Looking back, I feel bad for Gary Allenson. However, when I was eleven, I could not stand the sight of him. Through no fault of his own Allenson had the misfortune of taking over for one of the most beloved of Yawkey's heroes, Carlton Fisk. It didn't help Allenson that the only thing the two men shared were the tools of ignorance. Allenson was squat and utilitarian while Fisk was tall an buttery smooth behind the dish. But more than anything, fans were upset that a Californian was taking the place of one of our own. How could Fisk, the product of Charlestown, New Hampshire be suiting up for Sox of another color in some place far from of the six states we call home?
At some point between junior high, braces and pimples and becoming a mortgage paying, minivan driving suburban schlub, my stance on Allenson softened. I can't imagine the pressure he faced following in the footsteps of a local legend and future Hall of Famer. Sadly, that seems to have been the least of his problems. It is no secret that during Allenson's time in Boston, Haywood Sullivan was doing everything in his power to promote the career of another catcher in the organization, his son Marc. Mercifully, Allenson was able to escape the cauldron at Fenway park for the calmer waters of Toronto. Allenson finished out his career North of the border in the same way he played the game; quietly, professionally and with little fanfare.
20 bats down 63 to go.