The former Boston hurler comes to McCoy Stadium with lots of stories and plenty of charisma.

09:50 AM EDT on Tuesday, July 13, 2004

BY KEVIN McNAMARA
Journal Sports Writer

Journal photo / Glenn Osmundson There was a lot of love going around at McCoy Stadium last night, like when old Red Sox teammates Sam Horn, rear, and Dennis "Oil Can" Boyd were reunited.

PAWTUCKET -- Nattily attired in a mustard yellow dress shirt, tan pants, brown leather shoes and dark glasses, Dennis 'Oil Can' Boyd blew into McCoy Stadium last night.

Always blessed with a quick wit, but also prone to telling rambling, often bizarre tales, the pencil-thin (149 pounds) Boyd hasn't changed much. First of all, he refers to himself as Dennis, or 'The Can' depending on which tangent he's on. The 44-year-old still wears some hefty emotions on his sleeve and embraces a life where fans call his name and clamor for an autograph, a handshake or a hearty hug.

A relieved Boyd concluded a solitary 30-hour drive from his home in Booneville, Miss., yesterday that began Saturday. "I was by myself and listened to my jazz. It's the kind of music that's satisfying for a long ride especially with me being a thinker," he said.

Boyd then jumped from one subject to another, talking about his respect for Bill Buckner, his hopes for being fondly remembered in New England and even trying to heal a rift in his relationship with former teammate Wade Boggs. But, most of all, Boyd clearly loved being back where he became a baseball celebrity. From 1982-89, Boyd was a mercurial, often misunderstood Red Sox pitcher who was nothing but entertaining. He compiled a 78-77 major-league record with his best season coming in 1986 when he went 16-10.

But Boyd's career was more memorable than his numbers. He openly campaigned to be included in the starting rotation in 1983 and cried in front of reporters when manager John McNamara named Bruce Hurst to pitch Game 7 of the 1986 World Series. After being left off the All-Star team in '86, he threw a tantrum and some teammates branded him a "crazed man." Rumors of drug and alcohol use always swirled around him, although he never was sidelined or suspended for those problems.

"I would like to think in some positive way the New England fans would appreciate Dennis Boyd," he said. "I would like to be remembered in a positive fashion. If I'm asking too much, then fine. But at the same time I do understand that you don't know me. And a lot of the time, I didn't know myself. But I did go out on the baseball field and give it 110 percent and show what a professional baseball player is all about."

When Boyd's phone rang a few months ago, he says he received an offer he could not refuse. Someone on the line was wondering if he would like to come to McCoy Stadium to participate in the Triple-A All-Star Game festivities. Boyd said his answer came quickly, especially since a painting of a young Oil Can hangs along McCoy's upper level.

"When Mike Tamburro and Ben Mondor call, I'm going," he said. "That's all there is to it. I remember being here as a young kid and then no one, no one, inspired me like those two people and thought that Dennis should be a man headed towards the major leagues. Without a doubt, those guys had a lot to do with why I have a painting outside this ballfield."

Boyd was an immature, emotional young pitcher with the PawSox who needed the counsel and help of older people.

"He was away from home, all alone and he needed some understanding," Mondor said. "All we did is every day he and I would sit down and talk. About nothing, really. Just talk. He got comfortable and he trusted us. And he could pitch.

"He found a home here. He saw me tonight and the first thing he said is 'it's like coming home here.' It feels good to know that your sons are coming home."

Another PawSox great, and a Red Sox teammate of Boyd, was Boggs. Boyd's voice quickly switched from a bouncy, happy tone to near tears when he spoke of Boggs and a disagreement between the two from years ago. Boggs had apparently questioned Boyd's mental state and Boyd blasted back with some unkind words. Last night, he buried the hatchet.

"I would like to tell Wade Boggs, wherever he is, that I love him," he said. "When I really think about (Wade), I didn't feel the way I said I did. I made one thing he may have said and made that be everything. He was human and I didn't let him be human. I know he cared about me."

As Boyd stepped onto the McCoy playing surface, fans instantly called out his name, asked him to pose for pictures and dropped baseballs into his hands to sign. Boyd smiled and waved and kept asking for old friends like Johnny Pesky, Dick Berardino and Luis Tiant. Then, an older man approached him from behind and called to him in a thick, Boston accent.

"Mr. Morgan, I didn't even have to see you. I just hear that voice," Boyd said to his former manager, Joe Morgan.

Unlike the other invitees for last night's Celebrity Home Run Challenge, Boyd never did slip on a baseball uniform. He floated from one conversation to another and said he never saw the shirt hanging in his locker. When he was introduced before the hitting began, Boyd wasn't available. Instead, he was chatting with more old friends. He eventually was introduced again and received a loud ovation.

"Each individual will feel their own way about Dennis Boyd," he said. "But I would like to know what kind of player I could be maybe with a little bit better attitude. The passion for the game couldn't get any better, loving what I did couldn't get any better. The fans only know what they see."

Boyd says he's spending time these days trying to land a team in the Independent League for his home state. He'd call them the Mississippi Maniacs. He's also planning on staying in New England for the next month to see a few of his children, some family and friends.

So, as Boyd ages, how does he prefer to be addressed?

"If I'm at home, I'm Dennis Ray. That's in Mississippi" he said. "If I'm in New England, man, I'm The Can. That's some cool (stuff)."