Mo finished his illustrious career with 652 saves, an all-time record, but his greatest save of all was (inadvertently) the life of a teammate. 

Nothing can be more precious.

Sources

1. Sandrolini, Mike. All the Good in Sports. 2007.

2. Olney, Buster. The Last Night of the Yankee Dynasty: The Game, The Team, and The Cost of Greatness. 2004.

3. Reading Eagle. [Online] March 16, 2002. https://books.google.co.uk/books?id=17orAAAAIBAJ&pg=PA52&dq=%22mariano+rivera%22+%2B+%22enrique+wilson%22+%2B+%22flight%22&article_id=5387,407771&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwidk-jdkv-UAxVAY0EAHSQ0MwMQ6AF6BAgIEAM#v=onepage&q=%22mariano%20rivera%22%20%2B%20%22enr.

4. Sakellaridid, Aris. NY Sportsday. [Online] January 31, 2019. https://www.nysportsday.com/2019/01/31/mos-biggest-loss-turned-into-his-greatest-save/.

5. Pizzella, Edward. Wordbridge. 2015.

6. Board, National Transportation Safety. In-Flight Separation of Vertical Stabilizer, American Airlines Flight 587, November 12, 2001. 2004.

7. Rivera, Mariano and Coffey, Wayne. The Closer: My Story. 2014.

8. Tourtellotte, Shane. The Hardball Times. [Online] March 27, 2013. https://tht.fangraphs.com/exit-sandman/.