No return like Nomar's

The 2000 World Series triggers all sorts of memories for New York baseball fans.

For Mets fans, it was a teasing taste of meaningful October baseball—a taste unfamiliar to those who cheer for the orange and blue. Though the Mets have had opportunities, the Amazins have been unable to make a return visit to the Fall Classic since losing to their inner-city rivals.

For Yankee fans, the Subway Series is the pinnacle and, though unbeknownst at the time, culmination of the Yankee Dynasty. Since then, success—and by success, I mean the Yankee definition of World Series championship or naught—has been absent from the Bronx.

For me, one memory of the 2000 World Series stands out—well, two, if you count the Roger Clemens-Mike Piazza fiasco. On October 22nd, I had friends over to watch Game 2 as part of some makeshift birthday party, i.e. an easy way to make a few extra bucks.

[Aside: The original birthday party was supposed to be to watch Stone Cold Steve Austin’s return against Rikishi at No Mercy on WWF PPV but because my friends are all Yankee and Mets fans, I was forced to call an audible]

Sure the Clemens-Piazza bat incident provided some laughs, but for me, the night reached its apex when I opened a birthday present from my parents.

That night, I got my first ever authentic jersey: A Boston Red Sox grey road uniform with “Garciaparra 5” stitched into the fabric. The jersey became one half of the only four outfits I wore over the next three years: Garciaparra jersey with black jeans, Garciaparra jersey with blue jeans, Garciaparra jersey with denim shorts, and Garciaparra jersey with khaki shorts.

So as my Yankee fan friends celebrated their team’s third consecutive World Series, I was celebrating the addition of a Nomar Garciaparra jersey to my wardrobe, while my team was not playing October baseball. The irony is certainly not lost on me.

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Garciaparra’s time spent with Boston was a juxtaposition of hope and disappointment, much like every Red Sox’ superstar before him.

Garciaparra burst upon the scene in 1997 as a breath of fresh air to an otherwise stagnant franchise. He was the once-in-a-lifetime homegrown potential superstar, the type that Red Sox fans had grown used to watching play elsewhere. His subsequent decline from baseball’s elite makes it easy to forget just how good he was during his prime.

Garciaparra transcended the sport and became an iconic, yet mythical figure in New England culture. He could do no wrong. He was a sure first-ballot Hall of Famer. He was the Red Sox’ answer to Derek Jeter. He was the best right-handed hitter since Joe DiMaggio. He was Ted Williams or Carl Yazstremski to this generation’s Red Sox fans. He was the only player who could make a run at batting .400. He was the best shortstop in baseball for a four-year period (1997-2000), his first four seasons in the league. He was “Nomahhh”.

But in reality what he was, was too much too soon.

For a fan base that seemed to grow exponentially desperate for a World Series by the second, an unwarranted burden was placed on #5’s shoulders. Eventually, the daily pressure to win a World Series and end “The Curse” became overwhelming for the laid back Californian.

At the 2004 trade deadline, after months of feuding with management and the media, a bitter Garciaparra was traded to the Chicago Cubs. The Red Sox went on to win the World Series. Most people believe that the Red Sox would have never won the World Series had Theo Epstein not dealt Garciaparra.

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Twelve years have passed since Nomar burst onto the scene as the 1997 American League Rookie of the Year.

Garciaparra is now a 36 year-old broken down part time infielder/DH with the Oakland Athletics on a one-year, $1 million contract. By comparison Alex Rodriguez and Derek Jeter his contemporaries in the American League’s shortstop triumvirate, are making $32 million and $20 million respectively. (Granted, neither A-Rod nor Jeter has Mia Hamm’s income to fall back on, but still.)

In Boston, the Red Sox have become baseball’s premier franchise on the field and in the front office. The Sox have won twenty-eight playoff games and two championships (MLB highs) since trading Nomar; twenty-three and two more than they won during his seven and a half years with the team.

Only Justin Timberlake and Britney Spears have had a more one-sided breakup.

If sports are a reflection of real life, Garciaparra’s career represents how quickly life passes you by. When Garciaparra first played for the Red Sox, I was not even a teenager yet. He was the last player I rooted for in that “little kid way”.

By the time he was traded, I was old enough to hold him responsible for the poor way in which he handled himself at the end of his Red Sox run. Today, I am grown enough to rationally reflect on Garciaparra’s tenure with the Sox. For me, Nomar came along at the perfect time.

But in reality, Nomar came along at precisely the wrong time.

If the Red Sox were bringing Garciaparra up through their system today, he’d have likely thrived in the new Happy-Go-Lucky Fenway Park. The negativity that consumed Nomar has vanished. Today, Jacoby Ellsbury and Dustin Pedroia can simply play baseball, while drunken college kids sing Sweet Caroline and do the wave in their pink and green Sox hats, oblivious to any on-field happenings.

The stability that Nomar brought to the franchise, along with the professionalism that he competed with, played an immense role in getting the Red Sox to this point.

So last night, as Nomar stood in the batter’s box milking every last second out of what is likely the last extended applause of his career, I legitimately felt bad for him. It was a sorry moment for a fallen-star, who in a perfect world would have been the most celebrated Boston World Series champion of all.

But as we know, the world is not perfect—it just keeps moving along. The sun rises and the sun sets. New players come and go, just as quickly as people in everyday life come and go.

And in a few weeks, Jed Lowrie will be back starting at shortstop, free of the Boston negativity, as part of a team looking for a third (post-Garciaparra) championship in six years, all while Nomar remains largely forgotten.

I’m sorry Nomar but I thank you Nomar.