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My favorite baseball player called it quits today. No fanfare, no press conference. Just a small press release from his home in the Dominican. He cited knee surgeries and a desire to be with his family as his reason to make a decision that seemed apparent the end of 2011 a reality.
The lack of fanfare shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone who followed his humble, yet Herculean career of Vladimir Guerrero. He never wore batting gloves, his helmet caked in a mucky layer of pine tar. And he never saw a pitch he couldn't put lumber on. What strike zone?
There are videos of Guerrero hitting a bouncing ball. He once hit an ankle-high splitter courtesy of the once-unhittable Curt Schilling about 2 miles in the air and over the fabled Green Monster at Fenway. He was undisciplined to a fault. He tore around the bases with reckless abandon, stealing bases in bunches during his years in Montreal. This was an almost juvenile quality to the way he approached the game. No calculated, sequenced approach at the plate.
Watching Vlad take rips is like watching an old wheat thresher lope with an crooked gate through a field, hurling smoke in circular plumes into a clear dawn sky. Sure, you could buy the new, refined tractor that makes less noise, moves in a more predictable manner and does the same work more efficiently. But there's a subtle charm watching such a crude approach in a sport where the picturesque swings of Griffey, Gwynn and Boggs beg for a well-lit corner in the Louvre.
And what about Vlad's arm? While he was never considered an elite defender, Vlad's arm has a place in lore next to the Loch Ness Monster and the Candyman. I remember watching a replay of his warmups against the Yankees during his 2004 MVP season in which he threw a ball nearly 400 feet on the fly. I also remember Guerrero cutting off a line shot into the gap against the Blue Jays and booming a 350-foot rope to home and throwing out Alberto Castillo. On the fly. By about 6 feet. Trying to run on his arm was like challenging a funny car to a drag race in your mom's Corolla.
Vlad's numbers speak for themselves. 449 career long balls, a .318/.379/.553 slash line and the 2004 American League MVP to his credit. Nearly 2600 career hits, 4 200-hit seasons, 9 All-Star appearances, the 2007 Home Run Derby title, 8 Silver Slugger awards, 126 career outfield assists and a seemingly endless vault of bloop singles, Thor-like home runs and would-be base runners hanging their heads in collective shame trying to grab an extra base on a single.
His Hall of Fame-worthy career also has a unique place in history, as he could potentially be the last Montreal Expo inducted into Cooperstown. I think it's a potential coin flip -- either an Angels A or the swirly M could be on his plaque. No matter how you slice his career, it's a culmination of electric numbers, fantastic plays and a 10-year stretch that stacks up against the all-time greats that roamed the outfield of yesteryear.
As a baseball fan, I always like to draw comparisons. Connecting generations, trying to find perspective. It's still a bit premature, but Dodger right fielder Yasiel Puig has some eerie similarities to Guerrero. He's had his fair share of walk-offs, lightning strikes from the warning track and boneheaded base running blunders. Disciplined isn't an accurate description of Guerrero, but he was never one to strike out in handfuls. Puig, on the other hand, is slated to average nearly one strikeout per game. There's still time, but I'd rather use today to celebrate a truly original baseball player.
