Yawkey Way decision shows lack of creativity on part of Red Sox and John Henry

Jersey Street -- how is that better?

Judging from the on-air and online commentary, feelings are most definitely mixed on the Boston Public Improvement Commission's decision to rename Yawkey Way -- with far more negative sentiment than John Henry might have anticipated. I'm not going to pass judgment on Henry's reasoning for this move, because it's moot; Thursday's vote means the war is over, and Henry has won.

What baffles me is the lack of creative thinking on Henry's part. Faced with fans he had to know would view a name change as political correctness gone amok, the Red Sox owner missed the opportunity to push for the type of change that might win some skeptics over -- and generate additional positive buzz around the move.

The good old days ...?

By bringing back Jersey Street, Henry has effectively returned Fenway's home address to a time when stale cigar smoke wafted through the stands, the bullpen cart rolled across Joe Mooney's lawn, and drunken bleacherites yelled "Hey Uncle Ben!" at rookie outfielder Jim Rice.


Mail to Fenway arrived on Jersey Street when Jackie Robinson was told "don't call us, we'll call you" after his sham tryout in 1945, and it was where Boston manager (and sometimes GM) Mike "Pinky" Higgins reported for work when he vowed "They'll be no niggers on this club as long as I have anything to say about it." Under Yawkey's employ, he had his way longer than any other MLB boss.

Robinson did not leave Jersey Street smiling.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying everything about Jersey Street is bad. I'm sure lots of nice people have worked and lived on it. But if you're trying to bring about change, why not go all the way?

Here are five alternate street names that would have made for an upbeat ending to this saga -- and still could, if it's not too late for John Henry to get on the horn to the commission.

Bobby Doerr Boulevard: It's hard to think of a more universally respected or beloved Red Sox figure than Doerr, a Hall of Fame second baseman and coach with the club who died last November at age 99. Naming a street for him this year would be a wonderful way of honoring the memory of No. 1.

As an elder statesman, Doerr remained regal.

Ted Williams Way:  Yup, I know this was tried before back in 1991. In fact, I was standing a few feet away on the Fenway grass, working as a young freelancer shortly after college, when Teddy Ballgame was handed the street sign that bore his name and would soon be affixed to what was previously known as Lansdowne Street. Things didn't go as planned; folks kept stealing the Ted Williams Way signs, and the name never took. There is probably a whole generation of kids under 25 who never knew this attempted change ever happened.

But this August marks the 100th anniversary of Williams' birth. What better time to try again to name a street for the greatest hitter in Red Sox history -- and a two-time war hero and champion of the Jimmy Fund to boot. In a 21st century, twitter-fed world, I bet it would stick this time.

It didn't take the first time, but maybe now....?

Jimmy Fund Drive: I admit being a bit bias on this one. I've worked for Dana-Farber Cancer Institute since 1999, focused largely on the great work of its Jimmy Fund charity. I have seen up close many, many times the important role the Red Sox play in making the lives of cancer patients happier -- and how their efforts each summer in the WEEI/NESN Jimmy Fund Radio-Telethon generate millions in critical funds needed for research and clinical care. 

There is already a "Jimmy Fund Way" on Dana-Farber's main campus in the Longwood Medical Area, which Yaz and Mike Andrews dedicated in 1997 to honor the '67 Impossible Dream Red Sox. A Jimmy Fund Drive at Fenway would nobly honor the annual fundraising drives that the Sox make for New England's Favorite Charity.

A bridge for Papi - how about a street for Pedro?

Pedro Place: Other Red Sox greats have statues, why not give the best pitcher in team history his own street? The fact Pedro Martinez is also a man of color known for doing many great works on behalf of his Dominican countrymen and others makes him a worthy and fitting symbol of change in the post-Yawkey era. Besides, how cool would it be to say you were going to meet your buddies at El Tiante's on Pedro Place?

Red Sox Way:  This isn't very creative, but it is straight and to the point. It would help folks find Fenway when lost, and would symbolize what John Henry is trying to create here -- a new Red Sox way of going about business. 

If you're reading, Mr. Henry, my vote goes for Jimmy Fund Drive or Ted Williams Way -- just make sure those new street signs are bolted down tight.

As 1967 team reunites, time is perfect for Red Sox to do right by Tony Conigliaro

It was 50 years ago this Friday. Red Sox outfielder Tony Conigliaro lay crumpled at home plate, the victim of an errant pitch that struck him squarely on the face. As a hushed Fenway Park crowd watched on, teammates lifted him onto a stretcher and carried him off the field.

The hometown hero was just 22, blessed with a sweet right-handed stroke that had already made him the youngest American Leaguer ever to hit 100 home runs. Along with fellow All-Stars Carl Yastrzemski and Jim Lonborg, he was at the center of a Boston baseball revival that had risen a team of perennial losers from a decade in the doldrums to the thick of the 1967 pennant race. Tony C was as big a hero as it got in these parts.

And this week, as Yastrzemski, Lonborg, and other members of the "Impossible Dream" team return to Fenway and celebrate the 50th anniversary of their magical summer, the Red Sox organization should use the occasion to pay proper homage to their fallen teammate:

Retire Conigliaro's number 25.

Spare the talk about how such honors should only go to the best of the best in team history. Those who saw him play -- players and fans alike -- are in agreement that were he not nearly fatally beaned that August night, Tony C. would have hit somewhere in the neighborhood of 500 homers playing half his games at Fenway Park.

Conigliaro led the AL with 32 homers at age 20.

It was fate that denied him both that chance and the opportunity to play in the '67 World Series due to a cracked left cheekbone, dislocated jaw. and a damaged retina in his left eye. Doctors said he'd never play again. Yet Conigliaro had the guts to come back after 20 months and produce two more standout seasons with essentially no peripheral vision and a terrible blind spot in his bad eye.

Eventually the situation deteriorated to the point where he had to quit at age 26. A final comeback in 1975 produced many tears but too few hits, and a massive heart attack in 1982 left Conigliaro largely incapacitated and non-verbal. After eight excruciating years for he and his family, during which he never lived independently, he died at age 45 in 1990.

He didn't hit his 500 homers or make the Hall of Fame, but Tony C.'s legacy of courage and youthful glory is more than worthy of the highest honor the Red Sox can give.

"Here is a guy who literally gave his life for his hometown team," says Richard Johnson, curator of The Sports Museum and a leading authority on all things Boston baseball. "What could be more deserving of our respect than that?"

(Associated Press)

This topic has come up for discussion before. Steve Buckley of the Boston Herald has long beat the drum for Conigliaro, with occasional help from the Farrelly brothers, but while the team has widened its number-retirement ranks in recent years, Tony C. has not made the cut.

So why not now? This is likely the last time so many of Conigliaro's former Red Sox teammates will ever all be together again -- Yastrzemski, Lonborg, Mike Andrews, Reggie Smith, and the rest. Rico Petrocelli, the first guy to reach Tony C. when he went down like a shot at home plate, will be here too.

Yaz and other Tony C. teammates are here this week.

Tuesday and Wednesday's games fall during the WEEI/NESN Jimmy Fund Radio-Telethon, and Thursday is an off-day. So why not make Friday the night?

Fifty years to the day of what is likely the most tragic day in franchise history, the Red Sox could invite Mike Lowell (another great ballplayer to wear 25) to take off his jersey and hand it to Tony C's brother -- and onetime Red Sox outfield mate -- Billy Conigliaro. Tony's nieces and nephews could unveil his number in right field and Billy could throw out a ceremonial first pitch to his remaining brother, Richie.

Then Billy would give way to the current Boston team and its opponents for the night: the New York Yankees.

A pennant race under the biggest spotlight -- two things Tony C. relished but never got to enjoy enough. It may be short timing, but the Red Sox could still make it happen.

FOR DISCUSSION: Should the Red Sox retire Conigliaro's number -- and why?

For some fans, Jon Lester was more inspiration than ace

Lester notches the last out. (Wall Street Journal)

I originally wrote the story below for the Dana-Farber staff Intranet, but felt that giving it a wider audience would be a nice contrast to the negative accounts surrounding Jon Lester's signing with the Chicago Cubs.The names of patients and staff have been changed to preserve their privacy.

May 21, 2008
Lester's no-hitter gives cancer fighters a lift 

Jon Lester's no-hitter was the talk of the Dana 1 infusion clinic yesterday morning, and just because the 24-year-old lefty pitches for the hometown Boston Red Sox. 

Lester is also a lymphoma survivor who received treatment at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute in 2006-07. and his quick recovery from patient to the top of the baseball world is an inspiration to others tackling cancer.

Lester and Tito celebrate (Reuters)

"I look at this guy and say, 'He's come a long way in a short time. If he can do it, I can do it," says Patrick, a 62-year-old patient who was at the clinic getting treatment for his T-cell lymphoma. After Patrick was diagnosed last fall, his son-in-law gave him an authentic Jon Lester jersey for good luck. 

When he took off his jacket to reveal the shirt yesterday, Patrick says his fellow patients loved seeing it. "I think it gave everybody a lift." 

This is not the first time Lester has been in the national headlines. Initially diagnosed with anaplastic large cell lymphoma as a rookie with the Red Sox in late August 2006, he returned to the Boston roster last July and slowly worked his way back into form. 

His effectiveness returned faster than expected, and he wound up leading the Red Sox to victory in the final game of their 2007 World Series sweep over the Colorado Rockies. 

Lester holds the hardware, 2007

Lester is back in the regular rotation this season, and is strong enough to have thrown 130 pitches in Monday's no-hitter. He also found time to meet with Dana-Farber patients as part of this winter's New Stars for Young Stars Jimmy Fund event at Jillian's Boston.

Lester's presence is felt all over Dana-Farber. Todd, a 28-year-old patient, is in the midst of his second battle with rhabdomyosarcoma, and he has been following Lester's incredible story since the pitcher was diagnosed about a month before him. 

As an athlete himself who captained his high school and college football teams, Todd knows how much one's physical and mental strength is sapped by cancer.

Three survivors

"It's hard to describe; even when the treatment is over, it's really tough to get back to where you were before," says Todd. "To see him pitching in the World Series just a year after starting treatment, and now pitching a no-hitter, it's incredible. It definitely gives you inspiration and more hope."

Dana I infusion nurse Jennifer Smith, BSN, RN, agrees that Lester's on- and off-field heroics give a much-needed boost to those in her care.

"Especially when patients feel like their sickness is taking over, it's very encouraging," she says. "Jon has proven that you can fight the fight, win the battle, and go on and live your life."

Thanks, Jon

An open letter to John Henry and Ben Cherington

Proven commodity. (Jamie Squire/Getty Images)

Dear John and Ben,
I know you are quite busy with the trade deadline looming, but I wanted to drop a quick note with my thoughts about the topic on everybody's mind today: Jon Lester.

First off, a disclaimer. As a 15-year employee at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute, I am more aware than most of the tremendous impact Lester has made on cancer patients and their families. By winning the clinching game of the 2007 World Series less than a year after finishing active treatment for a rare form of lymphoma, Lester became a hero right on par with Ted Williams in the infusion rooms and research clinics of Dana-Farber. He remains so today, as much for the kind words of support he offers current patients as for his on-field deeds.

A hero on and off the field. (Jimmy Fund)

But Lester need not have beaten cancer to be a hero. As one of the most reliable and durable pitchers in the major leagues for nearly a decade, he has helped the Red Sox to two world championships and proven himself a man of character and class. Yes, he was involved in the "chicken and beer" fiasco of 2011, but he owned up to his poor choices and has rebounded to pitch better than ever this season. He keeps himself in great shape and never misses a start, a rarity these days.

Therein lies the key point I want to make: Jon Lester is a proven commodity in an era when that commodity is a rarity. He is a left-handed starter who owns a fantastic .636 lifetime winning percentages despite pitching half of his games at Fenway Park and all of his games for a fan base and multimedia horde that demands more of its players than any other. We have seen what happens to some "elite" athletes when the come to Boston -- they can't handle the pressure and drop off in performance (i.e. Carl Crawford). Jon Lester is at his best when the pressure is on. A 2.11 career postseason ERA (3-0 and 0.43 in the World Series) is evidence of that.

In the postseason, no one does it better.

I know what your analytics tell you -- pitchers signed to long-term contracts at age 30 do not maintain their quality for the life of the contract. This plus the fact the Red Sox are probably not going to repeat as world champions this season (I have learned since 2004 to never say "not" in such cases until the mathematics warrant it), makes it tempting to trade him for some top prospects. But prospects are even a greater risk than a 30-year-old pitcher, and with all the strong young hurlers currently in the Red Sox organization, who better to help tutor them in the ways of Boston baseball than the guy who has conquered it? 

Before you make a move you may regret, let me leave you with a story. In the mid-1950s, Ted Williams was considering retirement. He was worn out after serving in two wars and going through a messy divorce, and wanted to go out on top. Then a fan told him all the records he could achieve if he were to stay in the game and cement his status as the greatest hitter of all time -- and the greatest player in Red Sox history. Moved and motivated, Ted continued playing through 1960.

Give this man the green.

Jon Lester currently has 110 wins, all for Boston. If he signs a six-year contract, and averages 15 wins for the first five seasons (very doable given his track record), he will enter the 2020 season with at least 185 victories -- and be poised to pass Cy Young and Roger Clemens (with 192 each) as the winningest pitcher in Red Sox history. I'm not sure if Lester knows these numbers, or cares about them, but I can't imagine a better person to have atop the franchise leader board.

Can you?

(Reuters)

Fenway Fun under full moon for Red Sox on Friday the 13th

Nothing could cool off the Sox Friday

The Red Sox have already been dead and buried several times this season, only to be dug up each time they string together a few wins. Those seeking a true turnaround, however, have never been quite as encouraged as last night at Fenway Park.

As I arrived at the damp Fens with almost-10-year-old Rachel (the 2004 talisman), I took all the normal good-luck precautions. I bought a bag of unsalted peanuts from Nick Jacobs' cart at the entrance to Yawkey Way, made sure my lucky cap was on securely, and tapped a Jimmy Fund collection box as I headed to Section 17. We took a shot and settled in about 10 rows in front of our "real" seats, and although I warned Rachel we might get booted, it never happened. 

More positive karma came in the form of the ceremonial first pitch tossed out by Hall of Famer Carlton Fisk. It was Fisk and former batterymate Luis Tiant who did the honors before Game 6 of last fall's World Series, and that night turned out OK. The starting pitcher was the same for Boston as in the Fall Classic finale too -- John Lackey.

This all pointed to a good night for the boys in red (FYI, I prefer the classic white home jerseys), but it was old pal Terry Francona's Indians who struck first. They got to Lackey for a couple runs in the second courtesy of a mammoth home run to right-field from Carlos Santana, which prompted this exchange: 

Santana's dinger quiets the crowd -- for now.

(Associated Press, Charles Krupa)

Dad: "Wow, that was a no-doubter."

Rachel: "Why do they call it a no-doubter?" 

Dad: "Well, there was never any doubt it would go out once it left the bat. But don't worry, it's still early."

Deep done I worried that the offensive doldrums that have haunted the Red Sox all year, especially with men on base, would continue under the foggy full moon. These fears were initially realized when a lumbering Ortiz was thrown out easily at the plate in the bottom of the second after a very poor decision by third-base coach Brian Butterfield to send him with nobody out and Cleveland starter Justin Masterson struggling to find the plate. 

The gaffe was magnified by a couple shots that rolled to the 420-mark in deepest center from A.J. Pierzynski (hitting more than .330 at Fenway!) and Jackie Bradley, Jr. Although they were good for a double and triple respectively that gave Boston the lead, it should have been 4-2 instead of 3-2 -- and with runs so hard to come by lately I worried we'd regret the one squandered. 

Lackey struggled early, finished strong.

(Associated Press, Charles Krupa)

It wound up not being a problem. Although the Indians did things in the third on back-to-back doubles from Asdrubal Cabrera and Michael Brantley, Lackey locked it in after that and would be near perfect until relieved with two out in the seventh. 

Masterson, however, was clearly off his game, and after allowing two walks to start the fourth (his third and fourth free passes of the night) was yanked by Francona. Young lefty Kyle Crockett didn't have much more luck, as a Mike Napoli double made it 5-2. This seemed worthy of a Dad and Daughter selfie, which we promptly placed on Facebook as a cyber-smile to the Reluctant Fan working at home.  

(A sidenote here; while last year Francona was routinely cheered each time he emerged from the Cleveland dugout at Fenway, last night there was almost no attention paid the former Sox skipper and folk hero during his many trips to the mound. I think this is a positive, for although fans here still remember the championships Tito helped bring to New England, this is a new era with new titles and new players -- save Big Papi.)

The middle innings were quiet offensively, but the Sox flashed some fine leather around including a leaping line-drive grab by Brock Holt in left field and a couple diving masterpieces from Dustin Pedroia on ground balls in the hole. It wasn't until later that I learned that Pedroia had gone to the game from the hospital after the birth of his third child earlier in the day.

Dad Petey plays some D.

(Associated Press)

Petey's early Father's Day got a bit happier in the seventh. He was one of nine Sox to bat in a four-run inning, with his double accounting for two of the runs and Napoli (single) and Daniel Nava (double) hits delivering the others. A moon shot off the left-field light tower by Xander Bogearts in the eighth finished the scoring, prompting a gasp from what was left of a rapidly-thinning crowd. 

Xander shakes the lights.

Cleveland was going through the last of its seven pitchers by the bottom of the eighth when Rachel suggested we move down. This seemed like a great idea, so we spent the top of the ninth watching in box seats by the Red Sox dugout as Burke Badenhop struck out the side to end it.

All in a all, it felt like the good old days of 2013. The Red Sox got strong starting pitching, excellent relief work, timely hitting, and contributions from up and down the lineup. Rookies Bogearts, Bradley, and Holt (now hitting .337, and near .400 when leading off) all looked terrific.

That Bradley kid sure can fly.

The winning streak was now at two, and last place comfortably in the rear-view mirror. Is it the start of a bigger turnaround? That remains to be seen, but Rachel and her dad will be back at Fenway Sunday to try to deliver some more good karma.

Rachel's good luck earns her new shades. 

(Note photo bomb by Twins employees)

TBT: The Steamer was a hero -- just ask the Jimmy Fund

For most people of a certain age, the guy who will be in the visitor's bullpen tonight as a Blue Jays coach will forever be remembered as the relief pitcher who did not close out the 1986 World Series for the Red Sox. Those of us who know of Bob Stanley's good work for Dana-Farber Cancer Institute know this Maine native deserves a far different legacy.

Back in the late 1980s, as his 13-year career with the Sox was winding down, "the Steamer" became a regular visitor to Dana-Farber's Jimmy Fund Clinic -- located just down the street from Fenway Park. He would meet with children battling cancer and their families, bringing some light and fun to their lives at a time when so much was uncertain and scary. 

One 10-year-old kid in particular took a real shining to Stanley. This boy, who was dealing with a rare cancer, had always kept mostly to himself, but something about Stanley clicked with him. He was happier and more outgoing from that point forward, and treasured his visits with Stanley and the authentic Red Sox jersey the Steamer gave him. When he passed away, he was buried wearing it.

A few years later, fate dealt Stanley and his wife, Joan, a cruel blow when their own young son, Kyle, was diagnosed with the same type of cancer as the boy to whom the Steamer had given his friendship and shirt. Kyle, however, recovered, and was on the field at Fenway with his mom and dad when they were given the "Jimmy Award" -- the Jimmy Fund's highest honor -- for their efforts on behalf of the charity.

Bob Stanley went 115-97 with 132 saves during his long Red Sox career. He made two All-Star teams and at his best was one of the finest and most versatile pitchers in the American League. He went 15-2 with 10 saves in 1978, 16-12 with four shutouts in 1979, 12-7 with 14 saves in 1982, and had a then-team-record 33 saves in 1983. He could start, go five innings of middle relief, or close -- all in the same season. Think Tim Wakefield with a sinker instead of a knuckleball, and you get a sense of what he meant to the Sox.

The Steamer was always a hit with kids.

No, Stanley did not win a World Series ring. He helped the Red Sox to the 1986 and 1988 AL East titles and in the '86 World Series had a 0.00 ERA in five games. His sinker was at its best in the 10th inning of Game 6, and several times Mookie Wilson barely got a piece of it. In fact, the wild pitch/passed ball that helped set up L'Affaire du Buckner probably should have been caught (sorry Rich Gedman), and of course Wilson's "soft roller to first..." came off a good pitch too.

All told, Stanley pitched in a team-record 637 games for Boston, a mark that might never be broken. He blew some of them, like all relievers do, but far more often that not he put in a good day's work. A hefty contract late in his career, after which his effectiveness slipped a bit, and his deadpan expression didn't help ward off the boo birds.

Kyle (in cap) celebrates with his family.

Still, he took it all in stride. Stanley knew what was really important -- watching his son grow up and helping make life easier for other kids given a bad break. 

That beats a World Series ring any day.

Opening Day at Fenway--What a Difference Seven Months Makes

The energy has been infectious early on.

From the moment one turned off Brookline Avenue and onto Yawkey Way on Monday afternoon, the change was apparent.

As the sun shone down and hawkers handed out "K" cards reading "NEW TEAM-OCTOBER DREAM," fans approached Gate A at Fenway Park for Opening Day displaying vastly different emotions from the somber crowd that departed the ballpark last Sept. 26. Whereas that dismal home finale served as just one of the eight straight losses that capped the worst Red Sox season in a half-century, those entering the ballpark seven months later had good reason to be smiling and laughing.

By winning two of three in both New York and Toronto to start the 2013 campaign, Boston was 4-2 and in first place as it readied to take on the Baltimore Orioles. New manager John Farrell had the club playing with an energy that was sorely lacking last year, and numerous newcomers like outfielders Shane Victorino and Jackie Bradley Jr., shortstop Jose Iglesias, and first baseman Mike Napoli were making their presence felt in the lineup and in the field. Pitching, a big problem in 2012, also appeared to be solidified with excellent starting performances and a lights-out bullpen during the first week.

Buchholz kept "K" card holders busy.

Well before right-hander Clay Buchholz took the mound in this contest, Fenway was awash with positive vibes. The Red Sox honored their 60-year partnership with Dana-Farber Cancer Institute and its Jimmy Fund charity during pregame ceremonies, which featured a stirring rendition of "The Star Spangled Banner" by current and former cancer patients, family members, and Dana-Farber staffers. Cancer survivors from each of the last seven decades paired up with past Sox players in a simultaneous first pitch, and young patients and their siblings yelled "Play Ball!" with help from former Boston ace Pedro Martinez.

Once Martinez and Co. were done, Buchholz and Orioles lefty Wei-Yin Chen did their best Pedro impersonations in a game that was scoreless through six. There were not many baserunners for either side, but fans didn't seem to mind the lack of offense. There were great fielding plays by both sides, a slew of strikeouts by Buchholz, and (thank you Larry Lucchino) two-for-one Fenway Franks and $5.00 beers.

Inspiration from the Jimmy Fund Chorus

After another scoreless frame for Buchholz -- punctuated by a strikeout of Steve Pearce on his 113th and final pitch -- the Jimmy Fund Chorus came back out during the seventh inning stretch to offer renditions of "God Bless America" and "Take Me Out to the Ballgame." Fans joined in with fervor that matched anything heard at Wrigley Field during the Harry Carray years, and perhaps the feel-good moment woke up the Sox bats. After two men reached against Chen in the bottom of the frame, Daniel Nava smashed a pitch across Lansdowne Street for a 3-0 lead.

The only blemish on the day was a shaky ninth inning from Joel Hanrahan, who allowed a home run to Adam Jones and put the tying runs on base before finishing up the 3-1 win. But even when Hanrahan struggled, the boo-birds did not emerge. This was too much of a feel-good crowd to resort to its familiar habit of bashing closers for not being Jon Papelbon. 

Now its up to yet another newcomer -- tonight's starter Ryan Dempster -- to keep the good times rolling. And even if he's bombed, he can always lead the crowd in "Take Me Out to the Ballgame." The guy does a killer Harry Caray imitation.

Big League Brian and fans all had a ball.

Roger Clemens: A cardboard God comes into focus

The picture stands today as the symbol of an era -- and innocence -- lost.

In it, Roger Clemens and Ted Williams share confident, youthful smiles. Williams is, quite literally, a bronzed God, staring out at the photographer in his tanned, All-American glory. Clemens, wearing a fresh, clean Red Sox uniform, also has the look of a man who knows exactly what he wants out of life.

Williams yearned to be the world's greatest hitter; Clemens the top pitcher. At the time of the picture, in 1988, both had reached their goal.

I took the photo in Cooperstown, after driving from Boston to baseball's Mayberry with three buddies for my first look at the game's red-bricked shrine. When we entered the Hall of Fame Plaque Gallery, just off the museum's lobby, I instinctively knew which of the immortals I wanted to visit first. Walking through the years to the 1966 induction class, I found him on the wall right alongside Casey Stengel: 

THEODORE SAMUEL WILLIAMS

"TED"

BOSTON RED SOX A.L. 1939 - 1960

Reaching into my pocket, I grabbed the '87 Topps Roger Clemens card I had taken on my journey. Quickly placing it atop the upper-right corner of Ted's plaque, I jwhipped out my camera, took a single shot, and then pulled the card down before I could be caught and thrown out for legend-tampering.

Ted the bronze God

There was no digital screen on my little Kodak to tell me whether I had muffed the picture, but I wasn't going to take a chance at a second one. I just hoped for the best and went on my way.

Clemens was coming off back-to-back Cy Young seasons for the Red Sox, and appeared poised to become the Tom Seaver of his generation. Williams was the real John Wayne, the last man to hit .400 and a war hero whose #9 I always looked for first in the right-field corner upon entering Fenway Park. Both had iconic nicknames that suited them and stuck; Ted was "The Kid" and the "Splendid Splinter," Clemens the "Rocket."

When I bought this scorebook, Clemens was 14-0.

I had only seen Williams hit live in an Old-Timer's Game, but I had been watching Clemens up close since his rookie year. He was 25, I was 20, and I looked forward to many more Rocket sightings in my Fenway future.

As an aspiring sportswriter, I even had visions of seeing some of them from the press box. Then, when Clemens made the Hall of Fame, I'd show him the old picture I'd taken way back when and we'd share a laugh. Maybe I'd have him sign it for my kid.

Things didn't turn out quite as expected. By 1996 Clemens had amassed a list of achievements for the Red Sox that had him comfortably headed for his own Cooperstown plaque, but had slumped in recent years.

He still had the gas and skill to strike out 20 (with no walks) at Tiger Stadium that September, however, and few weeks later I saw him pitch another strong game at home against the Yankees. Rumors were he would be ditching the Sox as a free agent that winter, and I  joined in a long standing ovation when he left the game and tipped his cap.

My ticket from Clemens' last game with Boston.

We knew it might be the last time he pitched for the Red Sox, and it was -- Clemens heading to Toronto to prove Sox GM Dan Duquette he was not past his prime at 34. He accomplished the task with back-to-back Cy Young, Triple Crown seasons, and when the first whispers of steroids started I tried to shut them out. Barry Bonds and Mark McGwire could be juicers, sure, but the Rocket? He had always seemed like the real deal, a throwback to another era.

Later, when I traded in my sportswriter's cap for a writing job at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute, I learned Clemens had even made a ritual of jogging over to the Institute's pediatric Jimmy Fund Clinic in uniform to visit sick kids. It was something that would have made Ted Williams -- the king of Jimmy Fund heroes -- happy as all hell. 

How could Clemens risk a chance to join the Splendid Splinter among Boston's greatest all-time icons?

They still never proved anything in court, of course, but Clemens now sits right alongside Bonds as the poster boys for the steroid era. The fact the Rocket denied any juicing doesn't seem to make a difference; the damning testimony of his former trainer in the perjury trial brought against Clemens has made him guilty in the court of public opinion -- and the minds of many Hall of Fame voters.

Without a glove and ball, Clemens looks lost.

The man whose 354 wins and record seven Cy Young Awards places him statistically in the pantheon of Seaver, Walter Johnson, and the other greatest pitchers in baseball history received just 36.2 percent of the vote in his first crack at Cooperstown. Although 75 percent is needed for admission, the general consensus is that Clemens will eventually make it. Still, he'll forever be tainted by the evidence and the era.

Certainly I've come around to accepting his probable guilt, tempered only by the likelihood that he first started juicing after he left Boston -- meaning those games I saw him pitch from '84 to '96 were the result of nasty stuff and not needles.

As for the picture, I did flub it after all. In my frenzy to capture the moment it had turned out blurry and a bit over-exposed. You could still tell who Clemens and Williams were, you could still see their smiles, but everything was out of focus. I didn't realize when I opened the envelope from CVS and saw the fuzzy photo just how prophetic it would be. 

My search for the picture proved futile.

Wednesday, after the Hall of Fame voting became public, I went looking for it in a shoe box of old high school and college-era pictures. I found a bunch from my second Cooperstown visit, but none from the first -- including the Williams-Clemens shot. It was just as well.

By now, everything was in clear view. 

Johnny Pesky: 'Mr. Red Sox' is at rest – and in Cooperstown

Here's to you, Johnny.

The word came over the car radio as I was somewhere between Springfield and Albany last night. Once the initial shock set in, I couldn't help but think how fitting it was that I was enroute to Cooperstown when I heard Johnny Pesky had died.

If the Hall of Fame is the heart of baseball history, Pesky was the heart of Red Sox history.

Those of us born in the mid-1960s don't remember Pesky as an All-Star shortstop who could get 200 hits in his sleep or the manager who couldn't win with the “Country Club” Sox of 1963-64. Although we heard all the stories and saw all the old photos of Johnny alongside legendary teammates Ted Williams, Bobby Doerr, and Dom DiMaggio, for us he was more like a grandfatherly figure who made every day Old Timers Day at Fenway.

Four generations of Red Sox loved Pesky.

He was the guy we saw praising the club on TV as a member of the broadcast crew in the early '70s, and then strolling the field in those hilarious softball-style 1975-80 uniforms as a coach. If you got to Fenway early enough from grade school through college, you might see Pesky hitting balls off the Green Monster to help Jim Rice master left field, or spraying them to Wade Boggs at third. Boggs, asked today to reflect on Pesky, credited his old mentor for making him into a Gold Glove winner.

Just like our kids hear the “1-800-54-GIANT” jingle so often on Red Sox TV and radio today that it feels like “Happy Birthday,” we grew up on “The Window Boys” of J.B. Sash and Door Company – which of course included a gravel-voiced Pesky making such quips as “We've been doing this for 40 years, and we're still trying to get it right.” The ads were so corny they were laughable, but Johnny brought a touch of class to them.

As I got older I was lucky enough to get to know Johnny pretty well. When I helped Ken Coleman and later Joe Morgan emcee Boston Braves reunions in the 1990s and early 2000s, Pesky was one of the guys from Boston's “other” baseball team that Braves fans welcomed with open arms. He'd spin tales of talking hitting with Williams and captivate the crowd, then sign autographs and shake hands as long as the line kept coming.

Pesky was a high-flying infielder for Boston.

Williams gets credit for being the most successful “celebrity” fundraiser in the history of the Jimmy Fund, but Pesky quietly did his part for Dana-Farber Cancer Institute – often right alongside Ted. And when Williams could no longer make the trips to the Jimmy Fund Clinic to meet with kids in treatment, Pesky kept on coming, including a wonderful 2005 visit when he let dozens of pediatric patients try on his '04 World Series ring – then asked where the adult patients were so they could see it too.

In recent years, with the death of his beloved wife, Ruthie, Johnny finally started to look his age. He was still often around Fenway, most memorably for his annual birthday salutes and the retirement of his No. 6. When the Red Sox finally broke through and won the World Series, Pesky did the honors (along with Carl Yastrzemski) of raising the championship banner up the flagpole on Opening Day of 2005. Nobody deserved the honor more.

And, of course, there was the poignant scene of Pesky and Doerr, both in wheelchairs, being wheeled onto the field by David Ortiz, Tim Wakefield, and Jason Varitek during Fenway's 100^th anniversary celebration this year. How wonderful that both these legendary nonagenarians were able to enjoy that day.

Pesky and Doerr: A high point of the 100th. 

Pesky was never selected for enshrinement in Cooperstown like Williams, Doerr, Yaz, Rice, Boggs, and so many others he played with or coached, but when I got into town last night and hurried over to a near-empty Hall of Fame just before its 9 p.m. closing, I was happy to see that a photo of the “Pesky Pole” had made it into a 100^th anniversary exhibit on Fenway Park.

Does it matter whether Johnny ever actually hit a home run that wrapped around Fenway's right-field foul pole for a 302-foot homer? Nope. The guy was part of the fabric of the ballpark for more than half a century, so Pesky's Pole (and his retired number nearby) deserve to remain part of Fenway's physical plant as long as its standing.

Pesky's Pole and retired number -- forever at Fenway.