FALMOUTH – The first time Barry Beder was brought in to work as a sports psychology consultant with the Boston Red Sox, “I was told, ‘You can’t tell anybody,’ And I was told, ‘Dress like a fan,’ whatever that means,” said Beder.
It was so hush-hush that Beder – now 70 years old, retired and living in Falmouth – had to go in a side door and use a secret knock to be admitted into Fenway Park. He is only now telling these stories.
This was 1989, more than a decade before the Boston Red Sox won a championship in 2004 and broke an 86-year “curse”.
When Beder was with the Red Sox for four years, the team was an interesting mix of players left over from the 1986 heartbreaking World Series loss as well as some young stars and imports from other teams.
They made the playoffs only once, in 1990, losing in four straight games to the Oakland As.
The team had stars. One of them, a star outfielder, was in a bad slump when Beder was called in to help.
Beder went in a side door at Fenway Park and down a hall that led directly into Dr. Arthur Pappas’ office. Pappas was the longtime Red Sox physician. According to Beder, Pappas, who died in 2016, hired him after hearing he had worked with a couple of Detroit Tigers.
“We have this need,” Dr. Pappas told Beder, according to Beder.
And Beder was brought in, initially, to meet with that one star outfielder.
Beder was sent into a room and he waited. The player, dressed in his home white uniform, came in just before batting practice and looked at Beder. It was intimidating, said Beder.
“He kind of looked at me and said, ‘What are you going to do for me?’” recalled Beder.
Barry Beder. CAPE COD WAVE PHOTO
“I said, ‘Well, what’s the problem?”
“He was having a hitting issue,” said Beder. “He was too stressed at the plate. He was wound up and stressed and wasn’t seeing the ball.”
“We had a conversation about what does seeing the ball mean to him. He said he didn’t see the ball at all from the time it left the pitcher’s hand until it hit the catcher’s mitt. That’s how stressed he was,” said Beder.
When Beder asked what seeing the ball was like when he was playing well, the player “described being able to slow it down and see the stitches on the ball. One game he hit three home runs. He hit the same spot on the ball.”
So Beder went to work. “I hypnotized him and suggested he hit three home runs,” he said.
As he was leaving, Beder said, the team trainer, who did not approve of Beder’s presence, “gave me the vampire cross with his fingers, like I was a vampire.”
“They sent me out the back door. I had to listen to the game on the radio. That night, the player I worked with hit two home runs and another ball hit the top of the wall,” said Beder.
“They hired me the next day, it was so dramatic,” he said.
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