Tim Wakefield

1966-2023

I was two years old when Bucky F’n Dent broke New England’s collective heart. But by 2003, when Aaron Boone did the same damn thing again, I was an adult. Probably like you, I was watching it on TV, though unlike you, I was at my apartment. When Boone connected and the ball went over the wall, I shut the TV off. As far as I know, the ball never landed. After that, I just sat there, in the dark, for at least a half hour, maybe more, staring at a blank TV set.

Initially I was filled with anger but after a few minutes some resignation started to creep in. The Red Sox were never going to beat the Yankees. Never. That much seemed as clear as a fish to the face. But as the time went on, a different thought entered my head. I began to worry for the man who threw that last pitch to Boone.

The guy who gave up that home run would be subjected to all sorts of awfulness, I worried. His life would be turned upside down by it, just like Steve Bartman’s had been. He’d be forever defined by it, like so many other players who failed at just the wrong moment. Tim Wakefield would forever be synonymous with failure and Red Sox fans, who would only be familiar with that forever more, would hate him for it.

I’ve never been so happy to be so wrong.

A year later the Red Sox beat the Yankees in the greatest comeback in post-season series history. In any sport. Ever.

A year later Tim Wakefield stood in victory on the very mound that had seen his greatest, most public, most painful failure. But he wasn’t a passenger. His pitching and even more, his selflessness, had been more than instrumental, it had been vital in the greatest success in Red Sox history.

That was Tim Wakefield. He was really good. He won 200 games. He threw more innings for the Red Sox than any player in Red Sox history save Roger Clemens and Cy Young. But he was also a great teammate. He soaked up 3.1 innings in Game Three of the 2004 ALCS with the Red Sox already down big to save the bullpen for Game Four. He did that for a team that was about to be down three games to none against a team they’d never beaten when it mattered.

He also did that as the guy who gave up The Homer to Aaron Boone.

Think about that.

How many people would have been above such an assignment? How many would’ve refused it if asked? How many would’ve made sure they weren’t within a square mile of the manager when that question was asked? Now, how many would’ve asked for the ball in that situation?

We know the answer to that last question. One.

As I’ve gotten older I’ve though a lot about legacy. What is left behind when a person dies? Mostly memories, but as a few generations go by, those get less and less, until they’re gone as well. What will be left?

I don’t honestly know. I do know though that Tim Wakefield’s legacy will live on for a long time in the hearts and memories of generations of Red Sox fans, both older and yet to be born. His role with and the resulting impact of the teams he played for won’t dim for as long as Red Sox baseball exists.

That might be as good as it gets.

Tim Wakefield died yesterday. He was 57.