Greg Ambrose's Memories

It was a “coming of age” year for me in ’67. I was 19 that summer, hanging out more and more with my friends, listening to some wild music that my parents definitely did not understand. Definitely on the precipice of the “generation gap.” The one thing that held it together, especially for my Dad and me, was the Sox. Through thick and thin, before ’67 and well after, we could always discuss baseball. We didn’t always agree but we definitely did share the passion.

I went to around 20 games that summer, in the bleachers, grandstand, standing room only. Two stand out. In June, I think, the Sox played a twi-night doubleheader (where have those gone?) against the White Sox. The day before, WS manager Eddie Stanky had referred to Yaz as an “all-star from the neck down.” In the first game of the doubleheader, he came out of the dugout to talk to the pitcher. When he returned, Stanky was showered with trash by some boisterous fans, apparently resentful of his description of our main man. That’s when I knew we were onto something.

As the summer rolled on, you could feel the growing excitement for the team. There was, of course, the 10-game winning streak after the all-star game with the big welcome home crowd at Logan. There were a lot of day games then. We would listen at work as much as possible. I was a camp counselor that summer and I remember one game where the whole camp stopped to listen to the last of the ninth against who I can’t remember, as the Sox rallied to pull another one out.

In late August, my family was in Manomet for summer vacation. My Dad would work until Thursday night, then drive down for the weekend. I’ll never forget him walking into the house and waving two tickets (for him and me, of course) for the next to last game of the season, declaring that they were “the tickets for the pennant winning game.” Between then and September 30th there were certainly a lot of ups and downs, but on that beautiful Saturday we went to Fenway together and reveled in the Sox victory. My father was a man of little emotion but, on that day, when Yaz hit the three run homer, he waved his cap. A memory that lives forever.

The ’67 season showed me how sports could be a unifier. That year had the Vietnam War and continued racial strife throughout the country. It was the Summer of Love, long hair, and psychedelic music. But, at least in Boston, the baseball brought us together in ways that last until today. Long live Red Sox nation!

Greg Ambrose
Lynn, MA