Page 279 - 1975 BoSox

272 ’75—THE RED SOX TEAM THAT SAVED BASEBALL
1972 and ’73 World Series. In November 1973 owner Charles O. Finley said that he liked homers more than Woods. “I was loyal,” said Poss, “but Finley loved the Midwest style where you scream at a foul. He said, ‘Jim, you’re a great announcer when something happens, but when nothing is going on you’re not.’”
Weiss, St. Louis, Finley: Woods pined for Pittsburgh. Instead, he signed with Boston in early 1974. at same morning, the phone rang. “I’ve thought this over,” said Finley, “and I’d like you to come back.”
“Charlie,” Jim said, “I’ve obligated myself to the Red Sox for the next two years.”
“S___,” Charlie snapped, “everybody knows those contracts aren’t worth the paper they’re written on.”
“I’m tied up! I’m not coming back,” Woods said, ar- riving in Boston knowing that “Sox fans like it toned down. If I did a Prince I’d have been run out of town.” Before long he won the town, noting “a couple of fans waving a Yankees banner — their parents must have raised some pretty foolish children.” Ned Martin “reminded us that baseball is a game of wit and intel- ligence. Woods kept alive our sense of wonder,” wrote novelist Robert B. Parker. “Between them they were perfect.” He once was describing Pittsburgh.
Power can corrupt. Popularity can confuse. “Bob thought he had the sponsors and team behind him,” said a Woods successor, Nellie King. In October 1975 Westinghouse sacked Prince, the Astros and ABC’s 1976 Monday Night Baseball soon hiring him. at spring Bob told Woods, “I wouldn’t say this to anyone else, but I’m worried,” having never called a network series. Said Poss: “You can’t do on ABC what you’ve done in Pittsburgh.” Gunner bombed, retrieving baseball only in the ’80s. “It’s just cable TV, not as many homes. But you hang in there.” Woods already had.
At Fenway Park, Poss found his next-to-Prince most pitch-perfect pal. A Philadelphian, Martin entered Duke University, joined the Marines, stormed Iwo Jima, then returned to Duke, a not-so-young man in a hurry, to major in English, read Wolfe and
Hemingway, and — what? He tried advertising, pub- lishing, and broadcasting, joining the Red Sox in 1961. Ned read poetry like Allen Ginsberg’s, had politics like John Wayne’s, and treated the Sox workforce like royalty. One moment he called Ted Williams “Big Guy.” e next evoked Shakespeare: “Good night, sweet prince.” His amalgam included a Woods-like disdain for radio jack, sham, and fools.
Ned and Poss completed each other’s sentences, com- muning on-air by “a hand gesture, shrug, raised eyebrow,” wrote the Boston Globe’s Bill Gri th. After a game “broadcasters, writers, and the coaching sta [gathered] during which Martin and Woods would be spellbinding with their baseball tales.”Woods called Ned “Nedley.” Martin ribbed Poss about his and Prince’s booth as bar — “Did Budweiser sponsor you, or did you sponsor Budweiser?” Like Prince’s, Martin’s synergy with Poss wowed.
In 1975. Woods passed a nal-day baton: “Now Ned Martin will steer our ship with all colors ying safely into port.”
“What are our colors,Mr.[Fletcher] Christian?”Ned said, referencing Mutiny on the Bounty.
“Well, they ain’t [Finley’s] green and gold, I’ll tell you,” Poss said.
Martin: “Probably red, white, and blue.”
Sports Illustrated termed them “the best day-in, day-out announcers covering the American League”—not unlike 1958-69’s N.L. Poss/Prince. One moment Possum was gently manic: “[In] Baltimore ... the Sox will play Brooksie-Baby and his merry mates.”Another hailed Carlton Fisk conquering a broken wrist. “It is gone—his rst home run of the year! And look at him jump and dance! He’s the happiest guy in Massachusetts!” Jim froze anguish, too. In 1978 Bucky Dent’s homer pivoted the Boston-New York A.L. playo game. “It is gone!” Poss said. “Suddenly, the whole thing is turned around!”
Before long, so was Woods.