Post by TearsIn04 on Jun 3, 2023 21:41:56 GMT -5
www.cbsnews.com/news/son-of-former-red-sox-star-george-scott-accused-of-killing-8-year-old-son/
This story hit me like a punch in the face because I had a pleasant encounter with George Scott III and his son, Dante, at Fenway two weekends ago. The father was gregarious and friendly. The boy was adorable. It's unfathomable to me that the man I met killed the boy I met with a sharp object.
I first spoke with members of the Scott family a few months before George "the Boomer" Scott's death in 2013. I found online that the Boomer had written a book and that I could get a signed copy by calling a number in Mississippi. I knew George was from Mississippi and assumed that the number was probably his home.
I called and instantly recognized the Boomer's raspy, ebullient voice. He was happy that someone wanted his book. "Oh, yeah," he said. "My son Brian is handling that for me. He went to the store. I'll have him call you when he gets back."
Sure enough, about 30 minutes later my phone rang. "Hi. It's Brian Scott. You called about the book?" He sounded as low-key as his father sounded excited. I gave him my credit card information and commented to him that he should bring his father up for a book signing at a Barnes and Noble. I told him his father was a big deal up here because of his role on the '67 team.
Two weeks ago, I attended the Fenway Card Show. I haven't been to a game this year (which is unusual for me but I have less interest this year) and the card show was a chance to see the ballpark I've loved my entire life.
I bought a snack and sat at a picnic table outside the RF concourse near two guys and a little boy. One of the men - George III, as it turns out - mentioned that he was bugged that he didn't see any tributes to his father on display for the card show.
Nosey me asked, "Who's your father?" He replied: "George Scott." I said, "Wow, are you Brian?" He pointed to the guy next to me and said, "No, that's Brian. He's my brother."
I turned to Brian and told him about our phone call 10 years ago. He smiled and said, "I remember that phone call."
Dante asked me out of nowhere whether I was a magician. I think he was fascinated by my somewhat flashy red and blue Red Sox fleece. I joked with him by saying, "Well, I'm good at one magic trick. I always manage to make my money disappear when I come to Fenway." I don't know whether Dante got the joke but his father and uncle laughed.
For the next 10 minutes or so, George III and I carried on a conversation about the '67 team and his father's teammates - Yaz, Rico, Fred Lynn, Jim Rice, all the guys I idolized growing up in the '70s.
I'm sickened by what I read tonight.
This story hit me like a punch in the face because I had a pleasant encounter with George Scott III and his son, Dante, at Fenway two weekends ago. The father was gregarious and friendly. The boy was adorable. It's unfathomable to me that the man I met killed the boy I met with a sharp object.
I first spoke with members of the Scott family a few months before George "the Boomer" Scott's death in 2013. I found online that the Boomer had written a book and that I could get a signed copy by calling a number in Mississippi. I knew George was from Mississippi and assumed that the number was probably his home.
I called and instantly recognized the Boomer's raspy, ebullient voice. He was happy that someone wanted his book. "Oh, yeah," he said. "My son Brian is handling that for me. He went to the store. I'll have him call you when he gets back."
Sure enough, about 30 minutes later my phone rang. "Hi. It's Brian Scott. You called about the book?" He sounded as low-key as his father sounded excited. I gave him my credit card information and commented to him that he should bring his father up for a book signing at a Barnes and Noble. I told him his father was a big deal up here because of his role on the '67 team.
Two weeks ago, I attended the Fenway Card Show. I haven't been to a game this year (which is unusual for me but I have less interest this year) and the card show was a chance to see the ballpark I've loved my entire life.
I bought a snack and sat at a picnic table outside the RF concourse near two guys and a little boy. One of the men - George III, as it turns out - mentioned that he was bugged that he didn't see any tributes to his father on display for the card show.
Nosey me asked, "Who's your father?" He replied: "George Scott." I said, "Wow, are you Brian?" He pointed to the guy next to me and said, "No, that's Brian. He's my brother."
I turned to Brian and told him about our phone call 10 years ago. He smiled and said, "I remember that phone call."
Dante asked me out of nowhere whether I was a magician. I think he was fascinated by my somewhat flashy red and blue Red Sox fleece. I joked with him by saying, "Well, I'm good at one magic trick. I always manage to make my money disappear when I come to Fenway." I don't know whether Dante got the joke but his father and uncle laughed.
For the next 10 minutes or so, George III and I carried on a conversation about the '67 team and his father's teammates - Yaz, Rico, Fred Lynn, Jim Rice, all the guys I idolized growing up in the '70s.
I'm sickened by what I read tonight.
