Just Say No
You sure? Do you really want this?
Because I don’t. And when the pen is about to meet paper — when ink makes things irreversible — you’re not going want Josh Hamilton on the Red Sox. If you have the money to purchase a new, reliable vehicle with all of the bells and whistles, what’s the point of going out and buying a fancy used car? Sure, she’s good to look at, parked in the driveway — but once you put her on the road, she breaks down. Hamilton — simply put — is a poor investment.
But man, he is fun to watch.
Hamilton gave me goosebumps in 2008 when he slugged 28 majestic long balls in the first round of the Home Run Derby at Old Yankee Stadium. I’ve see him do his work in person. And I’m pretty sure the ball he hit at Fenway this past April jusssssst landed. He is great.
I really mean that. The man has that Ted Williams, Mickey Mantle, Sandy Koufax sort of greatness about him. It’s appointment viewing. It’s Pedro Martinez every fifth day. Your bathroom breaks revolve around when guys like Hamilton are due to hit. And yet, there is something about him that brings him closer to us as fans that most professional athletes do not have.
Hamilton is critically flawed. He is an addict. He has battled both drugs and alcohol. He’s open about it. The big left handed hitter looks like an NFL tight end. He is 6’4″ and weighs the best part of 250 pounds. Hamilton is larger than life.
But he is uniquely human.
Can you relate to Derek Jeter? I don’t know about you, but I have no idea what it’s like to win multiple World Series titles. I have no clue what it’s like to date stars like Mariah Carey or Minka Kelly. I wish I had an idea of what it is like to have a well-deserved squeaky-clean image.
But I don’t. And neither does Hamilton. I’m willing to bet you don’t either.
It’s not to say that guys like Jeter don’t have their issues–they do, trust me. They’re human too. But with Hamilton, it’s different. It just is. And that’s what makes him so incredibly likable. We root for him because we see ourselves in him. Sure, it may not be drugs or alcohol — but it’s something. Maybe it’s cigarettes or junk food. Maybe it’s gambling. I don’t know. But it’s something. We’re not all a gang of Jeter’s.
At the same time, Hamilton is best observed from afar, admired from a distance. He will be 32-years old in May. If his agent has any intelligence whatsoever, he will demand a five-year pact, at least. No if’s, and’s, or but’s about it. Security is vital for this man, for what he has been through, for what is likely to come.
Over the course of the next five seasons, on average, I want Hamilton to play 150 games, slug 35 home runs, get on-base at a .375 clip, drive in 120 runs, play stellar defense, but most of all, stay clean.
But I don’t trust him to do that. And the last thing the Red Sox need is an expensive, difficult to maintain vehicle with high mileage. No matter how pretty it looks.