I always liked the Impossible Dream image of 1967 better than the Curse image that has haunted later Red Sox seasons. Carl Yastrzemski, Jim Lonborg, and Tony Conigliaro were the heroic dragon-slayers of the Impossible Dream era.

The quest is over now, and we should remember Tony Conigliaro’s spectacular but abbreviated contributions to the cause. Conigliaro was hit in the eye by a pitch at Fenway Park in a game against the Angels on Aug. 18, 1967.

Of all the disappointing days in modern Red Sox history, none was as awful as that August day. It was two months before the World Series, but it was a crippling blow to both Tony and Boston. The players who took his place carried on bravely in right field, but they were not All-Star caliber cleanup batters like Conigliaro. Losing him in 1967 was comparable to going without David Ortiz for a season.

Conigliaro was the youngest man ever to hit 100 home runs in the majors. He was the youngest player to win the American League home run title when he hit 32 in 1965. Conigliaro joined Red Sox teammates Yastrzemski, Lonborg, and Rico Petrocelli on the All-Star team in July of 1967. When Tony was injured in August, he trailed only Harmon Killebrew of the Twins and Yaz in home runs for the season. He was heading for a career with over 500 homers, and an induction into the Hall of Fame.

Tony was also the hometown hero of the team. He grew up in Revere, Mass., just seven miles from Fenway Park.

Tony represented the future of the Red Sox. The baseball Hall of Fame torch had been passed in New York from Babe Ruth to Joe Dimaggio, and then to Mickey Mantle. In Boston, it was passed from Ted Williams to Yaz, and then to Tony, whose major league eyesight and All-Star career came to a tragic ending after just four seasons when he was only 22 years old.

Boys who idolized Tony could not help but wonder if the Red Sox might have gone all the way in 67 if he had been able to stay in the lineup. But we just wished the poor guy had never been injured. The fans I knew were tremendously proud of how the Red Sox came from ninth place in the American League in 1966 to the seventh game of the World Series in 1967. We were proud to be fans of a team that won the American League pennant.

But we also quietly imagined that the Red Sox teams of the next 15 years would have had some more luck with a Hall of Famer in the lineup to help Yaz, Rico, Reggie Smith, George Scott, and the others in their quest for a world championship. Tony rejoined the Red Sox in 1969, but the incredible vision required to play major league baseball was gone for good. Some of our dreams were gone, too.

Tony worked in broadcast booths with some success for the rest of his career, but his heart was broken. He died in 1990 at age 45.

America and even Boston had a sports culture and media in 1967 that had too much class and courtesy to magnify an athlete’s error the way poor Bill Buckner’s fielding error has been lamented for years. Fans and commentators in 1967 recognized that professional players, just like college and school players, were doing their best.

Those of us who followed the Red Sox in the 1960s prefer to emphasize the heroic accomplishments of the players who took us from the cellar in 1966 to an Impossible Dream seven-game World Series in 1967. History does not accept adversity as an excuse. Chivalry insists that we live with our results. But we sometimes wistfully allow ourselves to remember that one of our best hopes for clutch winning hits and home runs – the young guy from Revere – was taken from us before he had a chance to lead us into more exciting pennant races and World Series games.

Peter Slovenski is a track coach at Bowdoin College and author of “Old School America.”