It was 12:34 a.m. on October 22, 1975. Most of New England should’ve been asleep, but nobody was. They were glued to wood-paneled TV sets, watching a 27-year-old catcher named Pudge try to save a season. When we talk about the Carlton Fisk home run, we usually focus on the waving. Those frantic, desperate arms. The "body English" that supposedly kept a white speck from drifting foul.
But honestly? The most incredible thing about that night isn’t just the ball hitting the pole. It’s the sheer volume of weird, lucky, and chemically-enhanced variables that had to align for that moment to even exist.
If a literal rat hadn’t scurried across a cameraman's foot, we might not even have the footage that made it famous. If a teammate hadn't lent Fisk a lighter bat, the ball probably dies in the air. This wasn't just a home run; it was a glitch in the matrix of sports history.
The Secret "Rat" Factor in the Broadcast
You've seen the clip a thousand times. The camera stays on Fisk as he hops toward first base, waving his arms like he’s trying to guide a plane onto a runway. In 1975, this was a revolutionary shot. Why? Because back then, cameramen were strictly trained to "follow the ball."
If the broadcast had followed the rules, we would have seen a grainy shot of a dark sky and a white blur. Instead, we got the human emotion.
NBC cameraman Lou Gerard was stationed inside the Green Monster. As Fisk swung, a large rat reportedly ran over Gerard’s feet. He was so preoccupied with the rodent and the cramped, uncomfortable position he was in that he didn't—or couldn't—pivot to follow the flight of the ball. He stayed locked on Fisk.
That "mistake" changed sports television forever. It proved that the reaction to the play is often more legendary than the play itself. Directors realized that fans wanted to see the athlete's face, not just the equipment. Every modern "reaction cam" you see today in the NFL or MLB basically owes its life to a Fenway Park rat.
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The Bat That Wasn't His
Here’s a detail that gets buried: Fisk didn't even use his own lumber.
By the 12th inning, the game had been going for four hours. Fisk felt his usual bat—a heavy model he’d used all season—felt like a lead pipe in his hands. He was exhausted. He walked over to Rick Burleson, the Sox shortstop known as "Rooster," and asked to borrow his bat.
"Rooster, let me use your bat," Fisk recalled. "I had picked up my bat, and it just felt heavy."
Burleson’s bat was the same model but slightly shorter and lighter. That tiny adjustment in swing speed was likely the difference between a long foul ball and a clank off the foul pole. Fisk never gave the bat back, by the way. He kept it in his closet for decades.
Why the Carlton Fisk Home Run Almost Never Happened
Before we get to the 12th, we have to talk about Bernie Carbo. Without Carbo, the Carlton Fisk home run is just a footnote in a Cincinnati Reds sweep.
In the 8th inning, the Sox were down 6-3. They were five outs away from elimination. Carbo came up as a pinch-hitter and looked absolutely lost. He took a swing so "feeble" (his own words later) that it barely rolled foul. He should have been out. But on the next pitch, he crushed a three-run homer to center field to tie it.
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The backstory here is wild. Carbo later admitted in his autobiography and various interviews with The Boston Globe that he was "high as a kite" during that game. He estimated he’d consumed a cocktail of beer, joints, and amphetamines before hitting one of the most clutch home runs in World Series history.
It’s a gritty, uncomfortable part of 70s baseball culture that the "official" highlight reels usually skip. But it’s the truth of how that Game 6 stayed alive.
The Pitch and the Pole
The actual pitcher on the mound for the Reds in the 12th was Pat Darcy. He was a right-hander, and Fisk knew he was trying to sink the ball low.
- The Count: 1-0.
- The Delivery: A low, sinking fastball.
- The Contact: Fisk caught it perfectly, but he pulled it. Hard.
- The Physics: The ball traveled about 310 feet down the line. It had plenty of height to clear the Green Monster, but the hook was vicious.
When it hit the foul pole (which is technically fair, remember), the sound was a metallic clack that cut through the roar of 35,000 people. Fenway Park organist John Kiley immediately broke into Handel’s "Hallelujah Chorus."
Fisk's leap at home plate, where he jumped with both feet, became the image of a generation. He wasn't just a pro athlete; he looked like a kid on a sandlot. That’s the magic.
The "We Won 3 Games to 4" Fallacy
There is a massive misconception that this home run won the World Series for Boston. It didn't.
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The Red Sox actually lost Game 7 the next night. Joe Morgan hit a bloop single in the 9th, and the "Big Red Machine" took the crown. Fisk famously said years later, "We won that thing three games to four."
In the minds of New Englanders, the Carlton Fisk home run was the moral victory. It was the moment they proved they could slay the dragon, even if they didn't get the ring that year. It ended the "numbness" of the drought for a few hours, even if the Curse of the Bambino would linger until 2004.
Actionable Insights for Baseball History Buffs
If you’re looking to dive deeper into this specific era or understand why this moment still sits at the top of "Best Of" lists, here is how to contextualize it:
- Watch the Uncut Footage: Don't just watch the 10-second clip. Find the full 12th-inning broadcast. You’ll see the tension on the faces of the Reds' bench, specifically Pete Rose, who was reportedly telling Fisk "this is the greatest game ever" while they were playing it.
- Read Roger Angell: The late New Yorker writer wrote a piece called Agincourt and After. It is widely considered the best sports essay ever written about this specific game. It explains the "emotional architecture" of Fenway that night.
- Visit the Hall of Fame: Fisk’s bat (Burleson's bat, technically) is often on display or in the archives at Cooperstown. Seeing how small and "ordinary" that piece of wood looks in person puts the feat in perspective.
- Understand the "Foul Pole" Paradox: In baseball, the "foul pole" is actually fair territory. If the ball hits any part of the pole or the screen attached to it, it's a home run. Fisk’s ball hit the mesh, making it one of the most clear-cut "judgment" calls in history.
The 1975 World Series changed the way we watch sports. It moved games to prime time permanently. It made the camera a participant in the drama. And it turned a catcher from New Hampshire into a permanent icon of American grit.
Next time you see a player waving a ball fair, remember the rat, the borrowed bat, and the fact that sometimes, the most legendary moments are the ones that almost didn't happen.