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When I think back on the 2004 American League Championship Series, I think of gutsy performances by Derek Lowe and Curt Schilling as the Boston Red Sox came back from an 0-3 hole to beat the New York Yankees in seven games.

I think of Dave Roberts’ steal, Billy Mueller knocking down Mariano Rivera, David Ortiz’s multiple walk-off hits and Johnny Damon’s grand slam.

More than that, though, I think of Manuel Herrera’s phone call.

Manuel was known as “Manny” by his friends, and he was one of my dad’s best pals. When he dialed my dad’s number late on the night of Sunday, Oct. 17, 2004, the timing could not have been worse for him.

Manny’s Yankees were trying to close out a four-game sweep of the Red Sox at Fenway Park.

The Yankees had just finished batting in the top of the 12^th inning. It was a little after 11 p.m. our time, and Manny was calling to tease my dad about the inevitable Yankee victory. 

As a diehard Yankees fan, Manny was used to getting the last laugh on my dad, a Red Sox fan. This time, though, was different. 

At the time, I thought it was bad timing for Manny’s call because the game was tied for more than an hour after the Red Sox knotted it up in the ninth inning against the greatest closer in the game.

I assumed that Manny had been sitting by the phone ready to make that call for hours. But they both had to work the next morning, so Manny decided to just finally make the call before going to bed.

My dad laughed with his good pal, and Manny Ramirez singled as he hung up the phone. Seconds later, Ortiz launched a two-run home run to right field, keeping the Red Sox alive.

Before Ortiz rounded the bases, my dad had Manny back on the phone. This time, it was only my dad who was laughing.

Of course, Manny’s phone call isn’t the reason the Red Sox came back and won the series. It is well documented that the red socks that I wore during the last four marathon games that did the trick. But I would like to think that Manny played a small part.

If nothing else, Manny’s call made the memory of a great moment in my life just a little bit better. 

That’s what Manny was all about. If he was around, things were just more fun. You smiled a little bit more, and you laughed a little longer.

Manny, who served in the Navy during the Vietnam War, passed away last Wednesday. He was 75. 

His funeral mass will be held Friday at 1 p.m. at St. Patrick’s Church. He will be buried at the Mount Moriah Cemetery with military honors, and the world will be just less fun.

Like my dad, Manny was an electrician. He was as good as electricians come, but he always told me that nobody in the world could “bend pipe” like my dad.

“What’s the big deal?” I would ask. “You have a pipe, and you bend it. Anybody can do that.”

“No, no, no,” Manny would say. “Nobody can bend pipe like your old man. Nobody.”

Like my dad, Manny was a proud union man. Neither would work a non-union job after the Atlantic Richfield Co. closed the mines in Butte in the early 1980s. 

That meant that my dad and Manny traveled all around the country to sign the union books and take construction jobs to support their families. They worked in places like California, Utah, Washington, Wyoming, Minnesota and around Montana.

When we were lucky, they worked close enough so they could drive home for the weekends. My dad often traveled and lived on the road with Manny and friends like Jack Fisher, Ed Cummings, Tommy Davies and Jim Barry.

I would wait up late on Friday night to see their car pull up. Then I would be sad as they pulled up again on Sunday afternoon to pick my dad up for another week on the road.

As tough as it was for my mom, brothers and me to see my dad leave, I always figured it was tougher for him. Can you imagine spending most of your time living and working away from your wife and young kids?

At least I always knew that having such great friends with him made things a little easier for my dad. He was traveling with a collection of hard-working men. They were men of principle. They sacrificed so much so their families could have better lives, and they had fun doing it.

It would be impossible to not have fun with those guys, and Manny was always at the heart of that fun.

Those guys struggled through tough economic times, and they made the best of them — even if they had to live in dive hotels and trailers. They were everything I ever wanted to be when I grew up.

To me, they still epitomized the old saying that, “Tough times never last, but tough people do.”

Those tough times, though, lasted a long, long time. But my dad and his group of electrician friends outlasted it.

Jack, Ed, Tommy and Jim all passed away in recent years. It has been so hard to see the world lose so many good guys at a way-too-young age.

It is heartbreaking to know that they were robbed of their retirement years that they earned with years of hard work and sacrifice. They all deserved so much better.

However, it is a comfort to know that they all left their mark on the world. They never took a shortcut. They worked hard. They lived hard. They played hard. 

And nobody did that better than Manny, who could always make you laugh or beat you in a political argument with one line.

One time, he learned that a guy he worked with voted Republican in the latest election.

“I didn’t know you’re rich,” Manny said.

The man didn’t like the statement, and he protested, as if being rich was a bad thing. “I’m not rich,” he said.

“Oh,” Manny quickly shot back at a man he figured was voting against his own best interests. “Then you must be stupid.”

A simple, straight-to-the-point argument. Check mate. Manny won.

My dad still talks about that Manny statement as if he is describing a great political pundit on top of his game. It was just classic Manny being Manny.

That day, like most days, Manny got the last laugh, and he left us laughing. He always left us laughing. 

Like it was hard seeing him struggle over the last several years of his life, it is hard to see Manny say goodbye. 

But when I think of Manny, I will always smile a little longer and laugh a little more. We all will.

Especially when I think about him calling to taunt my dad at the worst possible time.

— Bill Foley, who has made more than his share of ill-timed taunting phone calls, can be reached at foles74@gmail.com. Follow him at twitter.com/Foles74 before that billionaire weirdo ruins it. Listen to the ButteCast on Apple Podcasts, Spotify or wherever you find your favorite podcasts.