Oh man, what a loss for Red Sox Nation.
Even though I’ve heard him call too many games to count, I can only imagine what my fellow fans in Boston are feeling, having listened to him thousands of times over the decades, his voice inseparable from the action @ Fenway Park.
My introduction to the Rem Dawg was circa ’78, when I’d go to Sox games with my Pops and his pops (aka Gramps), back when tickets to Fenway were cheap and plentiful, but Jim Rice was in the house (and, for far too short a time, Freddy Lynn, The Rooster, and Pudge Fisk). Remy, the diminutive second baseman, actually looked like a human being (as opposed to, say, Rice) and as an 8 year old, that was the guy I could fantasize about being; a singles hitter and defensive wiz, not a masher hitting balls into the big net over the Green Monstah (no fancy seats looking down at left field yet). More on the Red Sox and the Murphy family, here.
I’m trying to think of other players, so associated with their team, who became way more famous and beloved after their playing days; I’m sure there are several, but I’m not certain there are many like Remy, who for so many, was the Red Sox. His love of the game (combined with the knowledge of a pro who’d been there and done that and, importantly, not been one of the greats, a trait that seems to make so many ex-pros great managers and announcers) and love of life were palpable (see video below for some all-time highlights), but he was also very human; a chain smoker — the vice that led to his recalcitrant cancer (which he had already beaten SEVEN times), and prone to depression (something he spoke frankly about, which makes him a real world hero for courage in a battle that makes baseball look like the kids game it truly is). He contained multitudes, but he welcomed everyone into his office every time he sat down, kicking off each NESN broadcast with his inclusive and wonderful place-setter for the not inconsiderable Spanish-speaking fan base: (a demographic that, of course, exploded during the Pedro era, when his starts at Fenway were not “like” religious events, they were religious events) “Buenos Noches, Amigos.”
I had the brief pleasure of posing for a pic with him during what turned out to be the 2007 title run (eternal thanks to my brother Ted Putnam for always securing us Sox tickets during an era opposite of the late ’70s and early ’80s, where a small fortune might fetch you bleacher seats and half a beer, and even though you had to sell your soul for a Fenway Frank, that was strictly business). Jerry was leaving the pre-game booth on Yawkey Way to make his way to the skybox to call the game, and I ran after him, yelling “Hey, Rem Dawg” and he was not happy to be delayed and have to pose with another idiot (to make matters worse, as a native Virginian, I can’t even call myself an authentic chowderhead) but, perhaps b/c there were too many eyewitnesses, he took one for the team (my team) and tolerated the five-second delay, a picture I knew I’d post one day, always hoping he’d keep his disease at bay for a long, long time.
That time is here, but as the stories start coming out, I’m certain Remy’s legacy will be beyond-secure, and my heart, again, goes out to his family & friends, including the fanatics who have associated his voice & presence with the team they love, and will have a hard time imagining a world without.
Rest well, Rem Dawg.
