I was 12 years old in 1986 when the Mets beat the Boston Red Sox to win the World Series. I was a die hard Mets fan who grew up on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, and I bled orange and blue.
I vividly remember game 6 of that World Series, with the Mets down 3 games to 2, and Mookie Wilson’s epochal slow-rolling grounder that went through Red Sox first baseman Bill Buckner’s legs as he tried to make the play.
People forget that this was only game 6, and the Red Sox still had a chance to win the Series in game 7. But when that grounder went through Buckner’s wickets in game 6, the Red Sox were already beaten, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. To be one out away from winning it all, and to have your old and gristly yet still very solid first baseman Buckner make an error to give the Mets life, well, it was more than the Red Sox could bear.
We’ve all heard the stories about how in later years Buckner received death threats from irate Red Sox fans, and he had to relocate his family several times.
Eventually he settled in Idaho, founded a real estate business, and prospered. But he was forever haunted by that one iconic moment, when he failed to corral Mookie’s grounder.
The thing is, although Buckner is remembered for his one moment of epic failure on the grandest of stages, he was actually a terrific ballplayer and a borderline hall-of-famer. During his career he amassed over 2,700 hits, had a career .289 average with over 1,000 runs scored, and hit 178 home runs and over 1,200 RBI.
So Buckner was no slouch. He was a real life, honest-to-goodness, very good professional baseball player.
Which is why I find it so tragic that he died on Monday at age 69 from Lewy body dementia, a degenerative disease.
Now you might say, well, he lived a fairly long life. But the average lifespan in America is 78. So he was robbed of a final decade.
And what about the quality of his post-baseball life? Harassment, death threats, relocation, and general vilification by the entire city of Boston and in fact America at large. He was everyone’s goat, the man people loved to make fun of, as in, “don’t pull a Buckner bro.”
This seems extremely unfair and unjust to the man who gave his life to baseball. He lived, he loved, he played baseball, he got married and had a family, and he generally lived a decent and humble life, according to all the accounts from former players who knew him.
The crazy thing is, when Mookie Wilson’s grounder made it’s way past first base in game 6 of the World Series, Buckner was positioned behind first base and shading toward second. Given Buckner’s balky knees and advanced age (36), it’s an open question whether Buckner would have beaten Wilson to first base even had he made the play. I’ve watched it hundreds of times myself and I’m still not sure.
Regardless, although the cause of death is listed as Lewy body dementia, I truly believe he died of a broken heart. The pain he had to endure in the three-plus decades following the 1986 World Series with the Mets must have been unbearable, and in the end it overcame him.
So farewell Bill Buckner. You were never appreciated the way you should have been in life, and you were forced to endure more than most should. I for one will miss you, as will millions of your loving fans. And when you look down at us from on high in the nether regions of the universe, I hope you see yourself making that play on Mookie’s grounder every time. Every time.
