Mazz: Remembering Jimy Williams
To me, when it comes to remembering Jimy Williams, there is one story that stands out above all others.
And it had nothing to do with at least temporarily benching Pedro Martinez in August 1999.
By the time Williams got hired to manage the Red Sox before the 1997 season, he hadn’t managed since 1989, when he was fired by the Toronto Blue Jays slightly more than a month into the season. The Blue Jays were just 12-24 when they sent Williams packing, but his biggest regret in Toronto had been the way things ended in 1986, his first year managing the team.
That year, pitcher Dennis Lamp was in the final year of a three-year contract, though he had an additional inventive that could have earned him an additional $600,000 by guaranteeing his contract for a fourth year, 1987. Because Lamp had been pitching poorly, Jays management instructed Williams to effectively bench the player, thereby preventing him from reaching the necessary appearances to trigger the fourth year. Lamp filed a grievance that the club ultimately won.
So how does that relate to Boston?
During the same offseason Williams was hired, the Red Sox signed Steve Avery to a one-year contract with a vesting option for a second season, 1998. All Avery had to do was make 18 starts to trigger the second year, an incentive the sides agreed upon because the pitcher had been injured with Atlanta during the 1994-1996 seasons, where Williams had been the third base coach under Bobby Cox. The idea was that if Avery stayed healthy enough to pitch, his contract would be guaranteed for a second season.
Simply put, Avery sucked in 1997, posting a 6.42 ERA. (He never again regained the form that made him an All-Star and Cy Young candidate early in his career.) In late August, after Avery’s 17th start – one short of the 18th that would guarantee him $10 million for the 1998 season – the Red Sox instructed Williams to put Avery in the bullpen. Williams hated being put in the same spot as he was in Toronto, but he complied.
At least for a time.
On Sept. 25, with just four days remaining in the season, the Red Sox needed a starter for a game at Detroit. Williams chose Avery, whom most everyone regarded as a likeable, hard-working teammate. The news sent shockwaves through the Red Sox clubhouse and organization, the manager effectively writing a $10 million check from the team’s account without the approval of his bosses, specifically general manager Dan Duquette (who hired Williams) and acting owner John Harrington. Williams had waited nearly eight years to manage again, but had despised the way things ended in Toronto, where he was called a puppet for ownership during the decision to bench Lamp.
The decision to start Avery actually came on Sept. 24, a day before the series finale in Detroit. That night, with the Red Sox en route to a fourth-place finish, I remember thinking that Williams was at risk of being fired. After the standard media session before the game, I went out to the field for batting practice and found Williams again as he was hitting ground balls not far from the first-base dugout. I asked him whether he feared that the decision could get him fired from a job he had waited eight years to secure.
He looked at me and shrugged, fully understanding that it was a distinct possibility.
For what it’s worth, Avery pitched five scoreless innings in the Sox’ 3-1 win over the Tigers the next day. During the winter, the Red Sox acquired Pedro Martinez from the Montreal Expos. Avery had a better year in 1998, winning 10 games as the Sox rode Martinez to the playoffs. Williams was named the runner-up for the 1998 American League Manager of the Year Award and won the honor in 1999, when Martinez powered the Sox to the American League Championship Series. Two years after that, late in the 2001 season, the Red Sox fired Williams despite a 65-53 record. The club then nosedived under Joe Kerrigan, at one point losing nine straight, 13-of-14 and 23-of-29.
Was Williams perfect? Like the rest of us, hardly. He was sometimes impossibly stubborn. He could also be downright hilarious. He could be surprisingly intense and insisted on sacrifice for the greater good, often (too much so?) taking a stand against star players (Martinez? Carl Everett? Dante Bichette?) who might have exhibited diva tendencies.
One of Williams’ favorite catchphrases?
“I’m not trying to be right,” he would say. “I’m trying to do right.”
And that was pretty much how he operated.