You could feel the big ballpark shift, viscerally, tangibly, 48,614 sets of eyes following a baseball as it traced a white path against the black night sky. Indians shortstop Francisco Lindor had launched it there, and Yankees fans had already had just about enough of Lindor and his magic bat.

Two days earlier, it was Lindor’s grand slam that came immediately after the Non-Challenge Heard Round the World, and it vaulted the Indians back into a game most of Cleveland had already written off. Now, in the teeth of a scoreless game, top of the sixth inning, he’d hit another blast aimed straight at the Yankees’ heart.

Carrying and carrying right to the short porch in right.

The deeper it traveled, the louder the collective gasp grew. The ball wasn’t only carrying two runs, but six months of baseball. The Yankees had vowed they would not depart this American League Division Series quietly and they hadn’t, fueled by the brilliant right arm of Masahiro Tanaka.

“On a night when one run was going to win it,” Joe Girardi said, “he gave them none.”

Now, so much rested on where the ball would settle. It was a disconcerting couple of seconds; every one of these fans have seen balls that look just like this one sneak a row or two deep beyond the fence, quintessential Yankee Stadium home runs. The summers around here are filled with them.

But not every one of those balls has a helpful impediment.

Not every one has Aaron Judge, who happens to be 6-foot, 7-inches tall, drawing a bead on the ball, serving, for the moment, as a vertical Lundqvist, the only thing keeping the Yankees from a 2-0 deficit that would’ve felt in the moment like 20-0.

This wasn’t Endy Chavez, because it didn’t have to be. All Judge needed was a small hop, an extended reach, and the good fortune that none of the gloves behind him came between the ball and his glove.

And that’s where it settled.

“Great catch,” Girardi said. “And it ends up saving the game.”

And that’s when you had to believe, had to know, that the Yankees would buy themselves another day in this ALCS. It would be Greg Bird an inning later who would finally break the ice with a majestic second-deck home run off old friend Andrew Miller, the difference. It would be Tanaka throwing seven shutout innings at the American League’s best offense, and Aroldis Chapman coming in for the final five outs.

But it was this moment — the Yankees season suspended a couple of stories above the ground, the fear and anxiety — and the joy and relief — palpable in every second. This new iteration of Yankee Stadium takes a regular pounding because it isn’t the OLD Stadium, doesn’t have the memories and, mostly, doesn’t generate the noise.

But this night, it sure did. This night there was a sense of purpose bordering on desperation from every voice, from the start of the game, the bleacher denizens doing their roll call, to when Tanaka escaped a man-on-third, one-out jam in the fourth. This was an absolute gem of a baseball game, well-pitched, well-played, tense and nerve-jangling throughout.

In the moment the ball settled in Judge’s glove.

And the moment Greg Bird’s blast landed in the second tank.

And the moment Chapman finally came after Carlos Santana with 101-mph gas, two on and two out in the ninth, the tying run on second and the potential season-ending run on first, Santana giving it a ride but watching it die in Aaron Hicks’ mitt in center field.

So there will be at least one more day of baseball at the Stadium, which means at least one more day of summer in The Bronx. A baseball that stopped 48,614 hearts until deciding where it would land ultimately sent 48,614 folks into a deep spasm of joy. Let’s do all of this again Monday night, shall we?