I HAVE SAID IT before and I’ll always say it: If you wanted one pitcher to start a big game, it would be Luis Tiant. Nobody was a tougher competitor—or a better teammate. He meant so much to us, and to the fans. We all loved him.
Luis played for the Indians when I first met him. He threw real hard, in the mid-nineties. The mound was higher then, and he pitched up; he had a good breaking ball and a rising fastball.
He threw that rising fastball a lot, and one Saturday afternoon at Fenway Park in May 1967 he struck me out three times. After the game I was taking [extra] batting practice, so of course he had to walk out on the field and get my attention. I looked over at him, and he just said one thing:
“You need it.”
That was Luis. Even when you weren’t his teammate, you knew he was a funny guy. He seemed to have nicknames for everyone. He’d call me “Polack” with his crazy Cuban accent and I’d just laugh. You couldn’t get mad at him.
About a month later at Fenway, I faced him again and hit a home run. As I was rounding the bases, he turned to me yelling, “You dumb Polack!” I was laughing, and yelled back, “You big Black Cuban!” Then he came up to me the next day and said, “I guess the batting practice paid off.”
When the Red Sox picked Luis up in 1971 he was coming off a bad shoulder, but I thought if his arm came around he could help us. He was smart, had great control, and knew how to pitch. Even if he had lost a little something on his fastball, I felt he could rely on his pitching knowledge to get guys out.
That first year, he was still hurting, but in ’72 his arm was sound. He was just outstanding that summer, nearly pitching us to a pennant, and the fans at Fenway Park started in with all the “LOO-EEE! LOO-EEE! LOO-EEE!” chants. I never heard anything like it, or saw fans react to a ballplayer in that way. It sent chills down my spine. Fans recognize effort, and they knew how hard he had worked to come back. They understood him, and they loved him. It was beautiful.
I think that unique windup he had helped him because it was so herky-jerky. He’d turn his back to the plate, which hid the ball well from batters. With a right-handed hitter, his back would be turned toward them, so they couldn’t see the ball at all. Lefties like me could pick the ball up a little quicker, but it was still tough. That was a big part of his success.
Luis was great under pressure, especially in the ’75 postseason. When he pitched the way he did in the first game of the American League Championship Series, beating Oakland, it gave us all a big lift. We had just lost Jim Rice to a broken hand, and I know the team was down by not having Jimmy in the lineup. By beating the three-time defending champs, Luis picked us all up.
Then in the World Series, he shut out the Reds in the opener at Fenway and got the big hit to start our winning rally. Game Four at Cincinnati was tougher, because Luis didn’t have his best stuff. I can remember Darrell Johnson coming out to the mound in the ninth inning and asking him how he felt, because he had thrown so many pitches. Luis told him he started the game and he was going to finish it.
That’s the way he was; he wasn’t looking for any help from the bullpen. And he did finish it, getting us another big win.
When Luis’s mom and dad came to Boston from Cuba that summer of ’75, after all those years apart from him, it was heartwarming. It not only made the Tiants happy, it made the whole team happy. Especially in that atmosphere in Boston, and the way the fans loved Luis, I’m sure it was a huge thrill for his parents. And, of course, they got to see him win those big games.
We loved Luis so much in the clubhouse. He was absolutely hysterical, and always had something to say that was funny. Luis kept the team relaxed with his big Cuban cigars and practical jokes. He was just a very funny, positive person, win or lose.
That’s another thing I always liked about Luis. If he had a bad game, he’d say, “Yaz, I’ll get ’em next time.” That was his attitude. He never got upset. Just “I’ll get ’em next time.” Maybe deep down, it hurt him—I’m sure it did—when he had a bad outing. But he didn’t show it. He kept his cool.
I was very surprised about Luis signing with the Yankees as a free agent after 1978, because of the fan loyalty he had in Boston and how much they loved him. He loved Boston too, so it came as a big, big surprise when he went to New York. It was strange to everyone, I think, seeing him in pinstripes, but I understood why he went.
That move had a big impact on our team, beyond wins and losses. I was quoted as saying that “When they let Tiant go, they took out our heart and soul.” Things were never quite the same, and it hurt us as a unit. Nobody could fill his shoes when it came to keeping guys loose.
I’ve always thought that Luis should be in the Hall of Fame. No doubt about it. He has the statistics, and then you include the tremendous games he pitched in tight situations for us. Certainly nobody loved being out there with everything on the line more than Luis did.
To this day, he still calls me “Polack.” I’ll see him at spring training, down in Fort Myers, and he’ll go, “Hiya, Polack, how ya doin’?”
All you can do is laugh.
Boston Red Sox, 1961–83
National Baseball Hall of Fame