If These Walls Could Talk

by Jerry Remy

  ~

  To my grandchildren, Dominik and Arianna, whom I love more than anything in this world. They are the joy of my life and give me incredible strength and courage.

  —J.R.

  Contents

  Foreword by Sean McDonough

  Introduction

  1. The Beginning

  2. 1978

  3. My Coaching Career

  4. Ah, Fenway

  5. Who Did It Best?

  6. 2004: My Favorite Team

  7. 2007

  8. 2013

  9. 2018

  10. My All-Time Favorite Players

  11. The Memorable Highs and Lows

  12. My Broadcast Partners

  13. Remy Inc.

  14. The Changes in Baseball

  15. Depression

  16. Jared

  17. Dealing with Cancer

  18. In Conclusion

  Afterword by Don Orsillo

  In Tribute to Nick Cafardo

  Foreword by Sean McDonough

  Over the 35 years since I graduated from Syracuse (aka “The Harvard of Central New York”) and embarked on a career in sports broadcasting, I have kept a list of the names of every analyst, producer, director, sideline reporter, and studio host with whom I have worked on the local and national level. In the four major sports alone, the number of different color commentators is 104 (baseball 30, football 25, basketball 35, and hockey 14). When you add golf, tennis, soccer, lacrosse, bobsled, and luge, the number is more than 160. Some were much more talented than others. Some were much easier to be around than others. With very few exceptions (and the list of names of the “exceptions” will wait for my book), I have enjoyed working with each of them. But the pairing I will always view as special, and unique, is my nine-year partnership with Jerry Remy in the Red Sox television booth.

  Jerry and I started in the Red Sox booth, though not together, in 1988. I was paired alongside long-time analyst and former Red Sox catcher Bob Montgomery in the WSBK-TV38 booth. Jerry joined Red Sox legend Ned Martin on the NESN cablecasts. For me, at age 25, it was the fulfillment of my childhood dream and an opportunity I embraced with tremendous excitement and gratitude. For Jerry, not far removed from a major league playing career, it was a way to stay in the game and continue to make a living. I got the sense it was an opportunity he undertook with great trepidation about whether or not he would be able to do the job.

  I worked with Monty for eight years. During that time, I got to know Jerry as we traveled together on the road with the Red Sox. I didn’t know him well. By his own admission, very few people know Jerry well. But as I listened to him talk and tell stories on buses and airplanes, and in restaurants and hotels, I knew that I liked him. And I was convinced that there was much more to his personality, and his broadcasting ability, that had not come out to the NESN audience.

  Starting with the 1996 season, the “over-the-air” telecasts moved to WABU-TV, and its station management, in conjunction with the Red Sox and NESN, decided that Jerry would be the analyst on all of the TV games. While I felt bad for Monty, who was losing a job that he enjoyed and at which he worked hard, I was excited for the opportunity to work with Jerry.

  I did not consciously enter into this new partnership with the goal of dragging out more of Jerry’s personality, in part because I didn’t know if he would be comfortable going there. But I knew that I would continue to do what I had always done, which is to engage the analyst in conversation (a must on baseball broadcasts during which there is so much “dead time” between pitches) and to ask the questions I think the viewers are asking as they watch. I didn’t know how Jerry would respond, but I was hopeful and optimistic that the viewers and I would see more of the Jerry I had seen off the air. It didn’t take long before we did.

  Perhaps because we had spent eight years around each other, and respected and liked each other before we ever sat in a booth together, our strong on-air chemistry and rapport developed quickly. I think Jerry knew and trusted that I had his best interests at heart. If need be, I wanted to help lead him into conversations about game strategy, individual player skill, lessons learned from his own playing days, and anything else that might be appropriate given the game situation we were watching and analyzing. And when the game got one-sided and the audience wasn’t hanging on every pitch, I hoped that Jerry would join me in trying to keep it interesting and fun by talking about other things that sometimes had little or nothing to do with what was happening on the field. Boy, did he ever.

  These became some of my favorite moments, and now memories, of our time together. I believe that most, but not all, of our viewers enjoyed them, too. For Jerry and me, they came to be known as “Inane Banter.” We had received a letter from an angry woman who implored us to “stick to the game” and let us know very clearly that she hated it when we drifted off into our “inane banter.” I read her letter on the air and, from that point forward until the joke got old, we would warn the author of the letter that we were about to go off on a tangent by flashing an “Inane Banter Warning” graphic in the corner of the screen. It was in those moments when Jerry’s personality came shining through, and Red Sox Nation began to see the sense of humor and storytelling ability that would play a big part in his becoming a Red Sox legend. As Jerry grew comfortable sharing more of himself, the moments happened more often. From his updates on Days of Our Lives to the emergence of his close friendship with “Wally the Green Monster,” it was impossible to predict where Jerry might take us. But Red Sox Nation discovered that Jerry was interesting and funny, and we wanted more.

  One of my goals was to make Jerry laugh so hard that he would take his headset off, or at least depress the “cough button” that would kill his microphone. There were many instances when that happened, or that he said something so funny that I, or both of us, went several pitches without saying anything. I remember our fantastic, and exasperated, producer Russ Kenn saying, “This is really professional, guys” in our ears after we killed our mics and laughed as the audience heard nothing from us while several pitches passed by. Often, we just went ahead and laughed, snorted, or snickered on the air. Is there a laugh that is better known in New England than Jerry’s?

  One night, we were in Cleveland as the Red Sox were playing the Indians. Justin Speier, a relief pitcher, came into the game for the Tribe. As I thumbed through the Indians media guide, I noticed that Speier had pitched collegiately at Nicholls State in Louisiana. I knew more than I should about Nicholls State, because its basketball team had played in an NCAA tournament game I called for CBS. So, I told Jerry, and our audience, that Nicholls State was named after Francis T. Nicholls, a brigadier general in the Civil War who lost his left arm and foot in battle. When I mentioned that Nicholls returned to Louisiana to run for governor using the slogan “Vote for the REST of Me,” Jerry lunged for the cough button. When I offered my opinion that this was probably a better slogan option than “I would give an arm and a leg to be governor,” Jerry just about fired his headset off the wall. There was a long stretch during which neither of us said a word. (Additional historical footnote: the slogan was successful as Nicholls was twice elected governor of his home state.)

  One night, at Fenway Park, we had an in-game visit from Judith Sheindlin, better known as “Judge Judy,” whose popular arbitration-based courtroom reality show aired on our station and made her one of the highest-paid people in the history of American television. We had a nice on-air chat. It was in what transpired immediately after that visit where Jerry’s ability to be funny spontaneously was on full display. After Judy and her grandsons left
our booth and returned to their seats, we were informed by highly reputable booth personnel that the famed jurist and her grandsons departed our booth with a box of our Dunkin Donuts. Our crew took a shot of Judy and the boys, which presented clear video evidence that they were eating from a box of Dunkin Donuts that we, and our unimpeachable eyewitnesses who watched them abscond with the delectable treats from the booth, considered “stolen.” A hilarious (at least to Jerry and me) conversation, that was clearly not intended to be taken seriously, about the possibility of legal action against America’s best-known judge, ensued. It was relayed to us that Judy’s “defense” was that she had asked if she could take the Dunkin Donuts before removing them from the booth. We were also told that the judge was none too pleased about our “false accusations.” (Who knew, by watching her show, that Judy had a temper?) Anyway, we were pretty sure our evidence, and the testimony of our eyewitnesses/audio engineers/stage managers, would have held up in any court of law, including our personal favorite, The People’s Court, in front of the all-time greatest TV Judge, the late, great Joe Wapner. But, fearful of a countersuit by Judy for trivial things like slander/libel/damage to reputation, etc., Jerry and I offered a completely sincere on-air apology to Judge Judy. At least, that’s how I recall it. Now, fearful that the statute of limitations might not have run out, I offer another equally sincere apology, on behalf of Jerry and me, on these pages. Part of the appeal of Jerry’s humor is that he is not afraid to press the boundaries of appropriateness and is not impacted by the threat of inadvertently offending someone (or of legal action), as the previous examples demonstrate (although I deserve any blame for inappropriateness relative to Gov. Nicholls).

  This is also a huge part of Jerry’s popularity as a baseball analyst. And it is his skill as a baseball broadcaster, even more than his likeable and diverse personality, that contributed most to his well-deserved reputation, both in New England and nationally. He is as well liked (and by many of his legion of fans, loved) and respected as any baseball analyst in America during his time. I know it is a big statement, and I promise you I don’t make it lightly. I make it with tremendous appreciation of the many talented men and women who have delighted their viewers with their insights and personalities in MLB booths across North America over the past four decades. None has entertained and educated their viewers more than Jerry Remy.

  The most important part of a broadcaster’s job is the preparation that goes into each broadcast. Jerry was as well prepared as any of the analysts I have worked with in any sport. He arrived to the park ridiculously early to gather as much information as he could from as many sources as possible. He was in the clubhouse before most of the players had arrived. He was plugged into everything that was going on with the ballclub, on the field and behind the scenes. In this way, he reminded me of my father, the late, great Boston Globe sportswriter Will McDonough. People confided in him because they trusted him and knew that their trust would not be violated. It is the key to being a great reporter. And Jerry is a great reporter. He knows what he can say on the air and what is to stay between him and those who give him sensitive information. All of the information is helpful to a broadcaster, even if he can’t use it on the air. Jerry knows if the pitcher doesn’t like a certain catcher, or if the manager thinks a player isn’t very good and wants someone else called up from the minors, or if a pitcher isn’t going to throw one of the pitches in his repertoire because he is hurt or because the pitch has lost its effectiveness. He might be able to pass it along to his audience. Or perhaps he cannot. But he knows what most other people don’t know. And it is a part of what makes him great.

  He also has tremendous baseball knowledge and the ability to express it. He is not reluctant to question decisions made by the Red Sox manager, or the performance of the players and front office. He knows how to do it in a respectful and appropriate manner. His allegiance is to his audience, but he is also part of a team, and when you work for NESN, you, by extension, work for the team. He walks that tightrope very well. He wouldn’t be around for four decades if he did not. His ability to anticipate and analyze game situations, his high baseball IQ, and his personality would combine to make a top-shelf analyst. To me, he took a step to a level occupied by very few when he got comfortable on television and with television.

  When his career began, he would watch the game and respond to the action as, or after, it unfolded. As the years passed, he learned to use the medium to help him anticipate, analyze, and teach. We have a “talkback button” attached to our headsets. We use it to speak with the producer and director without it going on the air. Jerry learned what a valuable tool this can be. Rather than just watching the game and reacting, Jerry would use the talkback to request shots of players playing too close/far from the line, outfielders who are too shallow or deep, batters who are too far/close to the plate, pitchers at one end of the rubber or the other, the grip pitchers use to throw pitches and how they might be tipping them, and anything else that got his attention as he looked down on the field. He anticipated situations rather than just reacting to them. When Jerry got comfortable with letting more of himself come through to his audience, and when he got more comfortable with being on television and with how to use television, he become a complete broadcaster, a New England legend, and one of the great baseball analysts of all time, anywhere in the country.

  He is known to many as the “RemDawg,” a nickname that I gave him early in our time together. It was at a time when the word “dawg” had become particularly trendy. “What up, dawg?” was a frequently asked question. I believe it was also around the same point when the Red Sox players became known as the “Dirt Dogs” for their gritty style. To me, “gritty” is a good word to describe Jerry’s style. He was a creature of habit as a player and that carries into his personal and professional life. Jerry leaves for the park at the same time every day, heads down to the clubhouse at the same time, fills out his lineup card at the same time, and eats his pregame meal at the same time. He takes his job very seriously and works very hard at it. There was just something about “RemDawg” that seemed to fit the man and the times. I don’t remember the first time I called him by that nickname, but it stuck and spread—a part of his legacy and Red Sox lore. Jerry has always been extremely gracious in giving me credit for helping bring out his personality. I don’t deserve it. I might have prodded and encouraged, but he is the one who had to live it and do it. And while I am delighted that Jerry has made a lot of money off “RemDawg” T-shirts, hats, mugs, scorecards, and whatever else he could find a way to sell, in lieu of giving me credit for giving him the nickname, he can send me 10 percent of all “RemDawg” merchandise sold.

  The “RemDawg” is not a character, but in many ways, Jerry Remy is a different person on air than he is off air. That is not in any way to suggest that he is a fraud in either area. Off the air, Jerry is not social. That is the biggest reason why he and I spent very little time together off the air. In fact, I think it is fair to describe him as socially awkward. I know people who have met him in person who thought he was unfriendly and aloof. He is not. But he is not comfortable around people he does not know. People see Jerry’s personality through the television. They understand his humor, they appreciate his ability to make fun of himself, they can tell he is a good person. Perhaps because he is speaking into a microphone and looking into a camera but can’t see the people to whom he is speaking, he is comfortable interacting with the world in that way. Most of the analysts I know who have become extremely popular, in large part because of their personality, are big personalities and gregarious on and off the air; people like Bill Raftery, Dick Vitale, and Charles Barkley, to name a few. Jerry is not that person, which makes his extraordinary popularity even that much more remarkable to me.

  And, finally, I want you to know that Jerry Remy is a good person. He has his quirks (we had to be out of the booth 10 seconds after we signed off the air or else he was visibly annoyed and anxious, leadi
ng me to ask if I could please have just a few seconds to put my stuff in my bag), and I did not enjoy being around his smoking (even then, he was courteous, walking to the back of the booth or setting up a fan to blow the smoke out the window). But I never remember a truly unpleasant exchange, on or off the air. Jerry is one of those people who doesn’t reach out much, but who always does when it is important. When my dad died, when I left the Red Sox, when I was hired for and when I left Monday Night Football, and on many other important occasions in my life, Jerry has always been there for me. And I hope he feels that I have always been there for him, because he has certainly had more health challenges and unspeakable tragedy to deal with than anyone I know.

  I have gone on way longer than I intended (Jerry will not be surprised by this). But then again, there are many facets to Jerry’s life. He has experienced the extreme ends of the spectrum—from total joy and exhilaration to tragedy that is impossible to comprehend. And so much in between. Of all of the sports, baseball announcers are the most popular (Vin Scully, Harry Caray, Jack Buck, Bob Uecker, and Ernie Harwell are just a few examples) because we listen to them every night and we feel that we know them. We get a window into who they are. It was part of the reason why Jerry received such an amazing outpouring of support as he revealed his battles with cancer and depression. People truly care about Jerry. And it is why the Red Sox, NESN, and most of Red Sox Nation stood by him in the wake of the unimaginably evil act carried out by his son Jared.

  Given that he has grown so much more comfortable opening up to us over the years, I trust this book will be heartfelt and honest, even though parts of his story will be incredibly difficult to tell. He is a great storyteller. And a good man. We know that. He has demonstrated that to us on countless summer nights over dozens of baseball seasons when he brought so much happiness to so many. It is why fans like, or love, and respect him. It is why this friend and fan loves, likes, and respects him.