Posts Tagged ‘Boston Common’

Hell Hath No Fury Like A Bruins Fan Scorned

Friday, May 5th, 2017

For fans of the Boston Bruins, there are two types of hockey players—Bobby Orr and everyone else.  A product of Ontario—Parry Sound in Georgian Bay, to be precise—Orr ignited his hockey destiny the moment he laced up his first pair of skates.  Bostonians, fiercely loyal, welcomed Orr in 1966 with a storm of applause, adoration, and acclaim.  Hockey writers, too, noted Orr’s excellence with the Calder Memorial Trophy—the award for the “most proficient in his his first year of competition in the National Hockey League.”

Orr, he of the destructible knees and indestructible fortitude, soon became a legend.  When #4 took the ice, the Boston Garden shook with promise of victory; in his first season, Orr helped lead the Bruins to the Stanley Cup against the Philadelphia Flyers.  It resulted in a loss; nevertheless, the Bruins won hockey’s greatest honor twice during the Orr era, which ended after the 1975-76 season.  Orr shot the winning goal in overtime against the St. Louis Blues to capture the Stanley Cup for the 1969-70 season.

After two seasons with the Chicago Blackhawks, Orr retired after the 1978-79 season with 264 career goals, 624 career assists, and a collection of trophies marking excellence.  Orr’s boyish grin off the ice and steely exterior on it imprinted the kid from Parry Sound with a stamp reading “legend” in hockey annals.

When a legend gets injured, fans worry.

When a legend gets disparaged, fans defend.

When a legend gets mistreated on the field of play, fans react.  Violently, sometimes.  Such was the case on January 24, 1974 in a Bruins-Blackhawks game.  With less than a minute to go, defenseman Bill White stuck out his stick, tripped Orr, and began a wave of protest not seen since the nation’s forefathers dumped tea into Boston Harbor.  White’s action was purposeful, as clear as a cloudless sky on a spring day at Fenway Park.  At least it was, according to the Boston Garden crowd.

Orr, in a protest that could be heard in the parking lot, confronted referee Wally Harris, who acted promptly—he ejected Orr from the game for a 10-minute misconduct penalty.  White received no penalty.  Bruins fans, in turn, showed their displeasure by throwing garbage onto the ice—it took a little more than 30 minutes to clean the ice, cool tempers, and resume the game.  “I’ve been through a few things like that,” said Blackhawks centerman Stan Mikita, whose views were documented in the media, including, of course, the Chicago Tribune and the Boston Globe.  “But never as bad as this.  I never thought it would happen in Boston.  But it shows how people can get when the big man (Orr) gets flattened.  They want blood.”

Chicago sportswriter Bob Verdi posed a whiff of indictment against Orr in the Tribune.  “On the particular play, White dropped to the ice and knocked the puck away from Orr with a reaching stick sweep,” wrote Verdi.  “Orr’s momentum then carried him into contact with White’s right arm and stick.  There’s no way to prove it, but it looked as tho [sic] Orr was trying to force the penalty; he looked like Stan Mikita taking one of his famous swan dives.  Mikita, tho [sic], is more convincing.”

Alas, the Boston press felt differently about the penalty.  A Globe editorial stated, “Television reruns of the play made it clear what ignited the violence, but surely no one can believe that it was worth endangering the physical safety of the men on both teams or the officials to vent that fury.”

If a game has less than 10 minutes before completion, the player’s time off the ice for the 10-minute misconduct “Orr’s momentum then carried him into contact with White’s right arm and stick.  There’s no way to prove it, but it looked as tho [sic] Orr was trying to force the penalty; he looked like Stan Mikita taking one of his famous swan dives.  Mikita, tho [sic], is more convincing.”

If a game has less than 10 minutes before completion, the player’s time off the ice for the 10-minute misconduct penalty amounts to time served—the outstanding time will not be carried over, either to the next game on the schedule or the next game against the opponent.

The Blackhawks beat the Bruins 2-1.  But it was not the score that exhausted the crowd wearing Bruins paraphernalia to indicate their chosen team of worship, a trait designed by geography during one’s formative years, except in occasional instances.  It was treachery against a favorite son responsible, in Jupiterian fashion, for two Stanley Cups—treachery that pierced the hearts of college students in Cambridge; of cultured millionaires on Beacon Hill; of nature lovers in Boston Common; of civil servants at the Massachusetts State House; of gardeners in Brookline; of contractors in South Boston; of cab rivers ushering passengers to and from an airport named Logan; and of MBTA subway conductors.

A victory unites Bostonians of every stripe in society.  A betrayal, even more so.

 

A version of this article appeared on www.thesportspost.com on January 24, 2017.

When the Braves Left Boston

Saturday, March 11th, 2017

Until 1953, New Englanders split their major league loyalties between two teams—the Braves and the Red Sox.  With a Beantown pedigree predating the National League’s formation in 1876, the former trekked to the land of beer and bratwurst—Milwaukee—while the latter, consequently, provides a single major league outlet from Boston to Bangor.

St. Patrick’s Day, an unofficial holiday for Irish folks, especially in heavily clover-laden metropolises, brought the luck of the Irish to Bostonians in 1953.  Bad luck.  Readers of the March 17th edition of the Boston Globe absorbed the words of Joseph F. Dinneen, Jr., who chronicled a last-ditch effort to keep Braves owner Lou Perini in the environs of Boston Common, Faneuil Hall, and Beacon Hill.  From the powerful came the pleas—Governor Christian Herter, Mayor John Hynes, and the Boston Chamber of Commerce.  Braves fans, of course, chimed in.

“Treated like an orphan son until news of the threatened transfer broke last weekend, the Braves suddenly became the prodigal son everyone wanted to return home—to Boston,” wrote Dinneen.

The Chamber of Commerce’s attempt sourced in dollars and cents, naturally.  If the Braves stayed, ticket sales would increase.  Or so the theory went.  Herter and Hynes joined forces, outlining a strategy for Perini to sell the team so it could remain in Boston.  Dinneen recounted the politicos’ missive sent by telegram, which stated, “Removal of the Braves’ franchise from Boston will have a disturbing and far-reaching effect on the city.  We appeal to you to reconsider the proposed removal, at least for 1953, so that other arrangements may be worked out and so that an opportunity may be provided other interests to purchase and retain the franchise in Boston.”

The Braves’ autumnal annum in Boston had numbers supporting Perini’s bottom line reasoning for the move to Milwaukee—the team finished last in National League attendance; a 64-89 record was not sufficient to draw the crowds necessary to sustain operations.

Russell Lynch, sports editor of the Milwaukee Journal, ignited Perini’s transplant to the Midwest, which was facilitated, in no small part, by the Braves’ AAA team being in Milwaukee—the Brewers.  Perini had vetoed attempts by Bill Veeck to buy the minor league franchise, including one deal that would have resulted in Veeck clearing Milwaukee for the St. Louis Browns by moving the Brewers to Toledo; ultimately, the Browns moved to Baltimore after the 1953 season and became the Orioles.

Inspired, Lynch began a back-and-forth series of telegrams with Perini about blocking Milwaukee from becoming a major league city.  In the Globe, Roger Birtwell wrote, “Next Mr. Lynch turned to his typewriter and batted out a few columns.  The Milwaukee Journal has 350,000 readers each afternoon and half a million on Sunday.  Lynch informed them and their neighbors that Perini—the villain—was keeping major league ball out of Milwaukee.”

Perini, in turn, came to a fork in the road.  Keeping the status quo risked heightening the ire of Milwaukeeans and Bostonians alike—the former because their grasp of being a major league city exceeded their reach and the latter because the Braves continued to drain money by underperforming in the National League.

“We had made up our mind that, regardless if we had won the pennant we would go to Milwaukee next year,” said Perini, quoted in the Globe by Clif Keane.  Veeck’s maneuvers, however, ignited the transition’s rapidity.  Dodgers owner Walter O’Malley said, “I’m sorry it happened.  I’m not at all happy about it.  If it hadn’t been for that other thing (Veeck) it never would have come to this.”  After the 1957 season, O’Malley moved the Dodgers from Brooklyn to Los Angeles.

Milwaukee County Municipal Stadium, initially constructed for the Brewers, became the Braves’ new home.  Meanwhile, Perini paid the American Association $50,000 for compensation in moving the Brewers from Milwaukee to Toledo, where the team changed its name to Mud Hens.

Braves field became the habitat for ghosts of Boston baseball milestones, including the 1914 “Miracle Braves,” a brief name change to Bees in the 1930s, and Babe Ruth hitting his last three home runs in one game.  A 2012 article by Patrick L. Kennedy on Boston University’s web site states that BU purchased the property for $430,000 in 1953; it was the home stadium for the AFL’s Boston Patriots from 1960 to 1962.  Renamed Nickerson Field, the facility hosts the BU men’s and women’s varsity soccer and lacrosse teams.  While the right field pavilion endures for Nickerson’s seating, Kennedy explains that BU demolished the grandstands and the left field pavilion—three dormitories and Walter Brown Arena occupy the space.  Additionally, the university’s police department inhabits the gatehouse and the Braves front office.

After the 1965 season, the Braves abdicated Milwaukee for Atlanta.

A version of this article appeared on www.thesportspost.com on March 18, 2016.

Yaz’s 3000th

Tuesday, February 7th, 2017

Carl Yastrzemski is synonymous with Boston, as significant in the city’s iconography as Boston Common, Faneuil Hall, and the Paul Revere House.  To be a Red Sox fan is to know pride in Yaz’s representation of New England’s greatest asset—doing a job without regard to glamour or grandeur.

On September 12, 1979, Red Sox Nation celebrated when Yaz knocked a ball through the right side of the Yankee infield—#8 had reached #3000.

Suspense filled Fenway Park after Yaz hit the first pitch thrown to him by Jim Beattie—himself a native of the slugger’s adopted home base of New England—towards the area patrolled by Yankee second baseman Willie Randolph.  Leigh Montville of the Boston Globe described, “Would Randolph field the ball?  Nobody could say he could.  Nobody could say he couldn’t.  Not Randolph.  Not the pitcher, Jim Beattie.  Not the diehard, the final group of 34,337 which was waiting on this clear September night.  Not Carl Yastrzemski.

“Certainly not Carl Yastrzemski.”

Approximately a millisecond after the ball passed Randolph, cheers erupted throughout New England, from Kennebunkport to Kenmore Square.

It was the only hit of the night for Carl Michael Yastrzemski, whose 3000th hit was one of 140 that he notched in 1979.  For Yaz, baseball receded after retirement.  “I find that everyone remembers more about it than I do.  I just never think about having played baseball.  I was very fortunate, very gifted.  I think once I retired, I kind of said, ‘That’s it, there’s another life out there,'” said Yastrzemski in a 2011 profile by Dan Shaughnessy of the Boston Globe.

When Yaz reached the elusive 3,000 plateau, he did it against the backdrop of a legendary rivalry, one of the most heated in sports.  It was all the more dramatic in 1979 because of what happened the year prior.  When the Red Sox leaped to a lead the size of the Grand Canyon—14 games in mid-July—a pennant was as likely to be lost as a Kennedy becoming a Republican.  And yet, the Yankees chipped away at the lead, forcing a one-game playoff after both teams had the same record at the end of the season.

Yaz was the voice of reason, if not pessimism.  In a 1986 article for UPI, Richard L. Shook interviewed several members of the Red Sox squad, including Bob Stanley, who said, “I remember Yaz (Carl Yastrzemski) coming in after one loss and saying, ‘I’ve got a feeling we’re going to blow this thing’ [and] I think a lot of guys felt that.  Plus we had a lot of individual guys on that team.  They played for themselves.  They didn’t pull for each other.  They didn’t care if we won.”

Indeed, the Yankees won the pennant, thanks to a home run by Bucky Dent, forever villainous in the hearts and minds of Red Sox fans.

Yaz inherited Fenway Park’s left field region from Red Sox icon Ted Williams, playing his rookie season in 1961, a year of other firsts—Alan Shepard became the first American astronaut in space, John F. Kennedy became the first American president born in the 20th century, and Six Flags Over Texas became the first them park in the Six Flags stable.

When he retired after the 1983 season, Yastrzemski counted a Triple Crown, 3,419 career hits, and 452 home runs among his many achievements, the most significant being his gentlemanly manner.

A version of this article appeared on www.thesportspost.com on January 21, 2016.