It’s an October game six and the Dodgers are in the World Series … A miracle happened, maybe one can happen again.

It’s 1947, Dodgers versus Yankees in the World Series, Jackie Robinson, Joe DiMaggio. Yankee youngster Dale Berra is not Yogi yet and he platoons in the outfield. The Dodgers have already produced more than one mini miracle just to reach game six. Now it’s the bottom of the sixth inning at Yankee Stadium and over 70,000 fans get to their feet as DiMaggio walks to the plate … Joe fuckin’ DiMaggio!

This was the year of the first televised World Series and in addition to the twenty million radios manufactured in the U.S., there was now a handful of black-and-white TVs in taverns across the five boroughs that were mostly having technical difficulties as the Yankees tried to vanquish the Brooklynites.

The Dodgers clung to an 8-5 lead. Dodgers’ manager Burt Shotton had just replaced left fielder Eddie Miksis with 5-foot-6 Al Gionfriddo, a defensive specialist. Snuffy Stirnweiss was on second base and Berra was on first, two outs and now DiMaggio. The Yankee Clipper gets a pitch he likes and launches a blast that everyone thinks is headed into the Dodgers bullpen in deep left field. Gionfriddo had been playing fairly shallow in right-center field, essentially lined up behind shortstop Pee Wee Reese. Now, with the crack of the bat, Gionfriddo turns and runs. He’s fast and a fine athlete and he hasn’t taken any wasted steps. About two feet in front of the waist-high, chain-link fence in left, Gionfriddo spears the ball, a snocone, as he slides on the warning track and just manages to balance himself before toppling over the fence. DiMaggio is shown to angrily kick at the dirt as he rounds second base at full speed and realizes Gionfriddo has the ball. The Dodgers go on to win game six 8-6.

Seventy years ago, almost to the day. Just maybe.