Red Sox fans want the city of Boston to rename Jersey Street for Jerry Remy
The two-block section of Jersey Street that borders Fenway Park was known as Yawkey Way from 1977 until 2018, when it rejoined the rest of Jersey Street.
Now, Red Sox fans have an idea for a new name, the perfect tribute to a Red Sox legend.
Jerry Remy passed away on Saturday after a lengthy battle with cancer that spanned nearly 14 years, almost half his Red Sox broadcasting career. Fans want to re-rename those blocks of Jersey Street to Jerry Remy Way. There is already a petition circulating.
The #RedSox should re-name Jersey Street as ‘Jerry Remy Way’.
— FenwayNation (@FenwayNation) October 31, 2021
The idea of Boston baseball without Remy’s insight, humor, and heartfelt commentary is unimaginable because Remy was Boston baseball. He didn’t have Ted Williams’ bat power or David Ortiz’s postseason prowess, but in a way, Remy defined the Boston Red Sox more than anyone in franchise history.
Remy was born and raised in Massachusetts, a Red Sox fan since childhood. As a teenager, he idolized players who would ultimately be his teammates, like Carl Yastrzemski.
Though Remy was drafted by and debuted with the then-California Angels in 1975, he had his best seasons after he was traded to his hometown team after the 1977 season. He was an All-Star who stole 30 bases in his first season in Boston, and he hit .286 over 710 games in seven years in Red Sox uniform.
Defensively, he finished his career with a .981 fielding percentage, and five times in his career finished in the Top-5 in that metric. His 3,241 career assists as a second baseman put him 92nd overall in MLB history, and his 744 double players turned at second are 80th overall.
Every child who grows up a Red Sox fan dreams of playing for their favorite team, but Remy was one of the rare few who actually did it. Ahead of his debut season in Boston, he told the Boston Globe,
"“I spent all those years living and dying with the Red Sox, and now here I am playing for them.”"
Years later, Remy said, “I cried the day they let me go,” referring to his release by the Sox after the 1985 season.
But Remy’s Red Sox career was only beginning. Only a few years after his retirement (and after a brief stint coaching in the Sox minor-league system), Remy went from standing on the Fenway diamond to looking out over it from the broadcast booth. He’d spend over three decades in the booth, up until midway through the 2021 season, when his cancer returned.
Remy was in the booth for some of the greatest moments in franchise history, and they were made greater by the way he analyzed and celebrated them. And he didn’t sound stuffy or disconnected; between his Boston accent and his genuine love for the game, listening to him felt like listening to a favorite uncle or grandfather talk about the Sox in your living room or at the local bar (“Bah”). He sounded like he could be any Sox fan, because in his heart, that’s exactly what he was.
Remy will live forever in the hearts of Red Sox Nation, but his name becoming a permanent, tangible part of the ballpark he loved is the kind of tribute he deserves.
Boston has the Ted Williams Tunnel. There is the David Ortiz Bridge, David Ortiz Way, and Gate 34 at Logan Airport is the David Ortiz Gate. At Fenway, the right-field foul pole is the Pesky Pole; the left-field pole is the Fisk Pole. Something at Fenway should belong to Remy, the way his heart always belonged to it.