TODAY IN BASEBALL HISTORY

Jerry Remy was born, November 8, 1952 in Fall River, MA

He passed away on October 31, 2021 Peter Gammons has written the definitive piece about Remy.

I remember the first time I saw Jerry Remy.
It was a cool May afternoon, and Somerset High School was playing North Attleboro in the Eastern Massachusetts State Baseball Tournament at a field in North Quincy. I was 15 months into my full-time newspaper career with the Boston Globe, and while covering schoolboy and college sports spent many hours on the office phone tracking down scores and minor details; my colleague Bob Ryan and I loved the games, and the people who played them. I don’t think either of us has ever forgotten the New England baseball players of that time, men like Billy Travers and Mark Bomback, Ace Adams and Bob Allietta.

Today, in my sadness for a friend, I’m trying to remember what it was that so struck me. He was stood about 5-foot-9 and weighed 140 pounds, so small the great Lenny Merullo of the Scouting Bureau worried that he was too small. I remember that Scoots — which is what I called him for 51 years — could hit a line drive over the shortstop’s head and race around the bases like a battery-operated Lotus. He was a shy kid, the son of working-class parents named Connie, a hairdresser, and Joe, 9-to-5 at a furniture store, who grew up loving the Red Sox; one of the first times I ever talked to him he told me how he was there on the final day of the Impossible Dream 1967 season and ran out on the field to join in the mobbing of Jim Lonborg.

For several years, his Fenway locker was next to that of Carl Yastrzemski, and he never lost his enormous respect for the man we used to say was the toughest baseball player we ever met. There was a game in Anaheim when Remy was on third with the Red Sox down two runs in the eighth inning when a diminutive left-handed pitcher named Angel Moreno threw a pitch behind Yaz’s head. The Angels manager was Gene Mauch, who managed Yastrzemski in the 1959 Little World Series between the Minneapolis Millers and Havana Sugar Kings and revered his then-20-year-old outfielder, and always warned his pitchers to never throw at him.

The scene was a Jerry Remy dream, because Scoots could imitate anyone, anything, and laugh his way through it. The next morning, Remy grabbed me in the lobby of the hotel to recreate the scene — Yaz backing out of the batter’s box, grinding his hands around his bat, staring out at Moreno. Remy did the imitation, then shouted, “Yaz doesn’t get mad, he gets even.” Then he pretended to swing, and produced what Yastrzemski produced — a game-tying, two-run, line-drive single through the box that ticked Moreno’s ear, prompting him to fall on top of the pitching rubber, blood rushing from the ear.

“You do Mauch,” he commanded, knowing Gene Mauch was a kind of godfather to me in the baseball business. Remy lay down on the lobby floor, moaning, and I stood over him, waving for a reliever to take his place. I knew what Mauch said to Moreno as he straddled him lying on the mound — “You dumb sonofabitch, I told you never to throw at him.”

Remy popped up, looked around at the people in the lobby who thought we were insane, and announced, “We’re rehearsing for the movie about Yaz’s life, called ‘Don’t Get Mad, Get Even.’”

It meant a great deal for Remy to play with Yastrzemski and to understand that toughness, to locker next to him and see the unique focus that got him through playing more games in the history of the game than anyone but Pete Rose. We were sitting in front of the row of lockers on May 13, 1979, before a scheduled day game against the Oakland Athletics. In walked a rookie pitcher named Chuck Rainey, who passed by Yaz en route to his locker in the back of the clubhouse. Understand, the Red Sox had dumped Luis Tiant and Bill Lee after the 1978 season and were strapped for replacements. Yastrzemski looked up, and asked, “Who is that?” Remy poked me, a request to give him the answer. “It’s Chuck Rainey, and today is his sixth start.” It was a scene for a later laugh, knowing that at 10:30 a.m. before a 2:05 p.m. start Yaz’s entire focus was preparing for what he knew the opposing pitcher would throw to him.

Remy’s career began with the California Angels, but he was traded to the Red Sox in December 1977, and on a warm January afternoon we sat out in his family’s back yard in Somerset talking about what it meant to be traded home to his town team. He was always a master raconteur, which from his Angels days meant his friendship with Nolan Ryan, stories from the bus rides on a Dick Williams-managed team that had no one who could hit a home run to how many times baserunners like Hal McRae and George Brett took him out at second base and sent him flying towards the outfield because a shortstop named Orlando Ramirez was usually slow getting the double-play feed to him. He bounced a tennis ball against the back steps, demonstrating a game he played as a kid, a game in which Yaz usually hit .400.

When Remy was traded to the Red Sox, he was being likened to Johnny Pesky, another diminutive infielder beloved in Boston despite hitting only 17 home runs over 10 seasons. Scoots realized that to take advantage of his speed he had to not hit as many balls in the air. So, after hitting five home runs in his three years in Anaheim, he was trying to not hit fly balls to the left fielder. When Rick Burleson severely sprained his ankle on the last Sunday before the All-Star Game, American League manager Billy Martin so liked the way Remy played that he picked him to replace Burleson. Remy didn’t get into the game, but one time when he was rehabbing his knee at a facility where we worked out, he said, “How many kids from Somerset got to wear a Red Sox uniform in an All-Star Game?”

Because of his change in hitting style, he would hit the last of his seven career homers that August 20, in Oakland. It was a Sunday afternoon. Boston had a 1-0 lead in the top of the fifth inning in a matchup of two fellow All-Stars, Dennis Eckersley and Matt Keough, two on, one out. Keough threw a nasty 1-2 spitter. Remy swung and missed. Catcher Bruce Robinson dropped the ball, but Remy had already started walking back to the Red Sox dugout. Umpire Durwood Merrill called it a foul ball. As Remy turned around in disbelief, Keough charged Merrill, resulting in a 10-minute recess.

Finally, order was restored, Keough took the mound and threw another 1-2 pitch. Remy hit it over the right-field fence, Keough got himself thrown out of the game and Eckersley went on to a 4-2 victory.

One winter, working with rehabilitation specialist Peter Stone in Brookline, Remy got up and reenacted that scene. “I have to practice my pre-pre home run trot, ” he said to a woman who was also working out. “You never know when I might hit another one.”

Remy could imitate any hitter, Mickey Rivers being a specialty. He loved to break down the pressure level of different jobs, and decided that the job with the least pressure he could imagine was the guy who rode shotgun on the garbage or trash truck. He did not particularly like surprises, so, like Yaz, he had his clothing lined up for every day of a road trip before he’d drive to the airport. When he ran outside, it was always the same distance; he’d always have the same exact amount of beer. No one has ever done a better imitation of the famed late Yankees announcer Bob Sheppard than Remy, who’d finish his “number two … number two … number two (yes, the echoes)” by saying, “You’re not really in the big leagues until your name has been announced by Bob Sheppard.”

Jerry Remy is the first kid from Somerset to be inducted into the Red Sox Hall of Fame, and he died an icon an entire generation grew to know as RemDawg for more than 30 years in the television booth. Yet in many ways, I have always felt that there is an underappreciated understanding of the kid I first saw in North Quincy. He was re-sculpting his game that first year in Boston, and was on that All-Star team. He was hurt late in the season, and because Frank Duffy was forced over to second base and Jim Rice was playing right because Dwight Evans had been beaned and suffered a concussion, a Lou Piniella pop fly ended up falling and blowing up a scoreless Ron Guidry-Eckersley matchup, leading to the third of four straight “Boston Massacre” losses to the surging Yankees.

If he had been in the field, and had made that play, would there have been a need for that ill-fated Game 163? We’ll never know. But when it did arrive, that Yankee-Red Sox “playoff,” Remy could have been a playing icon. In that game, he made a spectacular diving defensive play. He bunted perfectly to get Rick Burleson to third and make it 2-0 in the bottom of the sixth. He doubled off Rich Gossage leading off the eighth when the Yankees led 5-2. And in the ninth, following a Burleson one-out walk, he hit a line single to right that Piniella only saw at the last moment and stabbed at; otherwise, it likely would have been an inside-the-park two-run homer; if Reggie Jackson, as Reggie thought he should be, had been playing right, the ball would have bounced on his barehand side, not glove-side, and gone to the bullpen.

The next season, he hurt his knee catching his spike on Jerry Narron’s shinpads, necessitating Rice carrying him off the field. In 1980, manager Don Zimmer had to put him in right field for an inning on soaked grass in Cleveland’s Municipal Stadium, and he re-injured the knee. The surgeries continued, 1980, 1981, 1983 … yet, every winter, working out diligently with Peter Stone, he kept coming back, every off-season working on his bunting. He’d go to the Tufts University cage, take flips, and work on bunting like Hall of Famer Rod Carew, dropping balls towards first and third, past the pitcher in front of the second baseman and shortstop. One day after feeding him flips for a good half hour, he said, “I’m right at the point where I’m going to get an extra step or two because the second baseman and shortstop have to move in.”

Unfortunately, the knee never gave him the opportunity.

He had his Jerry Remy Baseball Camp, which a Red Sox fan from Cheshire, Conn. named Brad Ausmus attended. He always thought about managing, but never got the opportunity. So in 1988 he began at NESN, and with the help of remarkable tutors like Ned Martin and Sean McDonough, began a broadcasting career that was perfect for someone with his sense of humor and natural abilities.

He fought through round after round of cancer, but when he was at Fenway, he would always be seated at the clubhouse table studying the media notes and taking in the comings and goings of the players. He never forgot one of the first rules of covering baseball, that it’s important to be seen and available no matter whether your reporting was positive, or critical. “People who knew me when know me now,” he’d often say, and when players from this 2021 Red Sox team wore shoes honoring him and donned “Jerry Remy Fight Club” T-shirts, it pierced the hearts and souls of those who did know him long before he was The RemDawg.

He knew he was my niece Debby’s favorite player and always wore the number 2, so, in spring training in Winter Haven, Fla. took her out to dinner. I think that night he threw out the first pitch before the Yankee game, anecdotes about Carlton Fisk and The Rooster, about Burleson, and, of course, Fred Lynn, Evans and Rice and Yaz were whirling around in his head.

I admit I am not unbiased. In 1990, his name appeared on the Hall of Fame ballot, which in itself is a remarkable accomplishment, because any player who meets the requirement of lasting 10 years in the big leagues has to be an exceptional player. I voted for Jim Palmer and Joe Morgan on that ballot. They were inducted that year. I voted for Gaylord Perry, Ferguson Jenkins, Jim Bunning and Ron Santo. I did not think that at that time any of the other players on the ballot had a chance to make it.

So I voted for Jerry Remy. It was his lone vote before permanently falling off the ballot. Months after the vote went public, he figured out who did it, and said, “I can always tell my grandchildren I got a vote for the Hall of Fame.”

For 31 years, I have been conflicted about doing it, even though I did not think it denied someone else an election opportunity.

Today, October 31, 2021, I am not conflicted. I’m thinking about that field in North Quincy and the back step of his family’s house in Somerset, and hearing him say, “Yaz doesn’t get mad, he gets even,” then remembering for posterity how tough Scoots was to fight through all those knee surgeries and chemotherapy treatments and become a kid from Somerset whose name will always be remembered, Bob Sheppard’s voice incanting, “Number Two, Jerry Remy.”

Are you ready? As revealed in our holiday playbook, Roku Ads Manager lets you easily set up, measure and optimize your self-serve holiday ad campaign. You can even create a shoppable ad unit that lets streamers buy directly from their remote.

Set up your campaign today.

Visit Remy, he has 34+ plus games and interviews in his audio Library. Plus games as an announcer.

Take a quick walk down memory lane with this video . . .

Hear history for yourself.

Every ALCS & NLCS from 1969 - 1999 and Every World Series Game from 1939 to 1999 is on Classic Baseball Broadcasts for you to enjoy.

Members can listen anytime at classicbaseballbroadcasts.com.

Click to listen!

Todays Podcast

Brought to you by: This Day In Baseball

This day in baseball has a deeper dive into every event from November 8

Built for business. Ready for anything.

With built-in intelligence, you can stay productive and focused on growing your small business. So no matter what the day throws at you, your Dell Pro can handle it.

Explore More

November 8, 1950 — The Baseball Writers Association of America announces that 26-year-old slugging first baseman Walt Dropo of the Boston Red Sox is the Rookie of the Year in the American League. Dropo led the league with 144 RBI. Dropo is the first Boston Red Sox Player to win the award.

Dropo beats out Whitey Ford and Chico Carrasquel. Dropo will go onto have a 13 year career, he will never hit 30 home runs, drive in 100 runs or hit 300 again in his career.

November 8, 1955 — In a nine-player trade, first baseman Mickey Vernon is sent by the Washington Senators to the Boston Red Sox, with Bob Porterfield, Johnny Schmitz and Tom Umphlett to the Boston Red Sox for Al Curtis (minors), Dick Brodowski, Neil Chrisley, Tex Clevenger and Karl Olson.

November 8, 1967 — The Mets obtain Art Shamsky from the Reds in exchange for infielder Bob Johnson, who will play only 16 games for his new team before being traded to Atlanta. New York’s newest outfielder will hit 42 home runs playing in a part-time role during his four seasons with the team.

November 8, 1977 — Free agent Richie Zisk, formerly of the Chicago White Sox, signs a 10-year $2.3 million contract with the Texas Rangers. Zisk will have his worst 3 year stretch with a .774 OPS and be traded to Seattle in a 10-player deal after 3 years.

November 8, 1999 — The U.S. House of Representatives passes H. Res. 269, a resolution calling for Shoeless Joe Jackson to be honored. The resolution stops short of calling for his induction into the Hall of Fame. “It is worthy for this body to take a few minutes to stand up for fairness and right an old wrong,” said Rep. Jim DeMint, (R-South Carolina) the author of the resolution who represents Jackson’s hometown of Greenville, SC. Jackson was eligible for the Hall of Fame until 1991 but was never voted in either by the Baseball Writers Association of America or the Veterans Committee. In 1991, the Hall’s board adopted a resolution prohibiting players on the permanently banned list. The resolution will now go to the US Senate.

 ANSWER TO TODAY’S TRIVIA

TRIVIA ANSWER:    BILL DOAK 

 - Ans. Doak’s Cardinal record of 30 career shutouts was set over his 13 years with the team. Gibson’s 31^st, on his way to 56, came on 25-Jul-1968 during the season he set his personal best in shutouts at 13, the best by any pitcher since Pete Alexander set the all-time record of 16 back in the Deadball Era.

- #1 Doak led the NL in ERA in his 1^st full year in the league, 1914—the heart of the Deadball Era. He led again in 1921, 2 years into the Live Ball Era.

- #2 Doak’s innovation was adding a pocket between thumb and index finger on baseball gloves. It made him more money than he earned in his entire baseball career.

Thank you Horsehide Trivia

JOIN CLASSIC BASEBALL BROADCASTS TODAY