Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Monday, April 11, 2011
RORY McILROY WINS BIG AT THE MASTERS
A funny thing happened on Sunday. I was watching a golf tournament
and a NASCAR race at Talledega broke out. These fine-tuned machines,
with the exception of a stocky one from Argentina, were fighting for
position while barrelling toward the finish. There were no restrictor
plates, just a bunch of guys hell bent on glory, throwing caution to the wind.
It was white-knuckle time. The slightest of errors would crush the chance
for sports immortality. One mistake, and you could lose control, turning a
nice Sunday drive, into an unforgettable disaster. Remember Greg Norman
at the Masters in 1996. He was up by six shots with 18 holes to play.
The Butler cabin already had the chairs lined up, and his jacket size
ordered. However, he spun out and wound up like Rusty Wallace
in 1993 at Talledega. Wallace flipped over seven times before coming
to a stop. His car, a skeleton of its former self, kind of like Norman.
Rory McIlroy made that one crucial mistake, a colossal one that caused
a terrible wreck. You wanted to turn away, or at least put your hands
over your face. But you couldn't. You peaked through your fingers and
watched a gut-wrenching disaster.
McIlroy, in position to win the Masters at just 21-years of age, came
apart right before our very eyes. Like Wallace did 18 years before him, the
golf prodigy walked away without any physical damage, the psychological
effects however, may rear themselves next week, next month, or as
McIlroy hopes, in his next lifetime.
Nobody will ever be able to get inside of McIlroy's head to find out
what he's thinking. But after watching him handle a most public failure,
we certainly know what the kid is made of.
His errant drive on the 10th hole was the start of his epic disaster. Few
of us will ever forget the image of him standing, looking shell-shocked,
as he pontificated his next shot in the shadow of Butler cabin. The misery
for McIlroy didn't end until he tapped in for an 80, a score comparable to
Chipper Jones hitting .210 for the season.
The coveted green jacket in his rear view mirror, and all the critics
straight ahead of him, McIlroy could've made excuses or hid like Rafeal
Soriano after blowing a save earlier this season.
But McIlroy stood tall and acted with amazing class and dignity. His
one car accident was horrific, along the likes of Norman's incredible
wipe out. However, McIlroy vowed to learn from it, and many athletes,
including Tiger Woods, should learn from him, as well.
During his spectacular crash, McIlroy didn't slam a club, drop an f-bomb,
stare down a restless photographer, or act like a petulant 5-year old
who didn't get his way. The kid kept his composure and never really
lost his temper. Oh, sure he flung his putter after 3-jacking on the 12th
hole. But it was more of a surrender than a Tiger Woods attempt at
a record javelin throw with his putter.
McIlroy envisioned walking up the 18th fairway to a thunderous
applause, the prelude to being crowned a champion. But after blowing
a big-lead on the final day, it must've felt like golf's walk of shame.
A stroll accompanied by incredible pain, and incessant thoughts
of what might have been. An opportunity lost, and the story
of a major collapse written. Rory managed a little smile and gave
a tip of the hat, thanking the patrons for trying to ease the torture
that came about from his nine-hole hell.
Unfortunately, McIlroy's meltdown will be etched in the annals of
Masters history, along side Norman and the choke of Scott Hoch.
But his pure class and the way in which he handled an embarrassing
failure, will be respected and remembered for a long time as well.
McIlroy may have lost the tournament, but he won over a great deal
of fans.
and a NASCAR race at Talledega broke out. These fine-tuned machines,
with the exception of a stocky one from Argentina, were fighting for
position while barrelling toward the finish. There were no restrictor
plates, just a bunch of guys hell bent on glory, throwing caution to the wind.
It was white-knuckle time. The slightest of errors would crush the chance
for sports immortality. One mistake, and you could lose control, turning a
nice Sunday drive, into an unforgettable disaster. Remember Greg Norman
at the Masters in 1996. He was up by six shots with 18 holes to play.
The Butler cabin already had the chairs lined up, and his jacket size
ordered. However, he spun out and wound up like Rusty Wallace
in 1993 at Talledega. Wallace flipped over seven times before coming
to a stop. His car, a skeleton of its former self, kind of like Norman.
Rory McIlroy made that one crucial mistake, a colossal one that caused
a terrible wreck. You wanted to turn away, or at least put your hands
over your face. But you couldn't. You peaked through your fingers and
watched a gut-wrenching disaster.
McIlroy, in position to win the Masters at just 21-years of age, came
apart right before our very eyes. Like Wallace did 18 years before him, the
golf prodigy walked away without any physical damage, the psychological
effects however, may rear themselves next week, next month, or as
McIlroy hopes, in his next lifetime.
Nobody will ever be able to get inside of McIlroy's head to find out
what he's thinking. But after watching him handle a most public failure,
we certainly know what the kid is made of.
His errant drive on the 10th hole was the start of his epic disaster. Few
of us will ever forget the image of him standing, looking shell-shocked,
as he pontificated his next shot in the shadow of Butler cabin. The misery
for McIlroy didn't end until he tapped in for an 80, a score comparable to
Chipper Jones hitting .210 for the season.
The coveted green jacket in his rear view mirror, and all the critics
straight ahead of him, McIlroy could've made excuses or hid like Rafeal
Soriano after blowing a save earlier this season.
But McIlroy stood tall and acted with amazing class and dignity. His
one car accident was horrific, along the likes of Norman's incredible
wipe out. However, McIlroy vowed to learn from it, and many athletes,
including Tiger Woods, should learn from him, as well.
During his spectacular crash, McIlroy didn't slam a club, drop an f-bomb,
stare down a restless photographer, or act like a petulant 5-year old
who didn't get his way. The kid kept his composure and never really
lost his temper. Oh, sure he flung his putter after 3-jacking on the 12th
hole. But it was more of a surrender than a Tiger Woods attempt at
a record javelin throw with his putter.
McIlroy envisioned walking up the 18th fairway to a thunderous
applause, the prelude to being crowned a champion. But after blowing
a big-lead on the final day, it must've felt like golf's walk of shame.
A stroll accompanied by incredible pain, and incessant thoughts
of what might have been. An opportunity lost, and the story
of a major collapse written. Rory managed a little smile and gave
a tip of the hat, thanking the patrons for trying to ease the torture
that came about from his nine-hole hell.
Unfortunately, McIlroy's meltdown will be etched in the annals of
Masters history, along side Norman and the choke of Scott Hoch.
But his pure class and the way in which he handled an embarrassing
failure, will be respected and remembered for a long time as well.
McIlroy may have lost the tournament, but he won over a great deal
of fans.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Friday, April 1, 2011
LOU GORMAN : GREAT BASEBALL MAN. AN EVEN BETTER PERSON
You've probably never heard of Lou Gorman, and chances are
you'll forget about what he accomplished in baseball by the next
edition of "SportsCenter". But if, and when you come across his
name again, I hope you'll say, "Yeah, Lou Gorman, I heard he
was one heckuva nice guy."
Gorman died early Friday morning, just hours before his beloved
Red Sox were going to open their new season. A cross between
Captain Kangaroo and the Pope, Gorman was a man of impeccable
character and integrity, who wouldn't say a bad thing about anyone,
not even Oil Can Boyd.
A captain in the Navy, Gorman served our country for eight years
before embarking on a baseball career that few could only dream of.
He was a general manager in Seattle and Boston, and helped build great
farms systems in Baltimore, Kansas City, and New York. He earned
two world series rings as a consultant with the Red Sox and was
inducted into six Hall of Fames.
I first met Gorman during spring training in 1988 when I was just a low
level minor-leaguer trying to find my way in camp. He was the general
manager of the Red Sox, who just two years earlier, came within a
strike of beating the Mets, a team he helped construct, in the World
Series.
We had finished a minor-league workout and I went to watch
the big team play an exhibition game. I kept getting kicked out of seats
by people who had actually paid for them. Gorman had been
watching all of this, and invited me to sit next to him in his customary
spot just off press row. I was a nobody and he made me
feel like a somebody. That was Lou Gorman.
Gorman let me sit there the entire game and pick his brain about
building a team and inquiry about all the players he had drafted,
from Jim Palmer to George Brett to Daryl Strawberry. It was
flat-out awesome and something I'll never forget. I thanked him
for the experience, and then we went our separate ways.
18 years later I made it to Boston, not as a player but as a sportscaster
for NESN. Our offices were in Fenway Park and we shared a break
room, or at least I did, with Red Sox front-office personnel. What
money I made from NESN, I felt guilty because it felt like stealing.
Boston. Red Sox. Fenway Park. Baseball. NESN. Are you kidding
me?
I was in the kitchen one day stealing all the Red Sox food supplies,
(kidding, kind of) when Gorman walked in. It was like seeing
your grandfather after so many years. I introduced myself and told
him of our meeting in Winter Haven in 1988. He said he remembered
me, which he clearly didn't. Lou always wanted you to feel good
about yourself and feel important. That was Lou Gorman
This is how Lou treated everybody, like you were his best friend.
Always happy, always positive, he made everybody feel at home.
I still had an itch for baseball and asked if I could talk with him
some time and get his advice on making a career move back into
the game. Lou said it was no problem at all. He gave me his card
and said to call to make an appointment.
I called two weeks later and made the trek to his office at Fenway
Park. Trying to find it, one has to navigate the narrow hallways
as if they were galleys on the submarine in "The Hunt for Red
October." I managed to find Gorman's pint-size office and he
welcomed me like I was a member of the family.
We talked and talked and talked some more about baseball.
We'd get interrupted by phone calls, and Gorman would just say
he was busy and kindly asked to call back. I had the chance to
soak up all of this man's knowledge of the game, and the stories
were priceless.
He was instrumental in drafting some of the best players in the game.
George Brett, Willie Wilson, Bret Saberhagen, Dwight Gooden,
Strawberry, Dykstra, Mo Vaughn...the list went on and on.
As a baseball junkie, I had gone to the right place to get my fix.
Lou Gorman was amazing.
I asked him about the infamous trade of Jeff Bagwell for Larry Anderson,
one that followed him forever with the Red Sox. He didn't bat an eye.
"We already had Wade Boggs at third, and Scott Cooper, another solid
prospect in the minors," Gorman would say. "Bagwell hit for average in
AA but didn't have much power. We projected him to be a 10-15 home
run guy." Then the steroid era came. My words, not his. Bagwell went
on to hit almost 500 home runs for the Houston Astros.
People stopped by Gorman's office as if they were visiting Santa
Claus at the Mall before Christmas. Everybody loved Lou Gorman.
Everybody. He was a guy you hoped, would live forever. He deserved
to. A gentleman, a patriot, a man who helped so many others in
need, Lou Gorman was a class act. That was Lou Gorman. He will
be missed.
you'll forget about what he accomplished in baseball by the next
edition of "SportsCenter". But if, and when you come across his
name again, I hope you'll say, "Yeah, Lou Gorman, I heard he
was one heckuva nice guy."
Gorman died early Friday morning, just hours before his beloved
Red Sox were going to open their new season. A cross between
Captain Kangaroo and the Pope, Gorman was a man of impeccable
character and integrity, who wouldn't say a bad thing about anyone,
not even Oil Can Boyd.
A captain in the Navy, Gorman served our country for eight years
before embarking on a baseball career that few could only dream of.
He was a general manager in Seattle and Boston, and helped build great
farms systems in Baltimore, Kansas City, and New York. He earned
two world series rings as a consultant with the Red Sox and was
inducted into six Hall of Fames.
I first met Gorman during spring training in 1988 when I was just a low
level minor-leaguer trying to find my way in camp. He was the general
manager of the Red Sox, who just two years earlier, came within a
strike of beating the Mets, a team he helped construct, in the World
Series.
We had finished a minor-league workout and I went to watch
the big team play an exhibition game. I kept getting kicked out of seats
by people who had actually paid for them. Gorman had been
watching all of this, and invited me to sit next to him in his customary
spot just off press row. I was a nobody and he made me
feel like a somebody. That was Lou Gorman.
Gorman let me sit there the entire game and pick his brain about
building a team and inquiry about all the players he had drafted,
from Jim Palmer to George Brett to Daryl Strawberry. It was
flat-out awesome and something I'll never forget. I thanked him
for the experience, and then we went our separate ways.
18 years later I made it to Boston, not as a player but as a sportscaster
for NESN. Our offices were in Fenway Park and we shared a break
room, or at least I did, with Red Sox front-office personnel. What
money I made from NESN, I felt guilty because it felt like stealing.
Boston. Red Sox. Fenway Park. Baseball. NESN. Are you kidding
me?
I was in the kitchen one day stealing all the Red Sox food supplies,
(kidding, kind of) when Gorman walked in. It was like seeing
your grandfather after so many years. I introduced myself and told
him of our meeting in Winter Haven in 1988. He said he remembered
me, which he clearly didn't. Lou always wanted you to feel good
about yourself and feel important. That was Lou Gorman
This is how Lou treated everybody, like you were his best friend.
Always happy, always positive, he made everybody feel at home.
I still had an itch for baseball and asked if I could talk with him
some time and get his advice on making a career move back into
the game. Lou said it was no problem at all. He gave me his card
and said to call to make an appointment.
I called two weeks later and made the trek to his office at Fenway
Park. Trying to find it, one has to navigate the narrow hallways
as if they were galleys on the submarine in "The Hunt for Red
October." I managed to find Gorman's pint-size office and he
welcomed me like I was a member of the family.
We talked and talked and talked some more about baseball.
We'd get interrupted by phone calls, and Gorman would just say
he was busy and kindly asked to call back. I had the chance to
soak up all of this man's knowledge of the game, and the stories
were priceless.
He was instrumental in drafting some of the best players in the game.
George Brett, Willie Wilson, Bret Saberhagen, Dwight Gooden,
Strawberry, Dykstra, Mo Vaughn...the list went on and on.
As a baseball junkie, I had gone to the right place to get my fix.
Lou Gorman was amazing.
I asked him about the infamous trade of Jeff Bagwell for Larry Anderson,
one that followed him forever with the Red Sox. He didn't bat an eye.
"We already had Wade Boggs at third, and Scott Cooper, another solid
prospect in the minors," Gorman would say. "Bagwell hit for average in
AA but didn't have much power. We projected him to be a 10-15 home
run guy." Then the steroid era came. My words, not his. Bagwell went
on to hit almost 500 home runs for the Houston Astros.
People stopped by Gorman's office as if they were visiting Santa
Claus at the Mall before Christmas. Everybody loved Lou Gorman.
Everybody. He was a guy you hoped, would live forever. He deserved
to. A gentleman, a patriot, a man who helped so many others in
need, Lou Gorman was a class act. That was Lou Gorman. He will
be missed.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
DURING NFL LOCKOUT, BELICHICK GOES BACK TO SCHOOL
Long before Charlie Sheen made "Winning", the statement of the
year, the Boston College hockey team was writing the book on it.
They have captured the national championship, Beanpot Trophy, and
Hockey East title in the last ten months. It's rather obvious they're a
team that has no trouble getting motivated.
But several weeks ago, they got a motivational pep talk from a man
who gives very few of them outside of his place of employment.
Bill Belichick, the head coach of the New England Patriots and
reigning NFL coach of the year, stopped by Chestnut Hill, to
deliver some powerful words that the players won't soon forget.
"It was awesome, you could hear a pin drop when he walked in," said
long-time assistant coach Mike Cavanaugh. Belichick arrived in typical
Belichick style: sneakers, jeans, and black sweatshirt. (without the hoodie)
He was on the way to seeing his good friend, Jon Bon Jovi, perform at
the TD Banknorth Garden in Boston.
Belichick took the floor and talked about commitment, preparation, and
everyone holding themselves accountable for the good of the team.
"He said that when he was growing up, the family had just one car," Cavanaugh
recounted. "His dad used that car to go to work and his mom used it to
run errands. If you got the keys that night, you had the responsibility
of getting the car back in time and in working order. If not, you could
mess things up for the entire family."
Belichick compared that to the workings of a successful team. "He said, 'when
you go over the boards, you have a responsibility to the team,' Cavanaugh
added, 'if you don't do your job, then you can keep the team from winning.'
The coach who has led the Patriots to three Super Bowl titles also told
the team to cherish their time in college and to appreciate the camaraderie
that develops when fighting for national titles.
"He said that he'd often have conversations with players like Rodney Harrison,
Willie McGinnest, and Tedy Bruschi, who told them how special their
time in college was and how it went by so quickly. They all told them that
it was a great feeling, bonding with college teammates while trying to
win championships," Cavanaugh stated.
After Belichick finished with his talk, he opened the floor to questions.
Naturally, one of the first ones, centered on Tom Brady.
"Belichick said that Brady isn't the fastest quarterback, nor does he
have the best arm. But he said that Brady is just a player who is
totally committed to the team and making himself better. He works
the hardest and prepares the best," Cavanaugh stated.
Before he left, Belichick added one more thing. "He said, 'I'd wish you
luck, but it's not about luck. It's about who plays the best and the
best team will win. Luck has nothing to do with it,' Cavanaugh added.
And off he went, his next stop: the Bon Jovi concert. For the
BC hockey team, an unforgettable moment and words to think
about as they get ready to defend their national title.
year, the Boston College hockey team was writing the book on it.
They have captured the national championship, Beanpot Trophy, and
Hockey East title in the last ten months. It's rather obvious they're a
team that has no trouble getting motivated.
But several weeks ago, they got a motivational pep talk from a man
who gives very few of them outside of his place of employment.
Bill Belichick, the head coach of the New England Patriots and
reigning NFL coach of the year, stopped by Chestnut Hill, to
deliver some powerful words that the players won't soon forget.
"It was awesome, you could hear a pin drop when he walked in," said
long-time assistant coach Mike Cavanaugh. Belichick arrived in typical
Belichick style: sneakers, jeans, and black sweatshirt. (without the hoodie)
He was on the way to seeing his good friend, Jon Bon Jovi, perform at
the TD Banknorth Garden in Boston.
Belichick took the floor and talked about commitment, preparation, and
everyone holding themselves accountable for the good of the team.
"He said that when he was growing up, the family had just one car," Cavanaugh
recounted. "His dad used that car to go to work and his mom used it to
run errands. If you got the keys that night, you had the responsibility
of getting the car back in time and in working order. If not, you could
mess things up for the entire family."
Belichick compared that to the workings of a successful team. "He said, 'when
you go over the boards, you have a responsibility to the team,' Cavanaugh
added, 'if you don't do your job, then you can keep the team from winning.'
The coach who has led the Patriots to three Super Bowl titles also told
the team to cherish their time in college and to appreciate the camaraderie
that develops when fighting for national titles.
"He said that he'd often have conversations with players like Rodney Harrison,
Willie McGinnest, and Tedy Bruschi, who told them how special their
time in college was and how it went by so quickly. They all told them that
it was a great feeling, bonding with college teammates while trying to
win championships," Cavanaugh stated.
After Belichick finished with his talk, he opened the floor to questions.
Naturally, one of the first ones, centered on Tom Brady.
"Belichick said that Brady isn't the fastest quarterback, nor does he
have the best arm. But he said that Brady is just a player who is
totally committed to the team and making himself better. He works
the hardest and prepares the best," Cavanaugh stated.
Before he left, Belichick added one more thing. "He said, 'I'd wish you
luck, but it's not about luck. It's about who plays the best and the
best team will win. Luck has nothing to do with it,' Cavanaugh added.
And off he went, his next stop: the Bon Jovi concert. For the
BC hockey team, an unforgettable moment and words to think
about as they get ready to defend their national title.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
BASEBALL ACCORDING TO "THE ECK"
As a pitcher during his Hall of Fame career, Dennis Eckersley was
definitely unique. He had the long-flowing hair, the Marlboro man mustache,
and that funky delivery. He was bold, brash, and pretty much a rock-star in
cleats.
Not much has changed in Eckersley's post-playing career. Working as
an analyst for NESN and TBS, he comes across the same way he did as
a player, making him one the best, and most entertaining commentators in
the game.
"I love it, man," Eckersley said from his home in Sudbury, Mass. "It's an
adrenaline rush that comes as close to you get when you're playing. When
you're on live, you have to be spot on, just like closing out a game."
Eckersley, who saved 390 games and won another 197 during his
24-year career, brings not only a unique perspective to the game, but
a different language to his viewers as well.
There is "going bridge" (home run), "hair on a fastball" (serious heat)
"tossed salad" (junk-balls) and words like "iron" (money), and "cheddar"
(fastball).
"I picked all that stuff up 30 years ago, when I used to hang out
with Pat Dobson on the Indians," Eckersley said. "Those are just every
day terms used in baseball by a lot of guys. I guess I'm one of the only
ones to use them on tv."
Eckersley is not the same person you think you know from television
or remember from his playing days. He's the most unaffected and
unassuming Hall of Famer that you'll ever meet. But it was one moment
early in his career, that earned Eck a reputation that he's never seemed
to shake.
"In the game where I threw a no-hitter against the Angels, there were
two out and the fans were going crazy." Eckersley recalls. "Gil Flores
was taking all day to get into the batters box, so I screamed at him
to get in the box. I said, 'the cameras aren't looking at you. They're looking
at me'. From that point on, I was the cocky pitcher who was pointing at
everybody."
Eckersley broke into the game at age 20 and finished when he was 43.
In between, he tossed that no-hitter, captured Rookie of Year, won
the Cy Young and MVP award in the same season, and became a
World Champion with the Oakland A's, which stands above the rest.
"You have to understand. I pretty much grew up at Candlestick Park
watching Willie Mays," Eckersley, who was born in Oakland, recalled.
"To be in that park with the ball in my hand and touching first base for
the last out in the World Series. That was the highlight of my career."
One of the low-lights could have been serving up Kirk Gibson's
earth-shattering home run in the 1988 World Series. But Eckersley
always took the good with the bad, and moved on from that devastating
moment rather quickly.
"Man, I had been styling. I just had saved four games against the
Red Sox in the ALCS," Eckersley said. "I gave up that home run but
it didn't really bother me. I had so much of my career left and was really
just hitting my stride."
Eckersley recovered from that moment to finish strong and earned a
place among the immortals in Cooperstown. But for all his success,
Eckersley does have one regret.
"I wish I had enjoyed it more," Eckersley says. "But there was so
much pressure and I was always felt I had to be perfect because
I couldn't stand failure. I had coaches say, 'go have fun out there'.
I was like, screw that, this is serious stuff. But I do wish I just enjoyed
the ride more."
Eckersley is enjoying life fully now. He's happily married and a
Hall of Famer. He's conquered his alcohol addiction and is a critically-
acclaimed baseball analyst for the Red Sox television network.
Yes, life is good for "The Eck".
definitely unique. He had the long-flowing hair, the Marlboro man mustache,
and that funky delivery. He was bold, brash, and pretty much a rock-star in
cleats.
Not much has changed in Eckersley's post-playing career. Working as
an analyst for NESN and TBS, he comes across the same way he did as
a player, making him one the best, and most entertaining commentators in
the game.
"I love it, man," Eckersley said from his home in Sudbury, Mass. "It's an
adrenaline rush that comes as close to you get when you're playing. When
you're on live, you have to be spot on, just like closing out a game."
Eckersley, who saved 390 games and won another 197 during his
24-year career, brings not only a unique perspective to the game, but
a different language to his viewers as well.
There is "going bridge" (home run), "hair on a fastball" (serious heat)
"tossed salad" (junk-balls) and words like "iron" (money), and "cheddar"
(fastball).
"I picked all that stuff up 30 years ago, when I used to hang out
with Pat Dobson on the Indians," Eckersley said. "Those are just every
day terms used in baseball by a lot of guys. I guess I'm one of the only
ones to use them on tv."
Eckersley is not the same person you think you know from television
or remember from his playing days. He's the most unaffected and
unassuming Hall of Famer that you'll ever meet. But it was one moment
early in his career, that earned Eck a reputation that he's never seemed
to shake.
"In the game where I threw a no-hitter against the Angels, there were
two out and the fans were going crazy." Eckersley recalls. "Gil Flores
was taking all day to get into the batters box, so I screamed at him
to get in the box. I said, 'the cameras aren't looking at you. They're looking
at me'. From that point on, I was the cocky pitcher who was pointing at
everybody."
Eckersley broke into the game at age 20 and finished when he was 43.
In between, he tossed that no-hitter, captured Rookie of Year, won
the Cy Young and MVP award in the same season, and became a
World Champion with the Oakland A's, which stands above the rest.
"You have to understand. I pretty much grew up at Candlestick Park
watching Willie Mays," Eckersley, who was born in Oakland, recalled.
"To be in that park with the ball in my hand and touching first base for
the last out in the World Series. That was the highlight of my career."
One of the low-lights could have been serving up Kirk Gibson's
earth-shattering home run in the 1988 World Series. But Eckersley
always took the good with the bad, and moved on from that devastating
moment rather quickly.
"Man, I had been styling. I just had saved four games against the
Red Sox in the ALCS," Eckersley said. "I gave up that home run but
it didn't really bother me. I had so much of my career left and was really
just hitting my stride."
Eckersley recovered from that moment to finish strong and earned a
place among the immortals in Cooperstown. But for all his success,
Eckersley does have one regret.
"I wish I had enjoyed it more," Eckersley says. "But there was so
much pressure and I was always felt I had to be perfect because
I couldn't stand failure. I had coaches say, 'go have fun out there'.
I was like, screw that, this is serious stuff. But I do wish I just enjoyed
the ride more."
Eckersley is enjoying life fully now. He's happily married and a
Hall of Famer. He's conquered his alcohol addiction and is a critically-
acclaimed baseball analyst for the Red Sox television network.
Yes, life is good for "The Eck".
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