“When the ball was about four feet from my head I knew it was going to get me. And I knew it was going to hurt, because Hamilton was such a hard thrower. I was frightened. I threw my hands up in front of my face and saw the ball follow me back and hit me square in the left side of the head. As soon as it crunched into me, it felt as if the ball would go in my head and come out the other side; my legs gave way and I went down like a sack of potatoes. Just before everything went dark I saw the ball bounce straight down on home plate.”
from Seeing it Through, by Tony Conigliaro and Jack Zander.
These words, some of the most frightening ever written in a sports book, describe Tony’s feelings on that lazy Friday night in August as Jack Hamilton’s ball-possibly a spitter- surged toward him. But no one- not Tony, not Dick Williams, not any of the 31,000 fans in Fenway- could have known the effect the pitch would have on Conigliaro and the history of the Red Sox.
As the Sox faced the Angels, Conig had been in a slump. Over .300 most of the year, Tony had seen his average fall to .289, still third on the team behind Carl Yastrzemski and George Scott. He was second to Carl with 20 homers and 67 rbi’s. But when the 22-year-old stepped to the plate in the second inning for his first at bat, the crowd, always fickle toward their hero, had booed a bit. As he came up in the fourth in a scoreless game, a smoke bomb from the crowd had temporarily fogged the outfield. According to third base coach Bobby Doerr “Tony was kind of leaning-he was leaning way too much to the outside of the plate”. Another bio, Tony C: Triumph and Tragedy by former Herald writer David Cataneo, states that Ted Williams had told one of Conig’s business associates that “Tony is crowding the plate. He is much too close. Tell him to back off. It’s serious time now.” When told, Tony only laughed and said he doubted anyone would throw at a hitter in a slump.
When it happened, Fenway became eerily silent. Conig did not lose consciousness, but “began to flail on the ground in agony.” He later said he prayed he would not die in the dirt at Fenway. Doctors would determine that if the ball had hit two inches higher-on the temple- it would have killed him. Conversely, however, if helmets had contained ear flaps in 67, he might have missed only a few games.
The beaning came at a crossroads time. The Townies had lost 7 of 9 on a road trip, including a sweep by the same Angels. They had rebounded a bit to take two of three from the Tigers at home, one a 4-0 shutout by erratic hurler Dave Morehead. Conig’s fine catch in the fifth on a Don Wert liner with the bases loaded saved Morehead from a possible big inning.
Interestingly, the headlines on the morning following Tony’s injury were troubling but not overly pessimistic. One read “Conig Cheek Fractured” and stated that he would be sidelined for three weeks, possibly more. He was expected to be out of the hospital in a few days. The next morning showed a photo of his totally black eye, but nowhere were there hints of long-term damage-that would come later. For the record, the Sox took the game 3-2 on a four-hitter by Gary Bell. However, unlike teams before and after 67 who slumped after serious incidents, the Sox came together like winners. They would go on to sweep the Angels and win their next 7 in a row. The Impossible Dream was possible again.
Add The Sports Daily to your Google News Feed!
