Bobby Valentine's Spring Training: Shades of '67?

The era of good feeling is over. Let the boot camp begin.

Last season's September collapse by the Red Sox and the subsequent revelations about the team's in-game dining habits has resulted in a dramatic altering in the team's image. If you listened to sports radio over the past couple weeks, it was easy to pick up: fans are angry and want a change. Enough "Sweet Caroline" and waxing poetic about 2004 and '07; it's time for these underachievers to get serious.

Bobby Valentine, of course, must set the tone. In his first spring training as manager, he needs to let his players know that he's the boss and not their buddy. Tito Francona had a reputation as a "player's manager," a style fans loved as long as it worked. Last summer it apparently stopped working, and this is a prime reason ownership brought in Valentine. He rules more with an iron fist than a warm hug, and early indications are that his Florida sessions are going to be more Dick Williams than Terry Francona.

Those well-versed in Boston baseball history know the story. The Sox of the mid-1960s routinely finished near the bottom of the American League, and developed a reputation as a party-hearty crew that underachieved despite the presence of sluggers like Carl Yastrzemski, Tony Conigliaro, and Dick Stuart. Fans had largely given up on the team, and in the fall of '66 GM Dick O'Connell fired affable manager Billy Herman and brought in Williams -- a scrappy former utilityman for the club who sported the crew cut and demeanor of a Marine drill sergeant.

Williams made his mark immediately. He stripped Yaz of his captaincy -- saying that he was "the only chief of this team" -- and put the club through its paces in a spring training that felt more like basic training. There was a constant drilling of fundamentals, along with a strict evening curfew and 7 a.m. wake-up calls. When the other Williams in camp -- Red Sox immortal Ted Williams -- spent more time than Dick liked regaling players with his theories on hitting when they could have been running, the new skipper ordered him to stop. A miffed Ted left camp the next day.

The rookie boss had no trouble getting on players for making mistakes or not hustling, including stars like Yaz and Tony C. The troops grumbled, but when the season started it was clear that the methods had worked. The Sox played more of a hustling style of baseball, got contributions up and down the roster, and won back the hearts of their fans. They also won the pennant, as Williams' plaque in Cooperstown notes.


This is not 1967, of course, and today's players will not necessarily fall into line so easily. But last fall's fall suggests that a big change in attitude is needed, and Valentine sounds eerily like Dick Williams circa '67 when asked about how tough he plans to make things this spring. Here's an example: 

Dick Williams:  "I give 100 percent because I hate losing. And for those players who treat losing and failure lightly I will give them something else to hate -- ME. I try to make some players win just to show me up."


Bobby Valentine: "We all know that nobody likes change except for those who are making other people change to do what they want them to do. I happen to be one of those guys who likes change because guys are doing what I want them to do. I would bet there will be 100 guys who won't really like it because it's change for them. But they'll get used to it."


Time will tell, but it will likely make for a very interesting spring. And if the results turn out like '67, nobody will be complaining come October.

Card Stars: What singer and slugger were separated at birth?

With a few days to go until spring training, and not much big Red Sox news going on since Big Papi's signing, I figured the time was right to unveil what I hope will be a fun recurring little sideline on Fenway Reflections.

The working title is "Card Stars" -- if you have any better ideas, please let me know -- and it's my own version of "Separated at Birth." The idea is this: comb through a stack of baseball cards (any vintage), and stop when you find one that bears a striking resemblance to a celebrity from outside sports. If the player once called Fenway home, that's all the better.

In honor of Valentine's Day and the memory of Whitney Houston, who better to start with than a Hall of Fame duo that includes one guy with a trophy case full of Gold Gloves and another whose walls are filled with gold records. One guy who set the tempo for his team on the field and in the clubhouse during the 1980s and '90s, and one who set the mood for countless make-out sessions during the same period.

Got an idea?

OK, how about I give you the player, and you come up with the celebrity (and no peaking down below).

Sweet swinging Andre Dawson (sorry for the Cubs card, but it works best for this purpose)....

and....


Got a guess yet? .......





Sweet singing Lionel Richie!

What do you think? Am I crazy or right on? Let me know -- and if you have your own "Star Cards" candidates to offer up, bring 'em on!

Two great Tim Wakefield stories you probably have not heard

Since it appears that the Tim Wakefield era in Boston may be nearing its last hours, I thought it might be an appropriate time to tip my hat to one of my favorite all-time Red Sox by sharing two stories that show what kind of guy he is away from the field.

Wakefield came to the Sox in the spring of 1995, when Monica Lewinsky was a new intern at the White House and Jose Canseco was taking aim at the Coke bottles atop the Green Monster. Everybody knows what Wake did that summer -- starting his Boston career with a 14-1 mark and leading the Sox into the playoffs -- and even when his stats were far less gaudy in the 17 years that followed, he was a very valuable guy to have around. He started, closed, pitched long relief -- whatever the team needed.

In October of 2004, in the dismal final innings of Game 3 of the ALCS, I was among those shivering from behind the home dugout as Wake took one for the team and ate up precious innings during a 19-8 Yankees blowout. Those of us left when that game ended gave him a standing ovation, and by giving up his Game 4 start so others could rest, Tim paved the way for the eight straight wins that came next.

But you know all that stuff. Here's what you might not know. A few months later, the World Series trophy made one of its first stops on its all-New England winter/spring 2005 tour at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute (DFCI). The Red Sox and Dana-Farber's Jimmy Fund charity have a relationship going back nearly 60 years, which I've been lucky enough to be part of since '99 as a DFCI staff member. This was one of my greatest memories from that long tenure, for it was Wakefield who came to the hospital bearing the trophy. I was one of his tour guides as we strode onto a back-entrance elevator, and a few minutes later emerged in the Jimmy Fund Clinic -- surprising many pediatric cancer patients who were waiting for shots, chemotherapy, and other treatment.

For a few minutes these kids got to forget all about their cancer, as Wakefield walked around the room slowly and bent down so every patient no matter how small could get a good look at the trophy and his face. I've seen dozens of celebrities work this same room, and most of them go through quickly with a smile and a wave. Tim took time to stop and make every child and parent feel like he really cared about them. The youngest kids didn't even know who he was, but he was a big smiling man with a shiny trophy, so they were happy.

We expected the visit to end after this, but Wakefield asked if he could stay and visit with adult patients as well. This time there were some tears among the smiles, as people who had waited 20, 30, 50 years or more for a Red Sox championship suddenly had a once-in-a-lifetime chance to thank one of the guys who helped make it happen. It certainly wasn't how they expected their day at the hospital to go.

Our photographer took dozens of photos, of course, but as is our policy I stood out of the way no matter how tempting it was to sneak into the frame. After all, I had waited 37 years myself for a World Series title. Wake must have sensed this, for after he was finally done shaking hands and doling out hugs, he was about to breeze out to a waiting Town Car when he turned around and said, "Hey, do you want a picture?" He didn't have to ask me twice, and just like that I had my own memento from that memorable morning.

Fast forward to the summer of 2008. The teenagers from the Jimmy Fund Clinic were taking their annual baseball  road trip to see the Red Sox play away from Fenway -- this time in Chicago's U.S. Cellular Field. These trips are a chance for kids to share laughs and war stories with peers who know what they are going through, because they're going through it as well. Baseball, like cancer, is a common bond.

As is usually the custom, the teens came out to the ballpark early to meet with some Sox players before batting practice. Wakefield was always one of the guys who made the most time for kids during these sessions, and this day was no exception. He walked over to the railing separating the stands from the field and started chatting with the young fans.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a bald-headed kid with crutches hopping on one leg about 10 rows back. It was clear that this boy, who had lost a leg four months due to bone cancer, was not going to be able to traverse down the steep stairs needed to meet Wakefield and his other heroes. Again Tim did what came naturally -- he vaulted over the railing into the stands, ran up the stairs, grabbed the grinning 15-year-old, and literally carried him down on his back to the front row so he could hang with his friends and the players. Wakefield went just 10-11 that summer, but that day he was Sandy Koufax and Walter Johnson wrapped into one.

"Every time I walk out to the mound and see that Jimmy Fund emblem on the Green Monster, I am reminded of the special role the team has played in helping fight cancer since Ted Williams was visiting with patients at Dana-Farber back in the 1950s," Wake once told me. "I'm proud to be a part of it." It certainly always showed.

So now it might all be over -- with Wake stuck on 186 Red Sox wins and apparently destined to finish runner-up to Clemens and Cy Young (tied at 192) atop Boston's all-time victory list. It's frustrating to think that for many fans, their last memories of the ancient knuckleballer will be his long, painful march to his 200th career win last year and his one unfortunate quote in nearly 20 years (one I am guessing may have been taken out of context anyway). They should remember all the good days he had while representing Boston with class and guts, and also know that when it came to delivering off the mound, Wake was in a league of his own.

So Opening Day is Friday the 13th...What Could Happen?

While trying to plan out book signings and other spring plans, I went on to redsox.com the other day and took my first look at the 2012 team schedule. Opting for the old-fashioned "printable" format with its familiar little white (away) and red (home) boxes, I learned that the Sox start the season in Detroit and Toronto and don't play their home opener until April 13 -- Friday, April 13.

I immediately laughed -- wondering how often (if ever) this has happened in team history and if there could be any worse time for such a bad omen. The collapse the 2011 Red Sox experienced in the final weeks of the season and the wings-and-beer headlines that followed were perhaps the most depressing period for Sox fans since Aaron Boone took Wakefield deep in 2003. Before that one has to go back to Bill Buckner (1986) and Bucky Dent (1978) for similar misery, and on impulse I did a quick check to see when Fenway opened in each of those four years. Maybe this was a trend I had missed.

Nope. The Sox broke out the Fenway bunting on Friday, April 14 in both '78 and '86, and on Saturday, Aprl 12 in 2003 (all close but no El Tiante). In 2011 they got under way at home on the seemingly safe day of Friday, April 8, but perhaps the devils were laughing anyway: the winning pitcher over the Royals that afternoon -- in, lest we forget, the team's first victory of the year after an 0-6 start -- was none other than John Lackey.

The next logical question is how many times the Red Sox have opened Fenway on Friday the 13th, and what has happened. Clearly the schedule-makers have previously done their best to avoid such a situation, because in the first 111 home openers in franchise history, it has happened exactly ONCE -- in 1984. Bruce Hurst allowed seven runs to the Tigers in the top of the first inning that day, and Detroit went on to a 13-9 victory in the first home game of the post-Yaz era. Ralph Houk's Sox went on to a respectable 86-76 campaign, but were never in the pennant hunt after Detroit's 35-5 start to the season. The Tigers went on to win the World Series, so perhaps the 13th was lucky for Sparky Anderson and Co.

OK, so now that we've established we're in rare territory here, what to make of it? Well, I thought it would be fun to contemplate what could happen when the Red Sox host the Rays on Friday, April 13, 2012 -- the kickoff to Fenway's 100th birthday season:

BOSTON, April 13 -- With just a week to go before Fenway Park celebrates its official 100th birthday, the Red Sox had better hope they can find a way to spread some good cheer before the big day. Today's news couldn't have been worse.

The 2:05 p.m. start to the game between the host Red Sox and Tampa Bay Rays was delayed two hours when bricks from part of Fenway's original foundation broke off early in the morning and fell to the ground in the concourse behind home plate. No fans were yet in the park, and no employees were injured, but the incident caused a near riot on Brookline Avenue as management kept crowds from entering Yawkey Way until the debris was cleared and the area safely sealed off.

Fans were finally settling into their seats when the next bombshells hit. Calvin Schiraldi, the 1986 World Series scapegoat welcomed back to Fenway as part of a "We Forgive You" campaign by Sox management, threw out the ceremonial first pitch and drilled catcher Jarrod Saltalamacchia in his unprotected kneecap, breaking it and forcing the Sox to start backup Kelly Shoppach in his place. Starting pitcher Jon Lester next took the mound, but didn't last through his warm-ups before a pain in his shoulder prompted manager Bobby Valentine to pull him as well.

Not wanting to shake up his other front-line pitchers, Valentine left the game in the hands of fifth starter Alfredo Aceves. The Rays promptly broke out to a 3-0 lead in the first inning, with two of the runs scoring when Boston left fielder Carl Crawford -- while in pursuit of a fly ball -- tripped on a chicken bone thrown onto the field by a heckling fan.

The Red Sox seemingly tied things up in the third inning on a three-run homer by David Ortiz off James Shields, but the runs were erased when Rays manager Joe Maddon appealed correctly that the slugger had batted out of order. Baserunners Crawford and  Jacoby Ellsbury were ordered back to their bases and Ortiz called out -- thus ending the inning. Valentine charged from the dugout to protest, and was ejected by umpire Ed Armbrister.

Aceves pitched admirably through the middle innings, but Shields held Boston scoreless before departing after eight innings with a 4-0 lead -- helped in part by four double-plays turned behind him. The Red Sox were happy to see him gone, and rallied in the bottom of the ninth off closer Kyle Farnsworth to load the bases with two outs. Crawford stepped to the plate, hoping to atone for his earlier "boner", and slammed a Farnsworth offering deep into center field. The ball rolled to the triangle as three runs scored, and Crawford appeared ready to tie the game on an inside-the-park homer.

Then the inexplicable happened. A black cat, sneaked into the ballpark by Schiraldi, escaped from its carrier in the box seats behind home plate and ran onto the field. Spooked by the sight of the feline in his path, Crawford stumbled and fell halfway between third base and home. He quickly jumped up and continued running, but was easily tagged out at the plate by catcher Robinson Chirinos.

After the game, when asked why he had brought the cat to the game, Schiraldi offered a devilish grin and said, "Why, I take little Bucky Boone everywhere."

Some final thoughts on El Tiante

By now I'm sure you all know that despite my best efforts to drum up some last-week publicity with a "Turn Out for Tiant" event at Jerry Remy's, the most popular Boston pitcher of the last half century not named Clemens or Martinez was once again left on the outside looking in after Monday's Hall of Fame voting by a 16-member Veteran's Committee.

I already went through the many reasons Tiant deserved to get a Cooperstown nod in a separate column on Bleacher-Report.com (http://bleacherreport.com/articles/960620-why-red-sox-hero-luis-tiant-should-get-in-the-hall-of-fame-today) so I won't list them again here. Suffice it to say that LOO-EE not only had numbers that matched up quite favorably with previous inductees like Catfish Hunter and Jim Bunning, he also routinely displayed the type of late-season, pennant race dominance that is the true sign of a great hurler.

The results of the voting were what really got me down -- and got me thinking. Cubs third baseman Ron Santo received 15 votes out of 16 cast, making him the only player to earn the 12 needed for enshrinement. This was OK, I always was in Santo's corner, but the fact that Jim Kaat was the only other nominee to crack 10 votes, and that several men including Tiant had received less than three, was especially disheartening. I wondered how anybody who looked at the numbers and actually saw Tiant play could consider him unworthy, and then I realized something:

Sometimes greatness is measured in how a person handles disappointment.

Santo was the perfect example here. For decades he came up short in voting, but he always maintained his love for the game and the Cubs. He had bigger things to worry about than the Hall of Fame, namely his rapidly deteriorating health, and while he was very open in saying he felt he deserved the honor, he didn't let his failure to attain it define him.

From what I've observed from afar and in my brief dealings with him, I believe Tiant is another man with more on his mind than Cooperstown. Here was a guy who was separated from his father for 15 years, his mother for eight, and his extended family for nearly a half century after his abrupt departure from Castro's Cuba. He overcame injuries and a mid-career spiral to bounce back and become one of the most beloved and successful pitchers of the 1970s, and he has spent the 30 years since his playing days teaching others the game.

Tiant has done his part for charity with his "Swing for Diabetes" golf tournament and other endeavors, and is always willing to sit and chat with a fan no matter what his or her age. Like Red Auerbach, he is so engaging and enticing that you don't even mind having to sometimes deal with cigar smoke to get close to him. He's also a devoted family man and a doting father and grandfather.

The Veteran's Committee saw Tiant pitch a lot more often and closely than I did. They didn't believe he was quite up to Cooperstown material, and they are the experts. But in the game of life, in which we are ultimately judged by what we do and how we treat others, his plaque is assured.

 

  

Meet Luis Tiant Nov. 30, back his Hall of Fame candidacy (see petition link)

Red Sox pitching great Luis Tiant has been nominated by the Veteran's Committee for the Baseball Hall of Fame. This Wednesday night (Nov. 30) at Jerry Remy's Sports Bar and Grill, a block from Fenway Park, meet Luis and show him your support by signing your name to a petition that will be sent to the Hall of Fame in advance of next Monday's vote.

Have Luis autograph a new copy of my latest book, Fenway Park: The Centennial, and his award-winning documentary, Lost Son of Havana, produced by the Farrelly Brothers. The event is being co-hosted by Narragansett Beer SupahFan Streetwear: http://www.supahfans.com/

Luis will be on hand from 6-9 p.m., and there will also be a trivial contest and the Bruins game on Remy's many big-screen TVs.  So tell all your friends and Turn Out For Tiant! For more info go to http://www.jerryremys.com/; to sign a petition supporting Luis, go to: http://www.gopetition.com/petitions/turn-out-for-tiant-back-luis-tiant-for-the-hall-of-fam.html

Who will be next to have his number retired at Fenway?

The numbers are lined up along the right-field grandstand roof at Fenway Park as silent bas-relief beacons to nearly 80 years of outstanding performances by Red Sox players. 


They were once arranged in order of when they were officially retired, which led Boston Globe columnist/fatalist Dan Shaughnessy to note that the original four digits formed a date -- 9-4-1-8 -- on which Fenway was being prepped for a Red Sox-Cubs World Series. For 86 long years, 1918 would mark the last year that the ballpark was home to a world champion. 


Perhaps to help break this "curse" the numbers were later rearranged from smallest to largest, so that they now read across as follows: 1 (for Bobby Doerr); 4 (Joe Cronin); 6 (Johnny Pesky); 8 (Carl Yastrzemski); 9 (Ted Williams); 14 (Jim Rice); 27 (Carlton Fisk); and 42 (Robinson). 


The first seven men wore Red Sox uniforms with distinction; the eighth, Robinson, was denied the chance to do so after a sham 1945 tryout at Fenway based on the color of his skin. Robinson's number has now been retired by every major league team, but its presence here is particularly significant because of what could have been. 


Boston management has set down ground rules for this exclusive club -- all such honorees (besides Robinson, of course) must have played at least 10 years for the franchise, retired a Red Sox, and later made the National Baseball Hall of Fame. 


These rules, however, have been altered twice.


In 2000, after his selection to the Hall of Fame, the Red Sox gave Carlton Fisk a consulting job with the team so he could "retire" with Boston and have his number retired that summer—even though he had spent the last half of his playing career with the White Sox,


Pesky never made the Hall of Fame; by raising up his "6" a day after his 89th birthday in 2008, the Sox honored his six decades with the team as a player, coach, manager, broadcaster and instructor. Although he actually fit none of the original three criteria for number retirement, it's hard to imagine anybody being more dedicated to the franchise.


Assuming the rules can be broken again, whose numbers are the best candidates to join these legends in the years to come?


David Ortiz (#34): The heart of the franchise since 2003 and a force behind two World Series champions, Ortiz has been officially dubbed "the greatest clutch hitter in Red Sox history."


His charisma and flair for the dramatic—including three walk-off hits in a week during the epic curse-busting playoff run of 2004—assures his place in team history.


If the free agent signs on for two or three more years with Boston, "Big Papi" will likely reach his milestone 400th or even 450th home run with the Sox. That plus his magnetic personality make him the most likely number retiree on the current club, although ending his career elsewhere could harm his chances.


Jason Varitek (#33): The captain's reputation as a gritty, dedicated team player took a hit this September when the Red Sox blew their huge wild-card lead. Fans wondered aloud about "Tek's" leadership skills as news broke about the chicken-wing eating shenanigans of Boston pitchers.

Still, the catcher's total body of work over 15 seasons with the Sox is impressive: a team-record 1,488 contests behind the plate, a Gold Glove,193 home runs and two World Series rings. Pitchers swear by his game-calling, and he has caught an MLB-record four no-hitters to support their claims.


Tek is now strictly a backup with a 40th birthday looming in April, but if he can help Boston rebound next season and end his career on a high note—and in a Red Sox uniform—it may be enough to get his "33" up on the wall.

Tim Wakefield (#49): Starter. Closer. Long man. Short man. Innings-killer. Friend to sick kids in Dana-Farber Cancer Institute's Jimmy Fund Clinic. Tim Wakefield has done it all for the Red Sox since being claimed off the scrap heap by Dan Duquette in 1995, and the knuckleballer is now within reach of becoming Boston's all-time winningest pitcher—just six wins behind co-leaders Cy Young and Roger Clemens (192 apiece).


Therein, however, lies the quandary.


Wakefield took nine long starts to reach his 200th career victory last summer—his first 14 wins were with Pittsburgh—and many fans felt manager Terry Francona should have replaced the 46-year-old in the rotation with long-reliever Alfredo Aceves and his sparkling 2.61 ERA as the wild-card lead slipped away. Bringing back Wakefield (7-8, 5.12 in '11) for one more year in 2012 doesn't guarantee he'll get the wins record, and many fans feel he should hang 'em up and let a younger arm take his place.


But if he does come back, and he does break the mark, it will be a great story  and greatly increase the chance his "49" will one day be retired.

Pedro Martinez (#45): Wakefield may have more victories, and Clemens may have more Cy Young Awards, but there is no debating the best Red Sox pitcher of the last 25 years. In fact, when taking into account the era in which he played, Pedro Martinez may be the most dominating hurler in team history.


Martinez went 117-37 with a 2.51 ERA for the Red Sox from 1998-2004, a period when steroid-pumped sluggers were keeping most AL starting pitchers well above the 4.00 mark. In the 2000 season, when he finished with a 1.74 ERA, the next-nearest hurler to him was Clemens (then of the Yankees) at 3.70. It was like the days Babe Ruth used to out-homer entire teams; nobody else was even close to Martinez.


Pedro left Boston after the magic 2004 season for the security of a longer contract with the Mets, but unlike with Clemens all was forgiven. Martinez received huge ovations in his returns to Fenway with New York and to throw out the first pitch of the 2010 season, and a decision to retire his "45" would likely receive similar support from fans.

Luis Tiant (#23): Pedro had fans in a frenzy as he struck out batters at a record clip during his prime, but for sheer enjoyment there was no Red Sox pitcher who was more fun to watch then Luis Tiant. Inside this portly hurler with the wild, twisty-turny motion was the heart of a lion, and Fenway crowds chanted "Looie-Looie" each time he took the hill.


Tiant won 20 games three times for the Red Sox in the mid-70s, plus two more wins in the epic World Series of 1975. His career regular-season stats, including a 229-172 record and 49 shutouts with six teams, match up favorably with several Hall of Famers, but this Cuban hero has fallen short in his bid to make it to Cooperstown.


Luis is now up for consideration by the HOF's Veterans' Committee, and if they vote him in on Dec. 5, a retirement of his "23" at Fenway next summer would be a classy gesture by management—and a great public relations move as well.


Dustin Pedroia (#15): Sure, it's a bit too early to make a spot on the wall for Dustin Pedroia's "`15." "But if early results are any indication, the diminutive fireplug with the big bat and smooth glove will one day be honored in a fashion similar to another great Boston second baseman, Bobby Doerr.

In just five full ML seasons, Pedroia has been named a Rookie of the Year, an MVP, a three-time All-Star and a two-time Gold Glove winner. He's led the AL in runs scored, hits and doubles, become a 20-homer, 20-steal performer and emerged as a leader on the Boston team.


If he keeps it up for another 10 years, he'll be booking his tickets for Cooperstown—and a place among the all-time greatest Red Sox.


Nomar Garciaparra (#5): There was a time, as recent as 2003, when the thought of the Red Sox one day retiring Garciaparra's number was a foregone conclusion.


Just a year later, it was suddenly anything but a sure thing.


For his first seven seasons, from 1996-03, the shortstop had compiled a .323 average and a .555 slugging mark while emerging as one of the most popular players in team history. "Nomah" had won two batting titles and was a perennial All-Star and MVP candidate.Then it all came crashing down.


After the 2003 season, believing that injuries were slowly robbing their star of his range and bat speed, the Red Sox hotly pursued Rangers shortstop Alex Rodriguez. A-Rod signed with the Yankees instead, but the slight angered Garciaparra and impacted his performance on the field and in the clubhouse.


By August of 2004 the disgruntled icon was traded, and missed out on the magic World Series run that fall. He still got a ring, but he may have lost his chance at a number retirement.

Dwight Evans (#24): This one is a real long shot, but it shouldn't be. Evans played the last season of his career with the Orioles, but for 19 years and 2,505 games before that he was a Red Sox—and put up some of the most impressive numbers in team history.


On defense, "Dewey" had great range and a rifle arm, winning eight Gold Gloves for Boston despite having to play a right field in Fenway Park that was bigger and more sun-challenged than most. Offensively, he went from being a streaky hitter with 20-homer power in the 1970s to one of the best all-around batters in the game—leading all AL players in homers (256) and extra-base hits during the '80s.


His Boston totals of 379 homers, 474 doubles and 1,384 RBI all rank in the Top Five in team history, and nobody in franchise annals has matched his Gold Glove total. It's hard to believe that those 101 games with Baltimore might be the only thing keeping Evans from having his "24" retired at Fenway, but now that Manny Ramirez is no longer wearing it either, the right-field grandstand would be a great place for it to wind up.


Tony Conigliaro (#25): No Boston-area kid ever had a more glorious career ahead of him with the Red Sox than a young "Tony C." And nobody ever had that glory taken away so fast—or in such horrible a fashion.

Conigliaro was movie-star handsome, a rock singer in his spare time, and by mid-1967 had reached 100 home runs at a younger age (22) than any other American League player. Then the local legend was nearly killed by a pitch, and although he came back several times in heroic fashion, eye problems connected to the injury kept him from ever fulfilling those early expectations.


Tony C couldn't even get lucky in retirement. A massive heart attack at age 37 caused irreversible brain damage, and left him largely incapacitated for the last eight years of his short life. Nobody ever showed more guts while wearing a Red Sox uniform, however, and for this reason many fans believe his "25" should be retired as much for what could have been as for what he did accomplish.


Who do you think should be honored alongside Yaz, The Kid, Jim Ed, and the rest? After all, the Yankees have retired 16 numbers including Robinson's—surely the Red Sox can find a ninth man to recognize in this fashion.