SAD NEWS: At 78 Years Old, Red Sox Legend Bill “Spaceman” Lee Quietly Prepared His Will After Multiple Heart Surgeries and Health Scares, Leaving Fans Emotional as the Wildest Man in Baseball Enters the Toughest Inning of His Life
BOSTON — Bill “Spaceman” Lee has always lived on his own terms.
The 78-year-old former Red Sox pitcher, known as much for his looping eephus pitch as for his wild, irreverent philosophy on life, has faced many batters, managers, and moments under Fenway’s lights. But in recent months, he has faced something far bigger than any hitter standing in the box: his own fragile mortality.
Multiple emergency hospitalizations, major heart surgery, and the silent, solitary hours recovering in a hospital bed have forced Lee to confront something he once laughed off during postgame beers—preparing a will. Sources close to Lee say he quietly signed the papers late last year, with a single sentence scribbled in the margins: “If you slip, get back up.”
It’s the same motto he has lived by since the days he donned the Boston uniform, challenging umpires, pranking teammates, and speaking out on every cause he believed in, regardless of consequence. But for many fans who have seen Lee collapse on the mound with the Savannah Bananas or receive emergency care after cardiac episodes, the realization that even “Spaceman” has limits is hitting hard.
“He told me, ‘It’s just in case,’” a close friend shared. “Bill doesn’t plan on going anywhere soon.”
Lee’s history of health scares stretches back decades, but it was the recent series of incidents—including collapsing during warm-ups and undergoing heart stent procedures—that brought the situation into sharp focus. Doctors advised him to slow down, to stay off the mound. Lee refused. Within weeks, he was back pitching with the Bananas, firing his signature eephus to roaring crowds, many unaware that the man on the mound had stared down the brink.
“He loves the game too much,” a former Red Sox teammate said. “Baseball is his heartbeat.”
Fans have responded with an outpouring of support, filling forums and Facebook groups with memories of Lee’s antics and stories of brief encounters that became lifelong treasures. One fan recalled Lee signing a glove with the words “Keep it weird,” another shared how Lee gave his cap to a young boy who had just lost his father, telling him, “Baseball makes you brave.”
But underneath the stories is a quiet, collective fear: what happens when Spaceman can’t get back up?
Lee has often said he doesn’t fear the end, only boredom. He once joked that if he were to go, it would be on the mound, mid-pitch, with a grin on his face as the batter swung and missed. It was a joke, but also a promise to himself to live fully, to never let the clock dictate when it was time to stop.
The will he prepared is, by all accounts, simple. A few personal notes to friends, instructions for donations to children’s baseball programs, and a wish that his vintage gloves and memorabilia be auctioned, with proceeds going to community fields in Boston and underfunded programs in Cuba—Lee’s way of keeping kids in the game long after he’s gone.
“He told me, ‘If they can throw a ball, they can dream,’” said a Red Sox Foundation volunteer who once worked with Lee during a charity event.
Lee’s story is not just about baseball or even survival; it’s about resilience, laughter in the face of fear, and the insistence on living your story on your own terms. Even as he steps into what may be the toughest inning of his life, Lee is still pitching, still smiling, still telling the world to “keep it weird.”
On a cool summer evening in Savannah, Lee took the mound once again. His first pitch was a slow, floating eephus, a pitch so unorthodox that it always brings a smile to those watching. As the pitch dropped into the glove, Lee tipped his cap to the crowd, the lights of the stadium catching the grin on his weathered face.
For that moment, there was no fear, no paperwork, no talk of wills or hospital rooms. There was only the game, the laughter of fans, and the echo of a life that has never stopped embracing the strange beauty of every day.
Fans across Boston and beyond are watching, holding their breath, and quietly hoping that Bill “Spaceman” Lee’s toughest inning is also one he will pitch his way out of—one slow eephus at a time.
Because if Bill Lee has taught us anything, it’s that even when you slip, you get back up.
And sometimes, that’s all you need to remember.