The 1975 World Series–A Final Perspective
Thirty years ago, the Boston Red Sox faced an imposing World Series task: attempting to shut down the game’s most dynamic offense since the days of Mantle and Maris, which had dominated postseasons of the early 1960s. The 1975 Red Sox would also have to attempt to match the imposing run-scoring ability of the Cincinnati Reds, while playing without one of their best offensive players: rookie outfielder Jim Rice.
Even with a healthy Rice, the Red Sox would have been considerable underdogs in 1975. Without him, the likelihood of an October upset seemed unreachable. Few observers could have predicted a feisty and competitive Series filled with a constant stream of memorable moments, a sprinkling of controversial calls, and an ebb-and-flow of achievements and struggles for both teams.
The first game of the ‘75 World Series lacked the kind of close-game dramatics associated with great postseason matchups, but didn’t lack for entertainment value—largely because of the contributions of Red Sox ace Luis Tiant. As Fenway Park’s fans repeatedly chanted "LOOO-EEE," Tiant baffled the Reds with his assortment of whirling dervish motions. He held the Reds to five hits and allowed no runners to reach third base. Tiant’s complete-game effort, the first in a World Series since Steve Blass’ masterpiece in 1971, highlighted a 6-0 victory in Game One.
The Reds appeared on the verge of losing the second game as well, only to rally for two runs in the top of the ninth to post a dramatic 3-2 victory. The win was typical of the Reds in 1975. For the 48th time that summer and fall, the Reds came from behind to win a ballgame. And for the 25th time, the Reds had won a game in their final turn at-bat.
A controversial call added some spice to Game Three of the Series. With the game tied in the top of the 10th inning, Ed Armbrister attempted to lay down a sacrifice bunt. As the ball bounced near home plate, Red Sox catcher Carlton Fisk collided with Armbrister, causing him to throw wildly to second base. The Red Sox argued vehemently for an interference call, but home plate umpire Larry Barnett allowed the play to stand, setting the stage for a 6-5 Reds victory at Riverfront Stadium.
With the Reds having assumed the mantle of momentum, the Red Sox hoped that Tiant could reverse their fortunes while pitching on three days’ rest. Though not as dominant as in Game One, Tiant made enough crucial pitches to keep the Red Sox competitive. Boosted by the graceful excellence of Fred Lynn in center field and some illogical baserunning by Cincinnati, the Red Sox escaped with a 5-4 victory.
The fifth game, the Reds’ final home game of the season, saw the emergence of Tony Perez from an early-Series slump. Ever the clutch hitter, Perez hit two home runs and drove in four of Cincinnati’s runs in a 6-2 victory. Aided by Don Gullett, who retired 16 consecutive batters from the first inning through the sixth, the Reds moved within one game of a world championship.
Three days of rain then greeted the Reds and Red Sox in Boston, creating an interminable delay prior to Game Six. It was worth the wait. Highlighted by Bernie Carbo’s dramatic game-tying three-run homer, a dazzling catch by Dwight Evans in deep right field, and a certain 12th-inning home run by Carlton Fisk, the Red Sox managed a Herculean 7-6 victory in Game Six. It was a game that many fans and some historians have called the greatest in World Series history.
Exhausted by the length and tension of the game, the two teams returned to the field for Game Seven, which was witnessed by a sporting-event record 75 million viewers on television. The Red Sox raced out to an early 3-0 lead, only to endure another Reds comeback. In the top of the sixth, Red Sox starter Bill Lee tried to trick Tony Perez with one of his unusual blooper pitches, but Perez pounced on the pitch, clearing the Green Monster in left field. The home run brought the Reds within one. Energized by the clutch home run, the Reds tied the game in the seventh and then delivered the game-winning run in the ninth, courtesy of Joe Morgan’s two-out, bloop single. The 4-3 final left the Reds in delirium, and Red Sox Nation disheartened.
Coming into the World Series, the Reds had been expected to win rather handily. Given the closeness of the Series, some members of Boston’s contingent refused to concede Reds superiority. "We were two evenly matched clubs with the little breaks deciding [it]," said Red Sox manager Darrell Johnson. "You might have just as well tossed a coin." One of the Red Sox’ players assessed the fates of the two teams more extremely. "I had ‘em. And they know it. No one [on Cincinnati] was swinging good," said a prideful Bill Lee. "Don’t talk about a Reds’ dynasty. They’d be third in the American League."
For the Reds of Sparky Anderson, who had come so close to winning it all in 1970 and 1972 only to fall to heartbreak, it was the first world championship of a baseball lifetime. For the game’s oldest franchise, it was also the first since the season of 1940—or more than a generation ago.
More importantly, it was a World Series that had resurrected the spirit of a game that seemed to have lagged in recent years. "There were a lot of great plays made in that World Series," says Don Gullett, who became a pitching coach for the Reds after his playing days. "A lot of great baseball players assembled together to decide who was going to win the world championship." The roll call included future Hall of Famers Johnny Bench, Carlton Fisk, Joe Morgan, Tony Perez, and Carl Yastrzemski, standouts like Dave Concepcion, Dwight Evans, George Foster, Pete Rose (who was named Series MVP), and Luis Tiant, and a Hall of Fame manager in Sparky Anderson.
When asked to assess the quality of the Series, Anderson didn’t lack for his usual level of hyperbole—only this time, he seemed flawless in his judgment. "In all sincerity," Sparky exclaimed, "I don’t know that there’s ever been a better World Series." Few observers of that Series—those who were there to see it, whether in person or through television and radio—would have disagreed with that piece of conjecture.
Such a theatric Series, punctuated by Fisk’s timeless home run against a journeyman named Pat Darcy, could not have come at a better time for the National Pastime. In the early to mid-1970s, baseball found itself at one of its most cliffhanging crisis points. The game had lost some of its popularity to football, a more fast-paced and violent sport, one whose action was packed into a more concentrated space, which made it easier to both broadcast—and watch—on television.
But then baseball held its own. At a time when it might have completely lost its grip on the American consciousness, it absorbed football’s most devastating punch, steadied itself, regained fans, and remained a defining part of the Western culture. As the great Shirley Povich wrote in a 1980 article for The Sporting News: "If there was a single time frame in which it happened, a decent guess would be that American rediscovered baseball as the game of its heart during those glorious Twelve Days in October of 1975."
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