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Yaz's comeback catch By Curt Gowdy and Pat Smith Co-host of ESPN2's
CITGO's In Search of Flywater It was October of 1975. Carl Yastrzemski sat 500 feet above the Atlantic, brooding in the silent aftermath of Boston's heartbreaking loss to Cincinnati in the World Series. As usual, Yaz had done his part: hitting .310 with 7 runs scored and 4 RBIs. But, watching him, I knew the only statistic that mattered was the one-run loss in Game 7 of what baseball historians have called the most exciting Fall Classic ever played. In a small, single-engine plane, we headed out from Boston on a half-hour hop to a sea-blown piece of real estate known as Block Island. We'd spend a couple of days hunting pheasants for ABC's classic outdoors series, "The American Sportsman." Then we'd fly to Martha's Vineyard for some striped bass fishing. But despite his post-season blues and the Curse of the Babe, Yaz was keeping his promise with me. As the charter plane landed on Block Island, he'd spoken no more a dozen words. I wondered if he was going to come out of his depression. If he didn't, it was going to be a very slow and quiet show. That night, Yaz' mood didn't improve as he retired to his room shortly after dinner. I knew the burden he carried. In the 14 years I covered the Red Sox, I came to appreciate the load Boston sports fans place on their local athletes. With names like Bobby Orr and Bill Russell and Ted Williams on the municipal marquee of greatness, the town expects only the best. When it gets it, the player is deified. When it doesn't, woe unto the player who blows a play or makes an error. That night I went to bed hoping that sleep would lift Yaz out of his slump. | |
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