Decent Shaughnessie, Yaz, and other rare sightings.
He is the lion in winter, wheeling into the shabby minor league complex at the dead end of Edison Road every morning before 8. Fifty years after his rookie season, the greatest living Red Sox player doesn’t want to be around the millionaire big leaguers and he doesn’t want to be around baby boomer fans he thrilled all those years ago. He just wants to work with anonymous young hitters, walk around the warning track by himself for an hour, then retreat to an afternoon of fishing or golf.
Carl Yastrzemski is our New England sports Salinger. Ava Gardner. Sandy Koufax. He just wants to be left alone. He knows you love him and you appreciate those glory days, but truthfully, it probably means more to you than it means to him.
“I’m not much of a conversationalist,’’ says the 71-year-old legend. “I don’t like to reminisce about when I played. I had my day in the sun and it’s over with.’’
...That’s Yaz when 55-year-old fans start talking about that final weekend series against the Twins in ’67.
“I find that everyone remembers more about it than I do,’’ says Yaz. “I just never think about having played baseball. I was very fortunate, very gifted. I think once I retired, I kind of said, ‘That’s it, there’s another life out there.’ ’’