“AI Skipper”: Bucky Dent

The year is 1978. The Red Sox have blown a fourteen-game lead, the Yankees have roared back, and now it’s Game 163 at Fenway Park — winner takes the pennant.

For this one, we asked our AI Skipper to analyze the most infamous inning of that season: the seventh, when Don Zimmer left Mike Torrez in just long enough for Bucky Dent to rewrite Boston history.

The AI Skipper is our digital dugout boss — a blend of modern sabermetrics, probability models, and hindsight. It doesn’t second-guess feelings; it crunches numbers.

And sure, this is a little unfair to Don Zimmer. He managed in an era when starters were expected to finish what they started. But that’s part of the fun of it: looking back at 1978 through a 2025 lens and seeing how the game — and its math — has changed.

Torrez took the mound for the seventh on three days’ rest, holding a 2–0 lead. By modern standards, the Red Sox were already playing with fire — not on the scoreboard, but in preparation.

The AI Skipper would have two relievers warming — Bob Stanley (RHP) and Andy Hassler (LHP) — before the inning even began. Torrez had already been throwing a lot, was facing the Yankees’ top order for the third time, and every fatigue indicator would’ve been flashing.

Zimmer, though, stuck with the rhythm of his era: trust your starter, see how he looks. So when Chris Chambliss and then Roy White ripped back-to-back hits, Zimmer finally got the bullpen moving — but it was too late. Neither Stanley nor Hassler was close to ready when he needed them most.

In 2025, no manager lets a pitcher reach that moment without backup. In 1978, loyalty still trumped logic.

Torrez opens strong — quick out, steady tempo, slider and fastball working. Then Chambliss gets a hanging curve and ropes it into left. White jumps a first-pitch fastball and lashes it to center. Two on, one out. In the Red Sox bullpen, Bob Stanley and Andy Hassler finally start to loosen.

AI Skipper check-in:
Right here, the model raises an alarm. Third-time-through penalty in effect; pitchers in this spot typically see their run prevention drop sharply — a jump of nearly a full run in expected ERA. The Yankees’ win probability spikes 15 percent as Stanley and Hassler scramble to loosen.

Fisk heads to the mound — part pep talk, part stall tactic. Moments later Zimmer joins him. WPIX announcer Frank Messer quips, “Zimmer and Lemon beginning to play a little chess here at Fenway.”

But Zimmer’s not really playing chess — he’s playing checkers.

AI Skipper check-in:
Modern data says the moment for change was right here, but Zimmer doesn’t have anyone ready.

Jim Spencer pinch-hits for Doyle — a lefty vs. a tired righty. Under modern logic, Zimmer could have played the lefty-on-lefty matchup with Andy Hassler or brought in Bob Stanley, who went 15–2 with a 2.60 ERA and 10 saves that season and was Boston’s most reliable arm out of the bullpen.

Instead, Torrez throws a fastball; Spencer fouls it straight back, right on time. Fisk immediately pops up from his crouch and jogs to the mound yet again. On the broadcast, Messer remarks, “Fisk definitely didn’t like that pitch.”

Two curveballs in the dirt follow, one slider finds too much plate — but Spencer flies to left. Out #2.

AI Skipper check-in:
Nothing’s really changed here. Even though Torrez gets the out, the ball was hit hard, and he’s showing every sign of fatigue. Stanley’s warm now, ready to go.

Now Bucky Dent, a .243 hitter with four homers, steps up choking two inches on the handle like he’s in Little League.

Torrez misses low and then Dent fouls the second pitch off his left instep and hops around in pain. Trainer sprints out with a spray called “epifluoride.”

The bat boy then trots out from the Yankees’ dugout carrying a new bat — the one Dent would later say belonged to Mickey Rivers. Dent takes the bat and settles back in.

Torrez then throws what he’ll later call a fastball. Dent connects.

Yastrzemski drifts over, eyes fixed on the ball’s slow arc. When it clears the Monster, he slumps, glove at his side. The roar from the Yankee fans cuts through the stunned hush of Fenway Park.

On the broadcast, a euphoric Phil Rizzuto, just back from the pressroom, tells the WPIX audience that he “let out three holy cows and thought Frank Malzone was going to kick him in the ankle.”

“The last guy on the ballclub you’d expect to hit a home run!” Frank Messer says.

And still — Zimmer leaves Torrez in. The Yankees now lead 3–2, but it’s only the seventh inning, and the game is very much within reach. Every sign screams that Torrez is gassed, yet Zimmer does not call for Stanley.

Mickey Rivers steps up. Four of Torrez’s next six pitches miss badly, and Torrez walks Rivers. Zimmer finally ambles out. Fenway cheers politely for Torrez, who storms off, slamming his glove and cap into the dugout bench.

There was still plenty of baseball left — more hits, more heartbreak, and even a late Red Sox rally that nearly flipped the script. Yet the decisive turn had already happened. That was the break in the spell, the moment everything tilted.

In the end, Zimmer wasn’t reckless; he was doing what almost every manager of his era would have done. In 1978, you trusted your guy. In 2025, you trust your data.