Thank You, Mr. Ortiz

Being a Minnesota Twins fan, there's always a sick feeling in my stomach every time I think of David Ortiz, the greatest Designated Hitter of all time, and a far better first baseman than our current offering.  This year, Ortiz, nicknamed Big Papi, finished out a 20 year career in major league baseball with another stellar statistical season for the playoff bound Boston Red Sox.  He has the purest swing I've ever seen, an incredible level of identification on pitches coming at him at over 90 miles an hour, and power rarely matched.  When he saw a pitch he could take, there was never a doubt.

Big Papi started his professional baseball journey as a Minnesota Twin.  I love Tom Kelly and Ron Gardenhire, two great Twins' coaches, but no matter what else they'll ever be known for, the stink of the mismanagement of Ortiz will haunt their legacy.  At least Kelly has two World Series victories to hang his hat on, but even that won't remove the startling lack of awareness when it came to developing a top 10 player of all time.  Kelly and Gardenhire were trying to make David Ortiz play baseball 'the Twins way.'  To their credit, rarely has the franchise ever had such undeveloped potential come through the door, so they didn't see what was right in front of their faces.  They clearly didn't see Ortiz as a pure swinger who should always be given the green light, in all circumstances.  Instead they tried to reign in his power.  'Don't swing for the fences and hit home runs; ease up on your swing and try for a single.'  Even writing that last sentence makes zero sense.

The Twins organization became belligerent when it came to Ortiz; either he was going to become a singles and doubles hitter, or they would release him,  They eventually did release him when they couldn't find a team who'd trade for him.  It was the end of the 2002 season.

He was signed by Boston in early 2003.  I imagine there was a moment when the Boston Red Sox coaches looked at Big Papi much like Wilford Brimley's Pop Fisher looked upon Robert Redford's Roy Hobbs in the film The Natural, in the scene where Hobbs takes batting practice for the first time.  "What exactly were the Minnesota Twins trying to make you do???" When the Red Sox realized what they had, they encouraged Ortiz to put all of his power into every swing, and gave him a chance.  By mid season, Jeremy Giambi, epitomizing the Bump Bailey character in the movie, was removed and Big Papi began a 14 year reign as one of the most ferocious hitters the game's ever seen.

The impact to the Boston Red Sox was immediate.  They made the American League Championship Series in 2003, and then won a total of three World Series Titles in the next 10 years.  Prior to their first win in 2004, they hadn't won one since 1918, and were considered a cursed franchise.  Ortiz changed everything.  Without a doubt in my mind, if the Twins hadn't mismanaged him, they would've won at least one, if not two World Series in that same stretch.  Instead, they became obsessed with trying convince everyone Joe Mauer is the greatest Twin ever, something which he's clearly not.

So why am I writing a thank you letter to David Ortiz?  Even though I'm a Twins fan first, I grew up in Rhode Island, so I love the Boston Red Sox (btw - Yankees suck!).  Seeing that cursed team finally win it all fulfilled wishes and dreams of my youth I'd long forgotten.  There's something seemingly right about Boston winning it all.  Although Boston had deep talent on their teams, I give Ortiz's ability and inspiration most of the credit.

The main reason I want to say thanks is because of what David Ortiz means to my son.  When I was a young boy, growing up in Wickford and East Greenwich, I wanted to be Carl Yastrzemski, Yaz to every kid growing up in my generation in New England.  I'd listen to Red Sox games on the radio, hanging on every pitch to him, every play in his direction.  I grabbed the newspaper every morning to look at the box score, absorbing his stats.  I had his baseball card placed in a hallowed position on my shelf, not in the box under my bed with the rest of them.  I entertained a potential life of crime when I seriously thought about stealing a supposed foul ball of Yaz's a friend of mine, Jamie Radamaker, had (although his older brother later said it was not really from Yaz, but rather some hitter on the opposing team).  I fell in love with baseball because of Yastrzemski.  I remember going to see his final game in Minnesota.  It was 1983, and he didn't play, but came up out of the dugout at the old Metrodome and waved his cap to the fans.  I so didn't want him to go.  I was silently tearing up on the car ride home.  Heck, my eyes are welling up a bit as I write this, remembering all that Carl has given me.

Big Papi has become Yaz for my son.  My boy's torn up about Ortiz's retirement, begging for the Red Sox to have gotten past Cleveland for a deeper run into the playoffs.  I was thinking about trying to get him tickets to Fenway for one of the final games, but the cost of the game tickets were 5 times more than the flight.  For his birthday, I went and bought my son an authentic David Ortiz autographed baseball, pricey because of the impending retirement, but it was his favorite birthday gift.  All his baseball trophies and medals have been moved off the top shelf of his dresser, and the Big Papi ball sits next the my boy's first ever home run ball.  He loves Ortiz, and everything he represents, as only a 15 year old boy can, with pure adoration.

Thank you, Mr. Ortiz.  Thanks for making my son a lifelong baseball fan.  Thanks for making us both love the Red Sox again.  Thank you for being an inspiration, and thank you for never giving up.