Oct 17, 1777. Saratoga, New York. A full British army lays down its weapons in front of the Americans for the first time in history. Nothing about the war is the same after this day. Gen. John Burgoyne had come down from Canada that summer with around 7,000 or more British and German troops, plus Loyalists and Native allies, a huge artillery train, and a plan to split the colonies in two. He was so confident that before leaving London he reportedly bet a fellow officer he'd be home victorious within a year. Four months later he was surrounded, starving, and out of options. He'd lost at Freeman's Farm and Bemis Heights. His retreat north was blocked. American cannon and riflemen could reach every corner of his camp. On the morning of Oct 17, Burgoyne's army marched out of its camp to a meadow by the Hudson near the ruins of old Fort Hardy. There, by the terms of the convention, the soldiers stacked their muskets and left their cannon. The spot is still called the Field of Grounded Arms. Gates did something decent. He kept his own army out of sight while the British and Germans laid down their weapons, so they wouldn't have to do it in front of a crowd of jeering Americans. Then Burgoyne rode to meet Gates. Burgoyne was dressed in a magnificent scarlet uniform trimmed with gold, with a plumed hat. Gates wore a plain blue coat. Burgoyne reportedly said that the fortune of war had made him Gates's prisoner. Gates replied that he'd always be ready to testify it hadn't been through any fault of Burgoyne's. Burgoyne handed over his sword. Gates handed it right back. After that, the beaten army marched between two long lines of American soldiers. Witnesses said the Americans stood in silence, no taunting. Many British officers were stunned by what they saw. These weren't the ragged rabble they'd been told about. Some American fifers played "Yankee Doodle," a tune the British had once used to mock colonials. Around 5,800 men surrendered. Burgoyne and Gates then sat down to dinner together and drank toasts, including one to the King and one to Washington. The general who did the most to win the battle wasn't there. Benedict Arnold was lying in a hospital bed in Albany with his leg shattered. When news of Saratoga reached Europe that December, it changed everything. Within weeks France was negotiating an alliance with the United States. By early 1778, France was in the war. Without Saratoga, there's probably no French fleet off Yorktown four years later. And four years to the day after this surrender, at Yorktown, a British drummer climbed onto a wall and beat for a parley.

A grave marker for the Granary Burying Ground in Boston, where those killed in the Boston Massacre were buried

Ted Williams might be the greatest hitter who ever lived, and he gave the military almost five years of his prime. Twice. In 1941 he went into the last day of the season hitting .3995, which would have rounded up to .400. His manager offered to sit him so he could keep it. Williams refused, played both games of a doubleheader, went 6 for 8, and finished at .406. Nobody has hit .400 since. After Pearl Harbor he got a deferment because he was his mother's main support. The press hammered him for it. So in 1942 he enlisted in the Navy's flight program, then went out and won the Triple Crown that same season before reporting. He missed 1943, 1944 and 1945 entirely. He earned his wings, was commissioned in the Marine Corps, and spent the war training other pilots. He was in Hawaii waiting on combat orders when Japan surrendered. He came back, won another Triple Crown in 1947, and figured he was done with the military. He wasn't. In 1952, at 33 years old, the Marines recalled him for Korea. He flew 39 combat missions in an F9F Panther jet. Some of them were flown as John Glenn's wingman. Glenn later said Williams was one of the best pilots he ever flew with. In February 1953, on a strike near Pyongyang, his jet was hit by ground fire. His radio went out, his hydraulics went out, and the plane caught fire. Another pilot led him back to base. He couldn't get his landing gear down, so he brought it in on its belly at well over 200 mph, skidded down the runway, and jumped out as it burned. He was back flying missions the next day. An ear infection and illness finally ended his tour that summer. He got home in July, walked back into Fenway, and hit .407 with 13 home runs over the rest of the season. He retired in 1960 with a .344 average and 521 home runs. He homered in his very last at bat. Give him those five years back and he probably passes 600 easily. He never really complained about it.