Rick Dempsey's Comedic Follies in Fenway Park

The Fenway Park crowd had learned the rival New York Yankees corraled the division title the previous day while their beloved Red Sox battled the Baltimore Orioles.

It was 1977, just another year in which the Boston Red Sox could not overcome the Yankees to get to the World Series.

Seeking fun and unorthodox thrills now that pennant fever was dead, Red Sox hero-worshipping kids filled the center- and right-field bleachers on the last day of the baseball season, and had their downer doldrums soon lifted by Orioles catcher Rick Dempsey.

Dempsey was shagging fly balls in the outfield with several other Orioles during Baltimore's pre-game warm-up, and he obligingly tossed a couple balls into the bleachers for the kids to chase. Then he caught another fly, and the kids began yelling to him to throw that one up, too.

"We want Dempsey!" they began to chant.

From then on, it was Rick Dempsey Day at Fenway.

The catcher walked to the bleachers, showed the crowd the ball and raised his arm, pantomiming for them to give him their best cheer. Not satisfied with the enthusiasm of their reply, he divided the bleachers into three sections and demanded a cheer from each wing. Declaring the middle group the loudest, he tossed the ball to them.

Some 20 balls found their way into the bleachers in this entertaining manner.

The rest of the Fenway faithful were rolling, rocking, and laughing to the performance, and those just filtering into the park began asking what all the cheering was about.

Dempsey's finale with the ball tossing was to lug and drag to the bleachers from the infield a bag used to hold all the team's baseballs. The kids were going crazy screaming. They knew there had to be some 50 or 60 balls in that heavy bag!

When he reached the bleachers with his burden, Dempsey faked a near collapse from his effort. Then he pointed to the bag as if to say, "What'll you give me for it?" The yells and whoop-la from the kids easily rivaled a thunder clap.

Dramatically, Dempsey raised a cheer from each section of the bleachers to find out who would be awarded the spoils inside the baseball bag. Having indicated the right section the victoriously loudest group, and amid renewed cheers, Dempsey still more dramatically dumped the bag upside down.

One ball fell out and rolled away across Fenway's richly green grass! That's all he'd ever had in the bag!

Little Fenway Park shook hysterically.

Then the rain began, slowly at first, then escalating into a downpour of huge, splashing droplets. As it poured, the park organist played, and the crowd sang along as lyrics to familiar songs flashed on the electric scoreboard.

By this time, the huge gray-white tarp had been spread across the infield.

Dempsey emerged from the Orioles dugout, apparently headed for the bullpen. Half-way across the diamond, he slipped to his bottom and slid, shoeless, spraying water on all sides, to second base, stopping only after completing the longest slide in baseball history.

The whole park was shaking with laughter. The intimacy of Fenway was never more intimate. Everyone was a friend of the person next to him, all enjoying a superb performance of a watery kind.

Dempsey got up, shook himself free of water like a drenched Labrador, then began to lead the second round of songs as the organist and the scoreboard picked up the tempo. One of the songs was Baby-Face. Sure enough, Dempsey paraded around the tarp under pouring skys with his hat off, and stuck out his chin to give everyone a closer look at his baby face.

Then his farewell gesture was put into motion. From the pitcher's mound, Dempsey threw a pretend pitch, raced to the batter's box to belt the pitch to the fence, then circled the bases. He approached home plate in a watery belly slide, traveling ten, or 15 feet, and with water cascading on either side of him, crossed the plate artfully carrying the winning run!

Fenway Park rocked with laughter. Everyone stood, giving Dempsey an ovation worthy of a ninth inning game-winning hero. The Oriole bowed, sweeping his cap across his body, then, soaking wet, disappeared into the dugout.

Dempsey had reminded all the disappointed Red Sox fans that it is, after all, just a game.

(In 1983, Rick Dempsey topped his long career by being voted the World Series Most Valuable Player as Baltimore routed the Philadelphia Phillies in a five-game set. Dempsey had five timely hits to go with his mastery behind the plate.)