Luis Tiant was sitting in an aisle seat about six rows up from the stage watching his grandson perform in the company of a high school musical I was directing. It appeared that no one recognized him. At the end of the show, he quickly escaped up the aisle and exited out a side door.
Tiant was, of course, the star pitcher of the Boston Red Sox back in 1975 when the Olde Towne Team reached the World Series against the Cincinnati Reds. “El Tiante” shut out the “Big Red Machine” in Game 1, allowing only five hits and went on to throw a complete-game win in Game 4 as well.
Dan Shaughnessy, the sage of the sports page of that big city broadside north of here, has declared it was the “greatest World Series of all time.” Maybe, but I say the sixth game was the greatest game ever when Carlson Fisk hit a walk-off home run, raising the hopes that another win would clinch the series. Alas, it was not to be, the Sox lost in seven. What is it they say, “Wait ’til next year.”
El Tiante died last October at the age of 83, never making the Baseball Hall of Fame. The Sox honored him at their opening game a few weeks ago.
I was lucky enough to attend two games of the ’75 series. It was so long ago, and my memory is so fussy that I can’t remember which two. I do know that the tickets were free! Thanks to my bride’s uncle who used to own a minor league team down south. Once in professional baseball, always in pro baseball.
Every morning there were tickets available at the American League hotel. Every team allotted 30 or 40 tickets to their players. Few players used them. Viola! They were there for the taking. Thanks Uncle Arthur.
World Series games are like no other. I consider myself lucky to have had the experience. Unlike the 1967 “Impossible Dream” year when I actually lived on Jersey Street, a homerun ball away from Fenway Park. With no money for tickets – as a poor college kid without a nickel to spare, I didn’t have the $4 they cost – open windows had to suffice to experience the noise of the crowd while watching the games on my 14-inch Emerson TV.
After a win, I’d run down to the ballpark to quietly celebrate with the crowd (True story. I wouldn’t lie to my cherished readers.) Years later, The Boston Globe published a retrospective with a photo of the other crazy fans – not me – climbing phone poles and milling around. The photo showed a Boston mounted policeman. Standing next to the horse was… yup, me, horned-rim glasses and all.
The next time I was at Fenway was on my honeymoon. My bride and I sat in the bleachers, and I got nauseous from the… er, odor. You get my drift?
I hope Luis Tiant finally makes the Hall of Fame posthumously.
Mattapoisett resident Dick Morgado is an artist and happily retired writer. His newspaper columns appeared for many years in daily newspapers around Boston.
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By Dick Morgado