“It’s not about the records,” they always say. “It’s about winning games,” or some other b.s. And no one really believes it.
Well, in Jose Hernandez’s case, it’s not at all about winning and very much about the records. Just one record, actually.
With only one more whiff, Hernandez will tie Bobby Bonds’ 1970 record of 189 strikeouts, that pinnacle of power, or imagined power, I suppose, that absolutely every free-swinger tries mightily to avoid.
What else, other than a self-fueled illusion of pop in his bat, could explain Hernandez’s ineptitude at the plate? Hernandez, a shortstop, swings at every pitch like he’s trying to keep his home-run total on par with the A-Rods and Tejadas of the game. But this is a guy who has never topped 25 homers in a season and has only hit 20 four times in a 13-year career. Forget 50; popping even 35 dingers isn’t a realizable goal for Hernandez.
Maybe Hernandez got that after the 1997 season, when he struck out 42 times in 121 games but hit only seven homers. “Focus on the strikeouts,” he must have told himself, “and the homers will come.”
And the two were indeed a package deal for Hernandez. After averaging 5.5 homers and 45 strikeouts his first six seasons, Hernandez decided to up the ante, along with his recklessness, prior to the 1998 season. 140 Ks in 149 games in ’98 started Hernandez on his dubious career path; 145 whiffs in 147 games in ’99 proved he was serious about this course of action.
Following his plan, Hernandez’s home-run totals went up as well–23 in ’98, 19 in ’99. Not exactly MVP quality, but a big jump in production for a muscled, but not hulking, six-footer. From ’98 to 2001, Hernandez averaged 148.74 strikeouts per season, and along with them came 19.5 homers a year. It was all going according to plan.
But last season, things started to get a little out of hand. Hernandez’s 185 whiffs in 152 games last year should have given him a scare, should have given him the hint that the swinging for the fences wasn’t exactly his forte.
But what was, exactly? With a .254 career average, it wasn’t contact hitting. As a fielder, he was always sound but never spectacular. Run production? He’s yet to top 80 RBI in a season.
Apparently, this guy was made just to strike out.
And strike out he would, if it wasn’t for Brewers manager Jerry Royster, that cruel tyrant who proved that he wants his players to focus strictly on losing, and not on setting laughable records, when he sat Hernandez four straight games against the Giants last week.
Hernandez had finally given sorrowful Brewers fans something to cheer for in the team’s worst season ever, as the severely dwindling numbers of Brew Crew faithful found unmatched joy in Hernandez’s soon-to-be unmatched futility. Every strikeout brought the approximately 12 fans in Miller Park to their feet, eliciting a chorus of cheers not heard since the days when Robin Yount and Paul Molitor were racking up strikeouts–I mean, home runs and RBI.
Of course, it couldn’t be all chocolates and roses for Hernandez. Failures, like driving in a run on a sac fly or walking against Houston, were punished accordingly–with oceans of boos to remind Hernandez of his true goals, which have absolutely nothing to do with reaching base or scoring runs.
Brewers fans have suffered for about, well, forever, I guess, and finally they had somebody to suffer with.
If only they had the same promotion at Miller Park that draws hordes of fans to Madison Mallards games–whenever a hitter selected before the game strikes out, beer is half price for the rest of that inning.
Hernandez could become the first of a new breed of designated hitter, devoted completely to cheapening inebriating substances for a strikeout-crazy fan base. He wouldn’t be striking out with the fans as long as he kept whiffing at the plate, and Miller Brewing would appreciate its beer monopoly in Miller Park even more than it does now.
But this is all up to Hernandez, of course. He can take a look back at a season in which he struck out once every 2.73 at-bats and say, “hey, really put up some big numbers this season,” and rest on his laurels. Or, if Hernandez is truly dedicated to his craft, he’ll realize that there’s plenty more work to be done.
If there’s one person Hernandez should look to for guidance, it’s the man whose father’s record he is striving to surpass. Barry Bonds didn’t just hang up his cleats and stop hitting homers once Mark McGwire hit 70–he just went out and hit more.
There’s no reason why Hernandez can’t take a shot at his own mark next season, or even after. Hell, he’s only 33, and with his K numbers rising yearly, he’s clearly not past his prime.
