“AI Skipper”: The Bucky Dent Homer

Part I: The Setup

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.

Part II: The Collapse

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 (right-handed) and Andy Hassler (left-handed) — 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 opened strong — quick out, steady tempo, slider and fastball working. Then Chambliss got a hanging curve and ripped it into left. White jumped a first-pitch fastball and lashed it to center. Two on, one out. In the Red Sox bullpen, Stanley and Hassler finally started to loosen. 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 get warm.

Fisk headed to the mound — part pep talk, part stall tactic. Moments later Zimmer joined him. WPIX announcer Frank Messer quipped, “Zimmer and Lemon beginning to play a little chess here at Fenway.” But Zimmer’s not really playing chess — he’s playing checkers. Modern data says the moment for change was right there, but Zimmer didn’t have anyone ready.

Jim Spencer pinch-hit for Doyle — a lefty vs. a tired righty. Under modern logic, Zimmer could have played the lefty-on-lefty matchup with Hassler or brought in Stanley, who went 15–2 with a 2.60 ERA and 10 saves that season. Instead, Torrez threw a fastball; Spencer fouled it straight back, right on time. Fisk immediately popped up from his crouch and jogged to the mound again. On the broadcast, Messer remarked, “Fisk definitely didn’t like that pitch.” Two curveballs in the dirt followed, one slider found too much plate — but Spencer flew to left. Out number two. Even though Torrez got the out, the ball was hit hard, and he was showing every sign of fatigue. Stanley was ready now, but Zimmer stayed put.

Then came Bucky Dent, a .243 hitter with four homers, choking up two inches on the handle like he was back in Little League. Torrez missed low and then Dent fouled the second pitch off his left instep and hopped around in pain. Trainer sprinted out with a cold spray called “epifluoride.” The bat boy trotted from the Yankees’ dugout carrying a new bat — the one Dent later said belonged to Mickey Rivers. Dent took the bat and settled back in. Torrez threw what he’d later call a fastball. Dent connected. Yastrzemski drifted back, eyes fixed on the ball’s slow arc. When it cleared the Monster, he slumped, glove at his side. The roar from the Yankee fans cut through the stunned hush of Fenway Park.

On the broadcast, a euphoric Phil Rizzuto, just back from the pressroom, told 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 said. And still — Zimmer left Torrez in. The Yankees now led 3–2, but it was only the seventh inning, and the game was very much within reach. Every sign screamed that Torrez was gassed, yet Zimmer did not call for Stanley. Mickey Rivers stepped up. Four of Torrez’s next six pitches missed badly, and Torrez walked Rivers. Zimmer finally ambled out. Fenway cheered politely for Torrez, who stormed off, slamming his glove and cap into the dugout bench.

Part III: The Aftermath

There was still plenty of baseball left — more hits, more heartbreak, 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.

 — AI Baseball Guy | Human perspective. AI precision. Baseball reimagined.