DEREK SEDAM
Staff Writer
Forgiveness is one of the hardest human emotions to express. Our emotions control us whether we choose to believe that or not. Sometimes emotional wounds and scars can affect us for life.
Take us out of our comfort zones. Give us a “What if?” that never should be apart of our lives. Destroy the lives we thought we knew. Simply, some things are unforgivable.
Take a ground ball from 1986 for instance.
On a cool, silent New York night in October the nation was glued to their TV sets. Both the Boston Red Sox and New York Mets were trying to end World Series droughts, and the Sox had a two-run lead in the bottom of the 10th inning, their 68-year drought of a title dwindled down to one out.
All of New England was watching.
Bill Buckner, the star first baseman for the Red Sox, got the team to this point. One out away from winning the series and breaking the curse that the Babe brought upon so long ago.
Buckner was baseball, the epitome of it: a double machine, contact hitter, great base runner and never struck out. He even started the high-top cleat trend in baseball (sadly, it didn’t catch on till he left the game).
His career year and month of September was the dream of big leaguers.
Unfortunately, it was on a pair of bad ankles. His all-out running style early in his career forced a move from the outfield in, and his bad ankles were usually replaced in late innings for defense.
They weren’t on that cool, silent October night, when the nation held its breath as Buckner bent down on those tired, worn-down ankles. The slow chopper Mookie Wilson hit paraded with an off-axis spin down the foul line.
Buckner’s ankles couldn’t move fast enough or bend down low enough to get there.
A career wrecked on a ground ball, and a city to point the finger. The Curse of the Bambino remained intact.
Buckner played three more seasons, never producing the same results. Ridiculed wherever he went, Buckner called it quits in 1990. His name forever remembered on the streets of Boston. Forever associated with hate, bad luck and losing.
Bill had to move the family to Boise, Idaho, to get them away from it. Soon he became what the media had portrayed him as, the scapegoat.
No media appearances, no autograph signings, no public appearances. One of the greatest men to play the game became a recluse because of the hatred. He accepted the role that was given to him and played the part.
I’ve hated this tale ever since I was told in Little League to not “pull a Buckner.” It’s not what sports are about, or why I got into the profession of writing about it to you.
Sport reflects our lives and growth as humans. It tells a parallel story for us to reflect and cultivate our personalities to involve others.
Sport involves love and forgiveness. Forget the previous play and strive for the next to be perfect. The media never got the memo to burn the image of Buckner frantically looking for a ball that broke the spirits of so many.
A funny thing happens in America when things start going your way. People seem to forget grudges once held.
Boston is now in possession of three Lombardi Trophies, two World Series crowns and a world-class NBA team since that cool, silent October night.
Tuesday in Boston the weather was similar. A cool, crisp New England day smack dab in the middle of spring, but the noise, oh the noise was there, because there stood “Billy Buck,” bad ankles and all, walking from left field to the mound.
Fenway Park, where Buckner had wowed fans with his athleticism and passion for the game, had a son finally return home.
The ovation from the sold-out crowd lasted five minutes, never letting up. Buckner stopped on the infield dirt, the same dirt he spent years on, panned around the historic ballpark, and dropped his head.
Buckner, overcome with emotion, finally let those lost years built up inside come down his cheeks, wiping away the tears while waving to the crowd.
Kevin Youkilis, presently the Sox first baseman, couldn’t hold it, letting his tears flow into his grizzly goatee. Lord knows I couldn’t.
As Buckner threw a perfect strike from the mound, he provided a fist pump and smile that will be remembered as much as a ball going between his legs. Everything came full circle.
Watching a man on that cool, celebratory Tuesday finally receive the hero’s welcome he always deserved is what sports are all about.
04-10-2008
