Red-Letter Day

They are forever linked by the memorable World Series of 1975, and now they are forever linked in an even more meaningful way.

Sparky Anderson, the manager of Cincinnati’s Big Red Machine in ‘75, Tony Perez, his first baseman, and Carlton Fisk, the Boston Red Sox catcher who hit that dramatic home run in Game 6, were inducted into baseball’s Hall of Fame on Sunday, the culmination of an improbable career journey for each, and a 25-year reunion of which Fisk said:

“To have it come full circle . . . well, I think it’s more than a coincidence. To be here with Tony and Sparky, there must have been something in the stars--and I’m just glad the stars were shining on us.”

There was more than mystique to it, of course, and now they have bronze plaques that relate some of their accomplishments but only part of the story of...

How Fisk came out of Charlestown, N.H., dreaming of being a power forward for the Boston Celtics (“power forwards usually don’t stop growing at 6 foot 1”) and ultimately overcame five knee injuries to catch a major league record 2,229 games.

How Perez came out of Cuba at 18 with a signing bonus equivalent to $2.50 and spent 16 years as the Cincinnati first baseman, never going on the disabled list in a 23-year major league career during which he drove in 90 or more runs for 11 consecutive seasons, emerging with 1,652 RBI--18th all-time.

How Anderson, born in Bridgewater, S.D. (population: 600), came out of Dorsey High as a good-field, no-hit infielder who would spend 15 minor league seasons as player and manager before coming in as the little known manager of the Reds and ultimately becoming the third-winningest manager in history.

The inimitable Anderson, delving into Stengelese at time, apologized to his golfing buddies at the Sunset Country Club in Thousand Oaks (“they’ll just have to do without my money for a few days,” he said in his speech) and said this Hall of Fame weekend, the experience and emotion, “has been 10 times greater than I expected. I never dreamed it could possibly be like this. I think I’ll have to come back at least two more times to fully comprehend it.”

Anderson is the only manager to win a World Series title in both the American and National Leagues, following up his Cincinnati success with the Detroit Tigers, but he told a crowd estimated at 25,000 on a warm afternoon that players “earn this honor with their skills” while managers “come here on the backs of their players. I mean, a manager can be the dumbest moron there ever was, but as long as he’s the manager, he has manager above his door. I was a genius. I had good players, stayed out of their way and hung around for 26 years.”

Perez was one of his best but had to wait nine years to receive the required votes from eligible members of the Baseball Writers Assn. of America

“Those nine years are behind me,” Perez said in a speech delivered in both English and Spanish. “It took some time, but I feel happy and blessed. I doubt that a king at his coronation could feel better than I do today. Maybe, dear Sparky, I had to wait so long so that we could be inducted together.”

Born to a “poor working family rich in love,” Perez said he carried the flags of the U.S. (“where the best baseball is played”), Puerto Rico (“which adopted me”) and his native Cuba in his heart. He said he was hopeful that his induction as the Hall’s seventh Hispanic player would help open the door for Luis Tiant, Dave Concepcion, Minnie Minoso and Tony Oliva. He added to that list the name of a former Reds teammate and non-Hispanic, the banned Pete Rose.

That mention drew cheers from Rose supporters who had also cheered when longtime Reds broadcaster Marty Brennaman, accepting the Ford C. Frick Award, called for the induction of former Cincinnati general manager Bob Howsam, shortstop Concepcion and “yes, by God, Peter Edward Rose.”

The ineligible hit king spent the weekend, as usual, signing autographs at the Main Street museum that carries his name--out of ear-shot Sunday of the boos that his supporters directed at the introduction of Commissioner Bud Selig, who has refused to reconsider his status.

The mentions by Perez and Brennaman were the only times that Rose’s name came up on a day on which another former Red, 19th-century infielder Bid McPhee--the last second baseman to play without a glove--joined former Negro Leagues power hitter Norman Thomas “Turkey” Stearnes--”as good as anybody who played the game,” Satchel Paige once said--in being inducted, and longtime Cleveland baseball writer Hal Lebovitz received the J.G. Taylor Spink Award.

Nobody talked longer than Fisk, whose rambling, 37-minute acceptance--including long pauses while he collected his emotions--may have set a Hall record.

Fisk said later that he always prided himself on being a player in control of his emotions and the situation but “this was a level above anything I had ever experienced. My speech had sounded all right in the bathroom, the living room, in front of the mirror, but it’s like batting practice. It’s OK, but it doesn’t really prepare you for facing a Randy Johnson or Bob Gibson or Tom Seaver.”

Fisk, who broke Johnny Bench’s record by hitting 351 of his 376 homers as a catcher, paid special homage to former batting coach Walt Hriniak and every member of his own family.

He said that while the Game 6 homer in ’75 was a “game-changing and life-changing moment,” but that the real defining moments come “when you pick yourself off the floor, and there were so many times that I had to do that, emotionally and physically.”

One, of course, was when the hometown Red Sox allowed him to become a free agent on a contract technicality and he was forced to move to the Chicago White Sox. Another was when his left knee was shattered in a 1974 game at Cleveland and doctors told him he would never be able to squat or catch again.

He played 19 years after that and considers himself a baseball pioneer in the previously scorned regimen of strength and conditioning.

“By the 1990s,” he said, now 52 and having retired after the 1993 season, “there were a lot of sons coming into baseball whose fathers I played against. I can’t tell you how good a feeling it was to go onto the field and play against people who were the same age as my kids. I would not have played the last eight years of my career if it had not been for that strength and conditioning program. The greatest temptation is to take the easy way, but I feel I stayed true to my passion. There’s no glory in the weight room.”

The glory was on the field, and while the image of Fisk, feet off the ground, arms upraised as he followed the flight of that decisive homer in Game 6, is frozen in the mind, it merely tied the ’75 Series at three games each. The Reds won it the next night, with Perez hitting a two-run homer off one of Bill “Spaceman” Lee’s noted blooper pitches, helping rally his team from a 3-0 deficit.

Perez, in thanking career contributors during his speech, couldn’t help throwing a little needle in Fisk’s direction, saying, “I also have to thank Carlton Fisk for calling Bill Lee’s blooper pitch one more time.”

Who called it? Fisk dodged that question later, but this much is certain: Those shining stars of ’75 had their brightest moment Sunday.