I spent 11 Januaries flying into Cleveland for the Indians Rookie Development Program, and have done many others, from the Yankees to the Red Sox to the Rays. There was always one story I told about what it is to be a teammate, a story about Dennis Eckersley.
A lot of those young players to and with whom I talked weren’t alive on September 9, 1978. I got that. The Red Sox were in free fall, it was a weekend that Sports Illustrated’s cover declared “The Fenway Massacre,” and while the 23-year old Eckersley, for whom the Red Sox traded four players in March, was on a ride to winning 20 games, on this Saturday afternoon, after the Yankees had won the first two games of the series in blowouts and had seen a 13 ½ game lead whittled to two and if Eck did not beat Ron Guidry (in his 25-3 year), all that would stand between the Yankees and first place was rookie Bobby Sprowl.
Eckerlsey matched Guidry 0-0 into the fourth inning, but with two outs and two on Lou Piniella lofted a pop fly into shallow right field. The sun was bright, a September sun, the wind blowing. Jim Rice was playing right field because Dwight Evans was out with a concussion. Frank Duffy was playing second because Jerry Remy was hurt.
The ball drifted out into the shallow right center version of the Bermuda Triangle, with Fred Lynn, Rick Burleson, Rice, Duffy and George Scott in pursuit. Rice, of course, was playing out of position and charging as hard as he could, and called for the ball. Duffy turned to get out of the way, but the wind blew the ball in and away from Rice, hit Duffy in the derriere and two runs scored.
Bucky Dent then hit a two strike pitch off The Wall for two more runs, and when Eckersley left before the inning has ended, it was 7-0. Which turned out to be the final score, and, indeed, all that stood between the Yankees and first place was Bobby Sprowl.
There was an inordinate number of national, local and New York media people there. It was the Yankees vs. the Red Sox, and the collapse—which still resulted in Billy Martin’s firing— it was history.
Afterwards, the media went into a clubhouse that was almost devoid of players, and soon Duffy was circled, explaining why his error cost the Red Sox the game.
Out of the trainer’s room came Eckersley. He walked over to the media scrum and hollered, “leave him alone. Talk to me. He didn’t load the bases. He didn’t hang the (—) two strike slider to Bucky Dent. The L goes next to my name. Come over to my locker and question me.”
Years later, Duffy hadn’t forgotten it. I never will. Two starts later, Eck beat the Yankees in New York, then won three more in a row, and after Luis Tiant shut out the Blue Jays on the final day of the season, the Red Sox had come from 3 ½ back to a playoff with the Yankees Tom Boswell called “the greatest game ever played.” Bucky-Bleeping-Dent. Remy’s ball that Piniella never saw. HOF Carl Yastrzemski popping up against HOF Rich Gossage with two on to end it.
To Eck, it was never anyone else’s fault, not after the Kirk Gibson homer, not after being left out in Game Four of the ’92 ALCS to face Roberto Alomar and all those great Toronto hitters.
This is not a lecture to David Price, a model teammate himself, or anyone else in uniform. Eck beat a lot of injuries and demons in his Hall of Fame career, and he is as good a friend as one could ever have.
I just wanted to introduce all of you to him.