He had the wonderful nickname of Teddy Ballgame, and he was the greatest hitter of the modern era in Major League Baseball. Who says so? I do. He was Ted Williams.

He was a 19-time all star, a two-time winner of the American League MVP, a six-time winner of the AL batting title and played his entire career with the Boston Red Sox. Teddy Ballgame was the last player in the majors to have a season batting average over .400. He went into the final double-header of the 1941 season with a batting average just a couple of points above .400. His Boston manger offered him the chance to sit out the final two games to preserve his average. He declined. Williams went six for eight in that double header and finished the season at .406.

He was also an American hero in the real sense of the word. His career was interrupted twice by military service. Once in the Second World War and once in the Korean War. Theodore Samuel Williams served his country but also had an incredible sense of the dramatic.

In his last at bat before going overseas to serve in WW2 Williams hit a home run. In has last game before his service in the Korean War Ted Williams hit a home run. On his first at bat back from Korea he hit a home rum. In 1960 in his final game in his final at bat for the Boston Red Sox, Ted Williams hit a home run.

A final statistic is that he finished his career with 521 home runs and a career batting average of .344 and that is a special number. It is the highest average of ANY baseball player who player primarily after the Second World War.

Williams wasn’t the easiest person in the world to have a good relationship with. There was an arrogance to him but that arrogance was born from his very deep understanding of the nuances of the timeless game of baseball and how that game is played. He talked of hitting a baseball in a way nobody else could. He said he could actually see the seams of a baseball as it left a pitcher’s hand and spun to a place where his bat could contact it.

Now my personal story of an encounter with Teddy Ballgame is filled with regret and a missed opportunity. I dropped the ball. In the 1970s Williams was in Newfoundland on a promotional event for either the Boston Red Sox or Major League Baseball. There was, as there always is, “a media opportunity” at that ancient home of local baseball, St. Pat’s Ball Park. CJON sent a reporter and a cameraman to the event. All we needed were some pictures and a quick interview with Ted Williams. A thought occurred to me which I didn’t act on. On the field I could have asked Ted to have a quick catch with me. I could have asked him to just toss a baseball with me for a minute or so. I could have had a catch with Ted Williams. I didn’t do it. I lost my nerve.

In a life in news there are regrets. There has to be. It is a profession of endless decisions. You do your best and do an honest day’s work but sometimes you wish there were “do-overs”. Most are related to how a story is delivered or not delivered and how decisions that are made.

My Ted Williams decision was very personal and very deep and I got it wrong. It had nothing to do with the news story, but it had to do with ME. It was an opportunity, that were it baseball, was like a ground ball that took a short hop, hit your glove, and then rolled away, just out of my grasp forever.

You can contact Jim Furlong at [email protected]