Tuesday, March 15, 2005

Unsung Hero

Alright, I’m officially drinking the Kool-Aid. I’m jumping back on the bandwagon. I am on the Kevin Millar bus and I don’t plan on getting off this time. Playing in a city such as Boston, you’d think it pretty much impossible for anything a player does to be overlooked. But that seems to be the case with Millar sometimes, and he doesn’t mind. He’s not the $20 million man, or the ace of the staff, he’s not the crafty veteran who has been with the team longer than anyone else. He’s just one of the guys. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Nobody will question what catcher Jason Varitek brings to the team. There’s just something reassuring when you see number 33 crouched behind the plate. The way he handles a pitching staff, and more importantly how he plays the game are respected league-wide. But Millar brings a different form of intangibles to the defending World Series Champions.

When Millar played his first home series in Boston two seasons ago, he had the city eating out of the palm of his hand. He was happy go lucky, and hitting home runs. And Boston loved him. In Boston and New York, players are put under a microscope unlike anywhere else. After the All Star break during the 2003 season, Millar wasn’t hitting as well as he was in the first half of the season. And with the breakout of David Ortiz, Boston began to turn on him. Yet he still spoke to the media. And he fielded questions when other players didn’t want to.

When Millar arrived in Boston, Pedro wasn’t talking to the media, Manny wasn’t talking to the media, and Nomar would once a week if we were lucky. So Millar picked up the heat. He coined the now famous “Cowboy Up” phrase in Boston. And we rode it to within five outs of the World Series. But that wasn’t enough. It wasn't enough for Boston fans, and it certainly wasn't enough for Millar.

His start to the 2004 season was nothing short of forgettable. With a batting average of .218 in April, it didn’t seem like he’d ever get out of his slump. When Boston sports writer Bill Simmons wrote an article around the All Star break he marked it the “official one year anniversary of the death of Kevin Millar’s career.” And I agreed with him completely. I thought Millar had become dead weight.

What myself and even many of his teammates did not know, was that his wife suffered a miscarriage at the beginning of the 2004 season. Even Bill Mueller reported that he had no idea. I certainly didn’t, and I’m sure not many others did. But this made me realize what type of a person Millar is. He’ll step into the spotlight to deflect questions from players that don’t particularly love it. But he won’t step into the spotlight to make excuses for himself. Nor will he make excuses for anyone else. He plays the game with a passion, and in Boston, that means something.

During the recent media circus, also known as the Red Sox – Yankees preseason game, Millar said of Yankees slugger Jason Giambi, who is under a lot of scrutiny with all the steroid investigations, “He treats people and respects people more than any other superstar I’ve been around.” But it wasn’t to butter up to the media, that’s just Millar for you. And coming from the first baseman on the opposite side of one of the biggest rivalries in all of pro sports, I’m sure that meant something to Giambi.

Two years ago, Millar almost ended up playing his baseball in Japan. But during that same off season, Millar was told he might have a chance to play for the Boston Red Sox. It was an opportunity that he not only jumped at, he downright fought to make happen. Jumping through legal hoops to get out of his contract in Japan was no easy task, but in the end, it was all worth it.

This past off season brought new issues to face for Millar. With both he, and Doug Meintkeiwicz wanting to be everyday first basemen, it was clear that one was going to be traded. It was just a matter of who it was going to be. In a phone call during the off season, Millar’s agent asked him that if he were to be traded “are there any teams that you’d like to play for?” Millar and his wife thought quickly about the question. He is after all, a California boy, the prospect of playing back home for Anaheim, LA, San Francisco or San Diego popped into his head. But those thoughts soon faded as quickly as they appeared. He ended up telling his agent he couldn’t think of any other place he wanted to play. He said he wanted to end his career in Boston. Whether or not that happens remains to be seen, but one thing is for certain, Millar is the epitome of a team player.

In an article in The Boston Globe during the first week of Spring training, Millar recounted the events of this past off season. He realizes that he’s no Spring chicken, and that at some point Boston might want to get younger at a certain position (his). He went as far as to say that if it came down to it he’d play for the league minimum, or nothing, if that’s what it took to stay in Boston. Now, I’m a realist, and chances of that happening, are slim to none. But still, it was a nice gesture.

Looking at his career stats, its reasonable to expect about a .290 average, 20-25 home runs, and 80+ RBI’s from Millar this upcoming season. These aren’t bad stats by any stretch of the word. But in Boston, as most players will tell you, nothing is ever enough. The thing is, Millar brings so much more to the team than numbers. He brings a care free attitude to the clubhouse. Sure, Johnny Damon dubbed the Sox “the Idiots” during their historic World Series run. But it was Millar who started it all the season before. It was Millar who brought the Jack Daniels, and it was Millar (with the help of Big Papi) who helped superstar Manny Ramirez get back to enjoying baseball. You can’t help but to think, even with characters such as Damon and Papi in the clubhouse, that the Sox would be as fun loving as they are without Kevin Millar.

I’ll be the first to admit I’ve been up and down with Millar since his arrival in Boston. I love some of the things he does, like lighten the mood, and crush fastballs, and I hate some of the things he does, like having difficulty hitting breaking pitches. But for all his flaws as a player, he more than makes up for it as a person.

I liken Millar to the recent Simmons article about Antoine Walker. In the article Simmons (as usual) hit the nail on the head when he said, “So why are we excited to have him back? Because he gave a crap about being a Celtic, that's why.” And that’s just what Millar does. He gives a crap about being a Red Sox player. He’s not going to go down in Sox history like Teddy Ballgame, or Yaz, but looking back on it years from now, you can tell your kids and grandkids that that was a true Red Sox player.

He didn’t blast a Series winning home run. Or make a highlight reel catch. And it was Papi’s bat, not Millar’s who brought the Sox from lifeless, to the biggest comeback in sports history during the 2004 ALCS. But any Sox fan will tell you, and Millar will probably agree, that his most important at bat as a Red Sox player, didn’t even register as an at bat. It was only a plate appearance. It was a simple walk. A simple walk against the most dominant post season closer ever. A walk when everyone in the world, including the catcher and pitcher on the other team knew Millar’s only objective was to get on base. A walk when the cut fastball throwing righty knew that Millar preferred dead fastballs. And the rest is baseball history.

He’s just one of the guys. To him, his $3.3 million salary “is Manny money.” He says things that nobody else would. Like when asked last year in the midst of the A-rod to Boston dealings who would be his short stop for the upcoming 2004 season, he replied, “A-rod will probably be our shortstop and I guess we’ll have Magglio (Ordonez) in the outfield.” Boston ownership quickly told him to watch what he said.

And in Spring training this year, the talk about steroids is pretty much mum. Nobody wants to have much to do with it. But Millar joked in an interview with Dennis & Callahan on Sports Radio WEEI’s morning show that “if I’m takin’ steroids, I need to get my money back.” And when the topic of the Jack Daniels was brought up, he even went on to joke that he “played some of the ALCS drunk.” I’m sure more than one commuter spilt their coffee in their laps that morning. With his wife due to give birth to twins, he also said he was glad Mark Bellhorn lived right downstairs from him during the season (they both rent apartments right in the city during the season). Dennis & Callahan asked him why, and he replied “so I can get some rest during the season.” They weren't so sure his wife would appreciate that. To which Millar quickly replied, “well all I have to say is ‘Sorry but I have to face Randy Johnson tomorrow’ and she'll understand.” Maybe she will, maybe she won't, maybe Millar is joking, or maybe he isn't. But one thing is for certain, he's just “having fun and loving playing baseball.”

Cliché as it may sound, you can probably count on your own fingers the number of players in baseball who play the game with more concern for the name on the front of their jersey than the number on the back of it. Millar is one of those players. He knew that helping to erase 86 years of heartache and what ifs could immortalize him in Boston. But unlike some of his brethren from the 2004 team, he wasn’t here for immortality, he was here to play for Boston. He didn’t want to cash in somewhere else. Or up and leave for a hometown team. And he didn’t shoot his way out of town a la Pedro Martinez and continue to brush dirt over the stage that saw him become one of the most dominant pitchers of his era. Millar stayed put. He stayed put with the notion in his head that it could get even better. Better than this? Better than the first championship in 86 years? Millar thinks so. And I’m beginning to believe him.