Felix Fermin

Hittin' and grinnin'.

Why we like him: Felix Fermin was just one of those guys. A pesky middle infielder who always managed to find a way to make it difficult for a defense to get him out.  His career spanned 10 seasons with stops in Pittsburgh, Cleveland, Seattle, and Chicago (NL), where he batted a lame but respectable .259 with 4 home runs. In addtion to being a usable hitter, Fermin also played pretty good defense at shortstop as well as second base, which made him a valuable late inning substitute.

Perhaps the most impressive thing about his career, statistically anyway, was the fact that he struck out 147 times and walked 166 in 2,767 at-bats. First of all, any time a guy can strike out fewer times than he walks, I'm impressed.  Look at a decent player from today, the Mets' Angel Pagan.  He's already struck out 260 times in his career in 1400 at-bats.  Fermin made you work.  However, what I like about stats like his is that when Felix "El Gato" Fermin strolled to the plate to hit, he was going to hit.  It's like he knew that you only get so many ABs in life, so you might as well hack away and put it in play.

I probably remember Fermin best for his 1994 strike-shortened season with the Mariners.  He was the everyday shortstop for an up-and-coming Mariners team that was starting to get it together.  He batted career-best .317 that season with the best slugging percentage of his career (.380).  Fermin provided a spark near the bottom of the Seattle lineup all season long, and just as everyone thought he was turning the corner and becoming a valuable asset to the M's, the strike happened.

The following year was the beginning of the end for Felix.  He batted .195 with just six extra-base hits.  He was released in April of 1996, but was picked up a month later by the Chicago Cubs who hoped he could regain his 1994 form.  But 1996 was even worse, as he batted .125 through 11 games and was released by the organization in August, never to play again.  Fermin has since become somewhat of a legend as a manager in the Dominican Winter League, winning five championships for the not-so-easily-pronounced Águilas Cibaeñas in eight seasons.

Ladies and gentlemen, Felix Fermin, Ballplayer.

Throwback Thursday: Hector Lopez

In foul territory and in anonymity.

Why we like him: According to my dad, Hector Lopez is the Yankee that nobody remembers, and it's actually kind of a shame.  Statistically, this guy had, for lack of a better word, an interesting career.  He started out in the late 1950s in what was essentially the New York Yankees' feeder system at that time, the Kansas City Athletics. He actually put together four pretty decent seasons there, and even led the league in grounded into double plays and sacrifice flies in the same season (1958), which is truly amazing when you think about it.  He was apparently always willing to sacrifice himself as well as another baserunner for the good of the team.  Bizarre.

In 1959, Lopez was a throw-in piece in the deal that brought Ralph Terry to the Bronx from Kansas City in return for three has-beens/losers, a practice that was used and abused to perfection by the Yankees during that era.  At the end of the '59 season, the Yanks even snatched up Roger Maris, the eventual back-to-back MVP winner in '60 and '61, away from KC for Don Larsen ("But he threw a perfect game in the Series! Forget about the rest of his crappy career!") and the corpse of Hank Bauer.

The early part of his career was a nightmare for Lopez defensively.  In 1955 and 1956, he led the league in errors committed by a third baseman, and led the league in errors committed by a second baseman in 1958 in just 96 games.  Just looking at the stats sheet, it looks like Hector was a player being played woefully out of position in the infield when he clearly lacked confidence in himself to perform at those positions.  After arriving in the Bronx, Casey Stengel obviously recognized that Lopez possessed clearly usable skills at the plate, but needed a change of scenery at his position to alleviate the pressures of being an everyday infielder in place like New York.  Lopez sort of made the vast Yankee Stadium left field his own over the next few seasons, even splitting a little time with an aging Yogi Berra after his switch of positions.

Though not as well-known as some other Panamanian Yankees, Hector Lopez deserves just a little more love and recognition.  After all, he was the left fielder for some of the best and most memorable Yankee squads of the 1960s.  His final stat line: 12 seasons of near anonymity, .269 with 136 homers and 591 RBI, .286 postseason average, a heap of errors, and the label of "the Yankee that nobody remembers."  Well nobody except for my dad, and now me too, I guess.

Ladies and gentlemen, Hector Lopez, Ballplayer.

Mike Greenwell

This probably didn't end well.

Why we like him: When I think back to Red Sox players of my childhood, I first think of Wade Boggs, Professional Hitter, then I think of that turd in the punchbowl, Roger Clemens, and then I think about Mike Greenwell.  Greenwell was and still is a very underrated player from an era chock full of underrated players.  He was a sweet-swingin' lefty and a career .303 hitter during a time when .315-ish at least got you in the hunt for a batting title every year.  On top of everything else, his nickname was "Gator," and he just looked like a ballplayer.

Greenwell spent all 12 seasons of his major-league career with Boston, which speaks volumes about his loyalty to the city and the organization.  I don't even like the Sox, but I have to admire Greenwell for his character as well as his abilities.  Greenwell's 1987 and 1988 seasons were very productive for any era, but in the offensively devoid late 80s, his stats made him seem like a sure Hall-of-Famer and the second coming of Ted Williams.  He finished 4th in Rookie of the Year voting in 1987, and came in 2nd in MVP voting in 1988 behind only a 'roided up Jose Canseco.

Greenwell stayed in Boston until the end of the 1996 season when he was just 32.  He then decided to take his talents to South Beach...of Honshu.  He signed on with everyone's favorite Japanese squad, the Hanshin Tigers, for $2.5 million (that's 150 kajillion-zillion yen!) in the spring of '97, but lasted only a few days before returning home after fracturing his left foot on a foul ball. He retired that year to the surprise of fans, teammates, and coaches alike.

Looking back, I think the only thing that separates Greenwell from the greatness he only just started to achieve (and probably ultimately deserved) was the weight of the expectations. As a kid that was still new to the game, I don't think I really understood what that must have been like for him.  He trotted out to the same patch of grass in left field in Boston in front of the legendary Green Monster everyday where Teddy Ballgame, Yaz, and Jim Rice used to play.  The Boston fans just assumed that this little Greenwell guy was going to be the next in the lineage, and while he impressed, he was never the legend those other guys were.  But Greenwell was good.  Really good. At least for a little while.

Ladies and gentlemen, Mike Greenwell, Ballplayer.

Ricky Jordan

I assume he's holding a bat.

Why we like him:  This story is just further proof that all that glitters is definitely not gold.  In 1989, a pretty big portion of the Philadelphia Phillies' future rested in the hands of a young, talented first baseman named Paul Scott Jordan. I have no idea how you get "Ricky" out of that. He was coming off a 1988 season where he made his debut and batted .308 with 11 homers and 43 RBI in 69 games for the Phils while playing a pretty good first base.  His first full season in the bigs, 1989, saw Jordan bat .285 with 12 home runs and drive in 75 runs.  The Phillies seemed to have a very good, greatly talented young first baseman that could serve as an integral part of a budding baseball powerhouse in Philly.

Then 1990 happened.  The league had seeminly figured Ricky out.  His average dropped to .241 as he posted the lowest slugging percentage of his career at .352.  The Phillies began having their doubts whether or not Jordan could be their everyday first baseman, much less a cornerstone of their organization.  Left fielder John Kruk was getting heavier, to put it nicely, and could no longer track down fly balls anymore, so the Phillies decided to move him and his superior left-handed bat to first and give the leaner, more athletic Jordan a try in left field in 1992.  Though it wasn't a complete disaster like many other defensive moves, Ricky Jordan the outfielder didn't really impress either.

Jordan knew he had to find some type of role with the squad, and simply decided to become the best pinch hitter he could  be.  From 1992-1994, Jordan experienced some of his most productive years as a hitter, and did the most he could with what few at-bats he was given.  When the strike of 1994 happened, Ricky Jordan was one of the hottest assets in baseball, a 29-year old trustworthy pinch hitter who could give you innings at first or in left.  Believe it or not, a guy like on the bench that was extremely valuable in the time before steroids made every player in the league a threat to produce offense.

When baseball started again in 1995, Jordan was inexplicably nowhere to be found.  He was granted free agency by the Phillies in late 1994, and signed by the California Angels in the spring of '95, but never played a game for the Angels.  His contract was purchased by the Mariners during Spring Training in 1996, and he went on to play 15 games for the M's, batting a ho-hum .250 with 28 at-bats.  At the end of the '96 season, he was released by Seattle and never played again.  To paraphrase Def Leppard's Joe Elliot, it's better to burn out in 1989 than to fade away as just another bench warmer in the steroid era.

Ladies and gentlemen, Ricky Jordan, Ballplayer.

Otis Nixon

It's close to miiiiid-niiiiiiight...

Why we like him: Some players just look like they were meant to play this game (Dale Murphy, Don Mattingly, etc.).  Some players look like they were born to be computer programmers but were good at this game anyway (Tom Henke, Vance Law, etc.).  Otis Nixon looked like he was born to be the "after" picture on a just-say-no-to-crystal-meth poster.  Even when this guy was young, he looked like he had just pried open his own casket and crawled out onto the diamond to steal bases, catch fly balls, and eat brains.

Otis, whose middle name, not suffix, was Junior, didn't possess any particular baseball skill of note other than the fact that he could run as fast on the basepaths as he could run away from law enforcement.  Had he been a little bit better from the plate, Nixon probably could have at least made Tim Raines sweat for his fifth spot in the all-time steals list instead of settling for sixteenth behind Kenny friggin' Lofton, who nobody likes, not even Kenny himself.

Nixon played for what seemed like half the league (Yanks, Tribe, 'Spos, Braves, Red Sox, Rangers, Jays, Dodgers, Twins, and Braves again) over the course of his 17-year career.  The biggest issue for him during his career was his cocaine habit, which started in the 80s like every other cocaine habit in history, and he was even arrested in 1987 while playing for Cleveland.  Late in the 1991 season with the Braves, Otis failed a drug test for apparently snorting the third base line at Fulton County Stadium which earned him a 60-day suspension and caused him to miss the 1991 World Series.  This oft-forgotten detail may have even cost the Braves a title that year, seeing as Nixon had the best season of his career, batting .297 with a career-best 72 steals.

In the end, the Otis Nixon saga along with anything regarding Dwight Gooden is a prime example of how drugs can derail a semi-promising baseball career.  I hate to bring a player's personal life into relevance with the game, but with Nixon, it was always a black cloud that followed him wherever he went.  At least he wasn't on steroids.

Ladies and gentlemen, Otis Nixon, Ballplayer.

Tom Henke

This man needs to be in Cooperstown. No, seriously.

Why we like him: Though he looked like a über-nerd, Tom Henke was a beast out of the bullpen.  He recorded 311 career saves, and was just the seventh pitcher to reach the 300 save plateau.  Henke was always a difficult pitcher to hit, likely because batters were befuddled by his looks and blinded by the glare of those wire-rimmed Coke bottle bottoms on his face.  If that wasn't enough, Henke also featured several stalactites hanging from his upper gum line when he smiled that was sure to incite raucous laughter from the opposing dugout.

Seriously though, Henke was a prototypical closer.  He was 6'5" and pushed the scale to 215.  His squinty eyes behind those thick, dorky glasses made him that much more intimidating, making batters ponder whether he could see the inside of his own glove, much less the plate.  He pounded the strike zone with a heavy low-to-mid-90s fastball to set up hitters to swing and miss at his forkball, and he was as close to automatic as it got in the late 80s/early 90s.  His performance even earned him the nickname the "Terminator," which I feel is a bit on the lame side and could have been much cooler.

His job, as well as all other closers' jobs in the game back then, was grossly under-appreciated.  Henke was also well ahead of his time as a reliever in general.  He pitched in a time before Rivera, Gagne, Smoltz, Wagner, and Papelbon made the closer's role a well-known and understood necessity.  Tom Henke was shortening games by 1+ innngs long before those guys, and doing it just as well.  When Henke came into the game, opposing hitters, teammates, fans, GMs, coaches, and Henke himself knew the game was as good as over.

The Henkenator pitched for 14 seasons in the majors.  He started out in Texas 1982 and never really impressed.  He moved to Toronto in 1985 as a free agent compensation pick and had most of his best seasons north of the border before heading back to the Rangers in 1993 as a free agent.  In 1995 at the age of 37, however, free agency saw Henke land in St. Louis.  All he did was save 36 games (2nd in the NL), post a 1.82 ERA, earn his second All Star spot, finish 22nd in MVP voting, and walk away from the game he loved. Yes, you read that right.  He hung up his spikes after what was arguably the best season of his career. In all honestly, Cooperstown is missing a sweet bespectacled bronze bust of a great pitcher.

Ladies and gentlemen, Tom Henke, Ballplayer.

Alvaro Espinoza

Nerd Glasses + Eye Black + Mullet + Mustache (That Stance) = .254

Why we like him: This guy was actually the Yankees' shortstop of choice before that Jeter guy got there.  He was a decent enough player, but everyone from George Steinbrenner all the way down to the guy who spanks the bat boy knew he wasn't going to be something to build around from the day he arrived.  Though he wasn't much to worry about offensively, if nothing else, his goofy looks at least made us all question the effectiveness of eye black behind spectacles.  Did the lenses magnify the sunlight onto the eye black where it was absorbed, or did his face get really hot?  We'll never know.

Espinoza managed to play 12 nerd-a-rific seasons in the league, beginning in 1984 with the Twins, moving to the Bronx in '88 after a year in another dimension apparently, signing on with the Indians in '94, and then bouncing around from Queens to Seattle to his couch at home during the span of his last 3 years.  He never did anything particularly well at any of his stops, but he was always a guy you could count on to give you a good effort at shortstop, lay down a bunt, or at least keep guys like me smiling because of his looks and how fun it was to say his name.

Espinoza was also one of six players in the history of the game to hit a fair ball that got stuck in a stadium obstruction.  The other five were Ruppert Jones, Ricky Lee Nelson, Dave "King Kong" Kingman, Jose Canseco, and Kevin Millar. Honestly, if you have anything in common with Jose Canseco that doesn't involve a dirty needle and a night in jail, you're probably a fun player to remember. Espinoza was a career .254 hitter with little to no power (career slugging percentage of .331...wow) who stayed consistent until his final season with the Mariners where he didn't just flirt with the Mendoza Line, he redrew it (at .181) and called it the Espinoza Line.

Espinoza was a great player.  Not because he was good at anything or made memorable plays, but because he was just a guy who was always fun to watch because he looked like a guy who would get wedgies in the clubhouse before becoming a serial killer.  He never did anything that amazed me, but I'll always remember that name and that mustache.  And the specs.  And the inexplicable eye black behind them.

Ladies and gentlemen, Alvaro Espinoza, Ballplayer.