If there was ever a baseball writer better than the Washington Post’s Thomas Boswell, I can’t think of one.
There are certainly others in the conversation. Roger Kahn, Roger Angell, Ring Lardner (from a much earlier era). I love Mark Harris’s four books about Henry Wiggen and the New York Mammoths. But Boswell is just two years older than I am, and even though I never made it to the big time, I consider him a contemporary.
But he is a truly wonderful writer, and I was surprised to see a column on the Post’s website today explaining why after covering every game of the last 44 World Series, he would be going to Dallas this year.
“Last month, I decided not to go to this World Series, because I don’t think it’s smart for a 72-year-old man in a pandemic. But I still hated making that call.”
Boswell covered 252 consecutive games, starting in Boston in 1975 and ending in Houston last year.
That’s 251 more than I covered. I was one of four St. Louis writers at Game Three of the 1985 World Series, sitting in the auxiliary press box out in right field and writing a Royals sidebar. I had been tabbed the day before to write the off-day story. I have no memory at all of the game or of either story.
A tough choice for Boswell. Absolutely. I gave up sportswriting when I was 46 and journalism gave up on me when I was 58.
I only had a few years on the baseball beat anyway, and the only year I traveled and covered games both home and away was 1995. The team was the Class A Rancho Cucamonga Quakes of the California League. That was the year I spent my summer in Lake Elsinore, San Bernardino, Adelanto, Lancaster, Visalia, Bakersfield, Modesto, Stockton and San Jose, as well as Rancho Cucamonga.
I had covered the Quakes for part of the 1994 season, which gave me the chance to get to know the wonderful Tim Flannery. In 1995, Marty Barrett was the manager, another pleasure to work with. As far as players, the Quakes’ best both seasons was Derrek Lee, who moved up before he was 20 and went on to hit 331 home runs in the major leagues.
I covered the Dodgers at home in 1990 and ’91, but never got close to another World Series.
My high spots were two NCAA basketball Final Fours and one Super Bowl, No. XXVII, in 1993 at the Rose Bowl.
I knew the Dallas-Buffalo game would be my only chance to do a Super Bowl, so I wanted to make the most of it. Starting the Monday before the game, I filed four stories every day. Then on game day, I did five stories.
It was a strange day. Dallas won, 52-17. Michael Jackson did the halftime show and future murderer O.J. Simpson did the coin toss.
And in postgame interviews, Dallas defensive end Jim Jeffcoat gave perhaps the greatest quote ever that never appeared in a newspaper.
“How does it feel to finally win a Super Bowl, Jim?”
“Great. It feels like f**king a 16-year-old girl.”
Uh, thanks,
I haven’t watched a Super Bowl in nearly 20 years. I’m not much of a football fan anymore.
I do watch a lot of baseball, mostly Washington Nationals games, and I have many wonderful memories of baseball in more than 60 years of being a fan. The picture accompanying this piece is from 1975, Boswell’s first series. It’s an iconic moment, the home run Carlton Fisk hit to win the game for the Boston Red Sox.
I only saw it on TV, but it would still make any list of my top 10 sports moments I saw.
It might even be top 5.
I’ll bet it’s high on Thomas Boswell’s list too.