The Retirement of Tony C.

Thirty years ago, a charismatic California Angels outfielder—one who was expected to lead his team to its best finish ever—prepared to make the most important announcement of his baseball career. It was a decision he claimed he had struggled with for several weeks. On July 11, 1971, at the ungodly hour of five o’clock in the morning, the slugging outfielder delivered his proclamation to the assembled media, which had been summoned to the hastily arranged press conference.  It was certainly an unusual time to meet the press, but it was consistent with the unusual career that had been experienced by Tony Conigliaro.

Two days earlier, Conigliaro had suffered the indignity of going 0-for-8 in a 20-inning loss to the Oakland A’s.  Conigliaro’s offensive showing included five strikeouts—making his day an almost complete embarrassment.  The latest episode of futility, coming on the heels of a slump-ridden spring and early summer, convinced Conigliaro to announce his retirement.  At the age of 26, the man known affectionately as “Tony C” could no longer see well enough with his left eye to hit a baseball. 

Four years earlier, Conigliaro had contributed to the Boston Red Sox’ pennant hopes by hitting 20 home runs and driving in 67 runs through his first 95 games of the season.  Then, on August 18, with Boston three-and-a-half games out in the American League race, the Red Sox opposed Conigliaro’s future team, the Angels.  Conigliaro faced right-hander Jack Hamilton, whose pitching repertoire was highlighted by a rising fastball he liked to throw on the inner half of the plate.  On this occasion, Hamilton’s fastball rode too high—and too far inside, striking Conigliaro in the face. The high-and-tight fastball fractured Conigliaro’s cheekbone, dislocated his jaw, and damaged his left eye and eye socket.  The impact of the pitch was so severe that it knocked Conigliaro unconscious and landed him in a hospital, where his condition was deemed so grave that he was actually given the last rites. Fortunately, Conigliaro emerged from a coma and ultimately recovered, but the injuries necessitated major eye surgery and forced him to miss the remainder of the 1967 season and all of 1968.

After a brief comeback attempt as a pitcher, Conigliaro returned to active duty with the Red Sox in 1969, and captured the American League Comeback Player of the Year Award. He also won the prestigious Hutch Award, given to the player who “exemplifies the fighting spirit and the burning desire” of the late manager, Fred Hutchinson. 

In 1970, Conigliaro enjoyed another fine season, posting career bests in home runs and RBIs.  Amazingly, the strapping outfielder batted .266 with 36 HRs and 116 RBIs despite the fact that his left-eye vision was still well below 100 per cent.  Somehow, Conigliaro had made it all the way back—first from a coma, and then near blindness.

Curiously, the Red Sox traded Conigliaro and catcher Gerry Moses to the Angels after the 1970 season, for a package of players headed up by right-handed relief pitcher Ken Tatum. The Angels were thrilled to have added a marquis player to a lineup that already included solid hitters like outfielder Alex Johnson (the American League’s batting champion in 1970), third baseman Ken McMullen, and shortstop Jim Fregosi. Conigliaro’s presence also figured to remove some pressure from the Angels’ talented mound corps of Andy Messersmith, Clyde Wright, and Rudy May.  Hopes for the Angels seemed so high that the April 24, 1971 issue of The Sporting News featured “Tony C.” on its cover.  In the article, Angel beat writer Dick Miller discussed the lofty expectations the Angels had for Conigliaro, whom they felt could lead the perennial doormat to its first American League pennant. 

Unfortunately, Conigliaro started the 1971 season in a deep slump.  At one point, his batting average sunk to .159, causing him to seek help from above.  “I spent the morning looking for religious medals,” Conigliaro told The Sporting News, perhaps only partly in jest.  “The only ones I could find were St. Christopher’s medals, so I didn’t buy any.  Wasn’t he the one who was given his unconditional release two years ago?”

Perhaps Conigliaro sensed that he was about to be given his release by the Angels. He continued to swing and miss, often flailing at pitches that he would have crushed during his best seasons with the Red Sox.  He continually bailed out at the plate, shifting his head and neck in an effort to bypass the blind spot that he encountered when he tried to view baseballs head-on.  The strategy did not work.  The strikeouts mounted while his batting average dipped. 

Conigliaro reached rock bottom on July 9, when the Angels faced their Western Division rivals, the A’s. In one at-bat, Conigliaro swung at and missed a third strike, which eluded A’s catcher Dave Duncan.  Conigliaro ran to first base, which was already occupied, and then proceeded to engage home plate umpire Merle Anthony in a heated argument.  In the 19^th inning of the marathon game, Conigliaro attempted to bunt with two strikes.  He missed the pitch, was called out, and again argued with Anthony.  Conigliaro removed his helmet, flipped it in the air, and then swung at the helmet with his bat.  For one of the few times all night, Conigliaro actually connected, sending the helmet airborne, about 60 feet on the fly toward first base.  By the time bat met helmet, Anthony had seen enough. He ejected Conigliaro on the spot. “Tony C.” reacted by throwing his bat over the head of first base umpire George Maloney.

At the press conference announcing his retirement, Conigliaro made two stark revelations.  “I have lost my sight and I am on the verge of losing my mind.”  Conigliaro made several other revealing comments. “I have never told anyone this before, but the operation on my left eye [in 1967] left me partially blind... I just can’t see the ball.  I have no depth perception at all.  I have a blind spot.” Conigliaro went on to explain that his deteriorating eyesight had caused severe headaches and had frayed his nerves. “I’ve been getting sick to my stomach, a little nervous, a little shaky.” Conigliaro also attempted to explain his recent bizarre behavior, including his temper tantrums against the umpires in his last game.   “I was doing things on the field and saying things on the bench that I didn’t know I was doing.”  As a result, Conigliaro believed that now was the best time to leave the game.  “I was saying good-bye to baseball when I threw the bat [in the direction of Maloney].”

A few days later, Conigliaro held a joint press conference with his brother, Billy, and Carl Yastrzemski, two Red Sox players who had experienced disagreements with each other during the 1971 season.  During his media session at Fenway Park, “Tony C.” claimed that he had played the entire 1970 season while relying almost solely on his right eye.  “When I stood at the plate, I could squint enough to block out the vision with my left eye.”  Somehow, with one eye, Conigliaro had still managed to hit 36 home runs. 

By 1971, hitting had become an unpleasant and unproductive chore.  “I’ve worked too hard in baseball to walk up to the plate and be embarrassed,” Conigliaro said.  “And I was being embarrassed.”

At the press conference, Conigliaro revealed the findings of Dr. Charles Regan, who had recently examined his eyes.  Dr. Regan told Conigliaro, “There is not doubt that all tests show that the functional ability in his left eye had decreased in the past 13 months.”  Although Dr. Regan admitted that he was not an expert on the correlation between good vision and the ability to play major league baseball, he went on to conclude the following: “I would guess that it would be difficult or impossible to judge accurately the position of a pitched baseball with the visual condition measured in your left eye.”

Some criticized Conigliaro for retiring, saying that his decision was premature.  Others wondered how a man who had hit so well in 1970 could experience such a rapid decline one year later.  A few people seemed to agree with the timing of Conigliaro’s announcement, including his manager, Harold “Lefty” Phillips, who had offered some rather back-handed reassurance to Conigliaro.  “Tony is ready for the insane asylum,” Phillips declared, utilizing a choice of words he would likely regret.  “His lack of success seems to be bothering him.  The only way out is to quit.” 

The cancerous atmosphere on the 1971 Angels had not helped Conigliaro’s frame of mind, either.  Alex Johnson, the team’s best pure hitter and star left fielder, had failed to hustle on numerous occasions. He had also been involved in an ugly incident with utility infielder Chico Ruiz, who allegedly threatened Johnson with a gun on June 13.  On June 26, the Angels suspended Johnson, after a total of five benchings and 29 fines.  The Angels had tried a full range of disciplinary measures in response to Johnson’s frequent unwillingness to run out ground balls, but none had worked.

Johnson’s problems, which were later diagnosed as psychological in nature, had fractured the Angels’ clubhouse, causing bad feelings between several groups of players.  Perhaps, as a result of the tension, several Angel players laid out Conigliaro’s uniform on the clubhouse floor, and poured ketchup over it, as if to represent blood.  According to some clubhouse observers, the Angels players were merely pulling off a “clubhouse gag,” but others claimed the players were sending their teammate a message to stop malingering.  At the time, Conigliaro was receiving treatment in a hospital for a pinched nerve in his neck, an injury that forced him to miss 16 games in June.

Conigliaro did not find the actions of his Angel teammates humorous, nor did he appreciate Phillips’ “insane asylum” comment.  “They never believe you are hurt unless a bone is sticking through the skin and you’re bloody,” a frustrated Conigliaro told reporters.  “Tony C.” hinted that he would never play for Phillips again.  Little did Conigliaro’s threat matter, since the Angels would fire Phillips after the season.  Tragically, Phillips would die less than a year later, on June 12, 1972, after suffering a severe asthmatic attack. 

Conigliaro would not play baseball again until the 1975 season, when he made an abbreviated comeback with his original team, the Boston Red Sox.  Now 30 years old, with his reflexes slower and his eyesight not sufficiently improved, Conigliaro found that he could not hit successfully at the major league level.  After 21 games, Conigliaro called it quits once again, this time for good.

Unfortunately, Tony C. did not experience a happy ending to his long series of miseries, which had dated back to that errant Jack Hamilton fastball of August 18, 1967, and had festered once again during the 1971 season.  In 1982, while on his way back home after interviewing for a Red Sox broadcasting job, Conigliaro suffered a massive heart attack, which left him debilitated for the last few years of his life.  In 1990, Conigliaro died of kidney failure.  He was 45 years old.

Conigliaro’s retirement in 1971 epitomized the frustrations of a failed season for the Angels, one that had begun with so much promise.  The Angels, who were expected to contend in the American League West, finished a disappointing fourth—well behind the divisional champion Oakland A’s. Meanwhile, a popular slugger, one who seemed ready to embark on a rebirth to his career, instead saw his vision erode, halting his once-fearsome ability to hit a baseball.