On March 10, The Ringer unveiled its ranking of the 100 best sports moments of the quarter century. And while 100 seems like a lot, there were countless moments that we had to leave off the list. So, to end the week, we’re paying homage and letting our staff celebrate their personal no. 1 moments.
June 7, 2012
It was a legacy-defining night for a player who’s stirred up more exhausting legacy-related debates than any other star in NBA history: Game 6 of the 2012 Eastern Conference finals. Heat vs. Celtics. LeBron James against a relentless thrum of criticism, Michael Jordan’s ghost, and sincere doubt that he would ever lead his team to championship glory. The backdrop, for those who don’t remember: A ringless James, fresh off melting down in the 2011 Finals, is down 3-2, facing elimination on the road against Paul Pierce, Kevin Garnett, Rajon Rondo, Ray Allen, and the boogeyman franchise that initially convinced him to team up with Dwyane Wade and Chris Bosh down in Miami. A loss and it’s DEFCON 1, back to square one, with Bosh almost definitely getting traded, Erik Spoelstra potentially being replaced, and LeBron’s entire “not one, not two, not three!” spectacle all but certainly preventing him from reveling in the greatest career that professional basketball has ever seen. Instead, he came out and spent the first two quarters constructing the NBA’s Sistine Chapel, scoring 30 points, missing only two shots, and silencing a ravenous crowd. By the time it was over, LeBron had 45 points, 15 rebounds, and five assists in a blowout win that redirected his trajectory, affirmed his legacy, and obliterated every speck of skepticism his detractors were planning to fling. —Michael Pina
April 16, 2004
When Barry Bonds and Eric Gagné faced off in the bottom of the ninth inning of a three-run game in San Francisco in April 2004, they were, on a rate basis, better at baseball than anyone else has ever been. At 28, Gagné was fresh off a nearly unanimous Cy Young win for a 55-save season that saw him record the lowest-ever FIP and highest-ever strikeout rate relative to the league (excluding a few standout seasons by 1920s strikeout king Dazzy Vance). At 39, Bonds was in the midst of a run of four consecutive MVP awards during which his bat unbalanced the game. This was unhittable pitcher vs. unpitchable hitter, and the showdown didn’t disappoint.
It wasn’t a fully fair fight. On an exhibition tour of Japan in late 2002, Bonds and Gagné had agreed that the next time they faced each other with the Giants trailing by three or more runs, Gagné would go after Bonds, who rarely saw strikes. Their only matchups in 2003 came in extra-inning ties, so this 2004 confrontation was the first test of their pact. Their recollections of the ground rules differ: Bonds has insisted that Gagné was supposed to shelve his off-speed stuff entirely, whereas Gagné has said that one breaking ball was allowed. Either way, Bonds could rule out Gagné’s changeup, the righty’s best pitch. Post-BALCO Bonds barely missed when he didn’t know what was coming, so Gagné’s gift of unilateral disarmament was a massive mistake from a tactical standpoint.
Fortunately, his decision to turn up the heat made the moment more special for spectators. Aside from one backdoor curveball, which narrowly missed on 0-2, this collision of pumped-up players was pure power on power. The seven-pitch saga featured high-octane gas from Gagné at a time when triple-digit speeds were scarce, plus a titanic foul by Bonds, who turned too quickly on 99 inside. Moments after that warning shot splashed down in McCovey Cove, Bonds straightened out a 100 mph offering and sent it screaming away even faster. The missile landed in the stands in right center, and though the Dodgers won the game, Bonds had established himself as the sport’s unquestioned alpha. Gagné learned his lesson. The next two times he faced Bonds, he displayed his submission, issuing two of the unfathomable 120 intentional walks Bonds drew in 2004.
The Ringer’s Best Sports Moments
The Ringer’s Best Sports Moments
The numbers Bonds and Gagné posted were too good to be true: Both had help from chemistry as they broke baseball’s statistical scale. But their talent wasn’t tarnished along with their legacies, and the theater they staged is still riveting. That both stars went Super Saiyan enhanced (so to speak) the spectacle of their clash; when the two notorious cheaters tangled one-on-one, the only innocent victims were the baseballs Bonds clobbered. MLB instituted harsher penalties for PED use the following year, which in retrospect made this matchup both the apotheosis and the swan song of the steroid era. When some fans say they miss that pretesting period of bulked-up bodies and improbable production, they’re thinking of displays of strength like this.
On a personal level, Bonds doesn’t deserve to be glorified, but baseball-wise he was, at his best, the best by far. We have a Bonds bomb on our top 100 list—a dinger against the Dodgers, no less—but however historic no. 71 in 2001 was, it’s not nearly as indelible as this battle between final bosses. “This was the greatest at bat of my life,” Bonds himself would say, adding, “It was something that I’ll never forget, ever, in my entire lifetime.” Neither will anyone who watched it. —Ben Lindbergh
September 26, 2016
Few MLB players were easier to love than José Fernández. At 15 years old, on his fourth attempted defection from Cuba, Fernández made it to the United States. At 21 years old, he won AL Rookie of the Year. Fernandez was a joy to watch. He played with joie de vivre. In late September 2016, Fernández pitched the best game of his life. He also announced that his girlfriend was pregnant. Days later, on September 25, 2016, Fernandez died in a boating accident. He was 24.
When the Marlins played the next day, all the players wore “Fernandez” on their backs, along with his no. 16. Their leadoff hitter, Dee Gordon, was one of Fernandez’s closest friends. Gordon wore custom cleats and a shirt underneath his jersey saying “RIP.” Gordon was a speedster. He had perhaps the least powerful swing in baseball. Yet on the first swing of the first at-bat of the game, he smacked a home run over the right-field fence.
As Gordon rounded the bases, he broke down into tears. After touching home, Gordon pounded his heart, looked to the sky, and wiped away a tear. Then he collapsed into the arms of his teammates. It was the only home run Gordon hit that entire season. —Danny Heifetz
October 27, 2004
I had an amazing summer job from junior year of high school through college, selling peanuts (and Cracker Jacks, ice cream, Coke, hot dogs, and everything in between) in the stands at Fenway Park. And it was through that job that I almost cost the Red Sox a shot at the World Series.
I sneaked into Fenway for Game 3 of the 2004 American League Championship Series by pretending to go to work and then shedding my uniform and blending into the crowd in the standing-room section. You could see some of the games while you were working in the stands, but with the Sox on the ropes against the Yankees, I wanted to see it all. And of course, the baseball gods punished my favorite team for my trespassing with an all-time rout.
The crowd thinned out as the game got worse and worse for the home team, but I stayed for every pitch. As penance. After it was over, I promised the baseball gods I’d never sneak in again. (Instead, I developed a new plan: selling ice cream, which was light and would not be in high demand during Boston’s 50-degree October nights.)
Amazingly, it worked. The Red Sox completed the greatest comeback in baseball history and then swept the Cardinals to win their first World Series since 1918. While I didn’t see every pitch of either series and made very little money, watching it all happen was an experience I’ll never forget—taking me from guilt-ridden despair to delirious, anxiety-releasing joy—and that, for me, has never been topped. And for a Boston sports fan, that’s saying something! (Sports gods, don’t come for me for that not-so-humble brag—I can honestly say I’m just doing my job!) —Jack McCluskey
May 26, 2002
NBA playoff history is rich with game-winning shots. With buzzer-beaters. With swishes that swung a series. But has any other shot: (a) won a game, (b) bailed out two Hall of Famers, (c) saved a dynasty, and (d) inspired an obscure indie-rock band to write a song about it? Answer: No. Just this one.
The situation: The Lakers trailed 2-1 in the 2002 Western Conference finals, against a fierce and talented Sacramento Kings team, and were behind 99-97 in Game 4 with less than 10 seconds left. The sequence: Kobe Bryant misses a driving layup (3.3 seconds left), Shaquille O’Neal misses a point-blank tip-in (1.1 seconds), and the Kings’ Vlade Divac smacks the loose ball out to the perimeter, where—instead of skipping away as time expires—it finds its way into the hands of Robert “Big Shot” Horry, who calmly, smoothly drains a 3-pointer as the buzzer sounds. Mayhem.
Afterward, Divac would dismiss it as “a lucky shot,” to which Horry would pointedly (and accurately) respond, “I’ve been doing that for all my career. He should know—he better read a paper or something.” (As a newspaper guy, this warmed my heart.)
It’s one of the most incredible plays I’ve covered in my 28 years on the beat. It was so inspirational to Laker fans that it moved a band called Grand Incredible to record an earnest, cloying-but-catchy three-minute tribute, “Robert Horry Saves the Day.” (“And oh, the skies were gray / But everything’s OK / Robert Horry saved the day.”)
The thing about dynasties is that the details get obscured over time. If Horry misses, the Lakers go down 3-1 in the series—and quite likely lose it, ending Shaq and Kobe’s championship streak at two and probably hastening a roster overhaul. The Kings would almost certainly have beaten the Nets and won the 2002 title. A lot of legacies were cemented (or denied) in that one flick of Robert Horry’s wrist. —Howard Beck
February 2012
Linsanity was such a magical run by Jeremy Lin in February 2012 that you can’t boil it down to just one moment. There’s the night that started it all, when Lin came off the bench against the New Jersey Nets to score 25 points and lead the New York Knicks to just the third win in their past 14 games. There’s the game when Lin silenced his doubters by scoring 38 at the Garden against Kobe Bryant and the Los Angeles Lakers. Or Lin’s Valentine’s Day buzzer-beater in Toronto (on Asian Heritage Night) at the Air Canada Centre.
In a vacuum, athletes have delivered more impressive individual performances and hit more important shots on bigger stages. But when you combine all the spectacular moments that make up Linsanity, along with the compounding pressure and media attention that followed each of Lin’s successive achievements, there isn’t another story in sports from this century that stacks up to the undrafted point guard’s meteoric rise from couch surfing to global superstardom. It’s as good as any underdog story we’ve ever seen—yet that narrative archetype doesn’t do Lin’s saga justice. Because Linsanity was a fleeting window in time when the world could witness that tale being rewritten every game, as Lin laced up his sneakers to take the hardwood and defy the odds all over again. —Daniel Chin
January 2006
When I explain that I used to live in Cyprus, people tend to have one of two responses: They’ll ask whether Cyprus is part of Greece (it isn’t) or crack a joke about money laundering (fair enough). As you’d imagine, a small island isn’t the kind of place that makes itself known on the global sporting stage. (Cyprus has yet to qualify for a major FIFA or UEFA competition and likely never will.) But over one glorious fortnight in Melbourne, a Greek Cypriot became one of tennis’s most heartwarming Cinderella stories.
Marcos Baghdatis entered the 2006 Australian Open as an unseeded player, ranked 54th in the world. Against all odds, Baghdatis took down three consecutive top-10 seeds—Andy Roddick, Ivan Ljubicic, and David Nalbandian—en route to the final, playing a dynamic, well-rounded game that seemed to grow the bigger the stage became. (Case in point: coming back from two sets down against Nalbandian in the semis.) All the while, Baghdatis had a smile on his face and was cheered on by Greek fans chanting his name in atmospheres reminiscent of a soccer match. When Baghdatis went up a set and a break in the final against the Roger Federer, I was in a genuine state of shock. So, too, it seemed, was Baghdatis, who capitulated at the end of the second set—from that point on, he won only two more games in the match. But while Federer came away with the Australian Open title, the tournament will always be remembered for one player’s unlikely rise from Bags to riches. Build him a statue in Nicosia. —Miles Surrey
December 10, 2011
When was the last time you turned off your phone, taped a game, and shut off the outside world so that you could eventually watch it in sterile, uncompromised peace? For me, it was December 10, 2011. I had to go to my wife’s work Christmas party. It was at an aquarium. Even worse, it was during an Indiana-Kentucky game, a rivalry clash this Hoosier fan had been anticipating for months. But I couldn’t get out of the party (Editor’s note: He tried.) So I taped the game and waited to watch until I came home.
No Indiana or Kentucky fans spoiled it at the party. I made it back with zero awareness and got to watch the entire game with a clean slate. In the end, all the shenanigans paid off. Because in maybe the purest sports-watching moment of my life, while still dressed in my finest Men’s Wearhouse, I got to see Christian Watford hit one of the biggest shots in college basketball history and take down Anthony Davis, John Calipari, J. Kyle Mann, and the top-ranked Wildcats at the buzzer. The shot was so good that ESPN made it into a commercial. Dan Shulman’s “Watford for the win …” is seared into my memory like my Social Security number. The face Tom Crean makes in the afterglow could melt icebergs. The noise Assembly Hall makes could power a billion generators. It was the perfect college basketball moment. The perfect upset. And the perfect sports-viewing experience. —Matt Dollinger
October 26, 2024
Nothing says victory like palm trees, Dodger blue, and the sounds of rap music on an autumn day in Southern California. Ice Cube proved this point a few minutes before Game 2 of the 2024 World Series between the Dodgers and Yankees. Clad in a blue Dodgers coach’s jacket, blue Jordan 1s, and the charisma of the big homie at the community center, Cube brought all the bravado necessary to prepare the Yankees for a World Series ass whooping.
First, he walked the length of the outfield performing “Bow Down,” a classic collaboration with Westside Connection, instructing the Yankees standing in the dugout on how to act. Then, as he strolled to the infield, the DJ seamlessly transitioned into “It Was a Good Day,” and the place went nuts. Magic Johnson bobbed his head behind home plate, while Angelenos of all shapes, sizes, and colors grooved to Cube’s smooth rhymes.
The performance was a reminder that despite the East Coast bias that permeates pop culture and beyond, the West Coast is the greatest place on earth. And no matter how much hoo ridin’ the opposite coast does, we’ll always win on the biggest stage. —Logan Murdock
October 21, 2006
In selecting the Best 100 Sports Moments of the Quarter Century, we had a lot of debates about what to include and what to leave out. One contentious question: Should sports memes or other lighter off-field moments be considered? Or should we elide those in favor of more on-field highlight-worthy feats of athleticism?
In the end, we mostly stuck with the latter. But sports are supposed to be fun, so we made a few exceptions. “A drive into deep left field by Castellanos” made it. As did J.R. Smith’s blunder in the 2018 NBA Finals. Same for other moments that are mostly remembered for spawning jokes: Zion Williamson’s exploding shoe, Scottie Scheffler getting arrested hours before the second round of the 2024 PGA Championship, and the Butt Fumble, among others. But for my money, we forgot the best moment in this category: Marshawn Lynch taking the Cal injury cart for a spin in 2006.
How could we leave this off? Maybe it’s because Marshawn already had a moment on this list, the Beast Quake. Maybe it’s because our other meme-worthy highlights suffer from some recency bias. But no athlete has ever been more of a natural for these types of moments than Marshawn. You probably don’t remember, but Marshawn didn’t hop on that cart after a huge win. It was actually a frustrating day for Lynch and Co.: No. 11 Cal barely squeaked past unranked Washington, even though Huskies quarterback Carl Bonnell tossed five interceptions. (The hero in overtime? You guessed it: Marshawn Lynch.) It was not the kind of win you necessarily feel good about when your program is trying to make its first Rose Bowl in 50 years.
But sports are supposed to be fun! And whether it’s that famous joyride, eating Skittles, dancing at the Coliseum, visiting Amish country, or not getting fined, no athlete has had more fun than Marshawn. Though I’d wager that spin on the injury cart may have been the most fun he’s ever had. —Riley McAtee
September 26, 2013
It’s rare for the trickster god to also be the GOAT, but Diana Taurasi, who announced her retirement a few weeks ago, was one of one. Taurasi, who played in 20 of the WNBA’s 28 seasons, blew the cap off the league’s early ill-conceived attempt at play-acting a strict heteronormative standard of femininity with her devil-may-care antics, relentless competitive spirit, and unapologetic queerness.
In the fourth quarter of Game 1 of the 2013 Western Conference finals, all those things converged: She bumped up against her opponent, Seimone Augustus, who stood her ground, bringing the two former Olympic teammates nose-to-nose. Taurasi then diffused the tension with a peck on Augustus’s cheek, finding the levity in the conflict she herself created, illustrating a playfulness that has always been at the heart of her menacing competitiveness. The moment was classic Taurasi: charming yet confounding. Even the refs, who assessed both Taurasi and Augustus with personal fouls, were in uncharted territory. As she put it after the game, “We were just trying to make sweet love, that’s about it.”
It tracks: For Taurasi, could there be a higher expression of love than in-game conflict? —Seerat Sohi
October 2, 2016
Is it silly to stump for a moment from a notoriously tamped-down sport? Perhaps. Am I biased because I was at part of this event and remember the jeers, cheers, and drunk bellows from patrons like it was yesterday? Probably. Will any of that change my mind? Absolutely not!
The Reed vs. McIlroy showdown on the Sunday of the 2016 Ryder Cup was a battle two days in the making; it required a small bit of luck to even happen—Ryder Cup captains have to send in their pairings and lineups without knowing the other’s submissions—and it more than lived up to the hype. We got shouting matches, finger wags, crowd interactions, and 60-foot putts. There were dressed-up crowds and stadium chants and Rory McIlroy (briefly) levitating off the ground. And it all combined to create what some have called the greatest Ryder Cup singles match of the century—or ever. —Megan Schuster
January 8, 2023
Less than a week earlier, the Buffalo Bills had stood in silence and watched as their teammate’s heart stopped beating. The rest of the Monday Night Football game between the Bills and the Cincinnati Bengals was canceled, and it would be a painfully long stretch of time before the Bills—and the world—would receive news that Damar Hamlin was going to make it after suffering cardiac arrest on the field.
Going into their final game of the regular season, at home against the New England Patriots, it’s an understatement to say that football was not the first thing on the Bills’ minds. Thoughts were with their brother, who remained in a Cincinnati hospital, with trying to regain focus after witnessing firsthand the worst-case scenario in an ever-violent sport. And as the Patriots kicked the ball off to start the game in Orchard Park, the clouds parted.
“THIS IS STORYBOOK!” Jim Nantz yelled as Nyheim Hines crossed the goal line. Coach Sean McDermott’s eyes welled up as he ushered his special teams onto the field. Josh Allen’s hands held his head in disbelief. Players who, six days prior, were embracing in pain and fear, leaped into each other’s arms again in ecstasy. The game went on—Tyler Bass eventually kicked an extra point through the uprights—but everyone in that stadium stayed in that moment.
Sports can be extremely stupid. They can take up too much of our lives, seem frivolous. But they can also be a religious experience. They can also be one of the only things on this earth that embody the sense of a higher power. Because there’s simply no reasonable way to explain a moment like this. You simply have to let it wash over you, and be grateful that you got to experience it. —Andrew Gruttadaro
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