Almost nothing that Manny Ramirez did over his 18-year major league career was done with elegance. Whether he was misplaying fly balls off of Fenway Park's Green Monster, getting in the way of cutoff throws in left field, or taking extended bathroom breaks during pitching changes, Manny simply lived in his own world.
His dreads were long, and the list of reasons to hate him were even longer, especially after his second positive test for performance enhancing drugs pushed him into early retirement last Friday. Instead of facing a 100-game suspension, Manny will ride off into the sunset, leaving behind him a cloud of confusion and a country of divided loyalties.
Whether you're a fan of Manny or not, it's difficult to argue that the slugger isn't leaving a legacy of greatness as he leaves the game. There are two Manny trademarks that I'll always remember.
One of course, is his swing. This was Ramirez's bread and butter – his art form, if you will, for the better part of two decades. Anyone who's seen Manny's swing has, in fact, seen perfection.
Despite his 555 career home runs, his swing wasn't an aggressive one.
His swing was pure poetry, starting with a slight wiggle of the bat, progressing to a short and compact stroke through the strike zone, and finally concluding with a long and sweet one-handed finish. He was so quiet and nonchalant at the plate that once he'd hit the ball out of the park, you'd sit there and think to yourself, "How did he just do that?"
Then he'd trot around the bases, at a pace just slow enough to admire his feat, but just fast enough as to not rub it in the opposing team's face.
Then you'd see it.
Coming from underneath his pine-tar-covered helmet, his unkempt and hairy face gave way to a set of tobacco-stained teeth and a smile that will forever hold a place in the history of America's pastime.
That smile was more than just a gimmick. It was a reminder to his teammates, his opponents, and fans all across the world about how great baseball is and can be. It's more than just a job or a hobby. It's a passion, a way of life, and for Manny Ramirez, it was fun.
I'll never forget the images of Manny Ramirez smiling and pointing at Pedro Martinez after a big hit during the legendary Red Sox World Series run in 2004, or his euphoric celebrations with David Ortiz after a clutch hit that brought 40,000 screaming fans to their feet.
People may resent him because he wasn't the typical baseball superstar. He wasn't clean cut, his uniform was baggy, and at times it appeared he didn't care. But that was just "Manny being Manny," and don't think for a second that winning wasn't constantly at the forefront of his mind.
As his former Red Sox teammate Nomar Garciaparra mentioned Friday on ESPN's Baseball Tonight, Manny was always the first one to the ballpark, and the last one to leave.
Hall of Fame or no Hall of Fame, performance enhancing drugs or not, Manny's time in a major league uniform was more than just about the numbers he put up.
Manny was a boy in a grown man's body, cherishing every moment of his job, a kid's game. He reminded us all how beautiful baseball is in its purest form, and for that, I'll never forget him.
Email: scottres@buffalo.edu
