MLB - where are the now???
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Recent article on Ben Grieve:
http://www.contracostatimes.com/mld/cctimes/sports/baseball/mlb/oakland_athletics/14102646.htm
Posted on Wed, Mar. 15, 2006
RICK HURD: INSIDE BASEBALL
No regrets
Here tells A cautionary tale. At a picnic table, several yards away from diamonds filled with dashed dreams and forgotten hopes, the words spill forth. They come in even, measured tones and the underlying message can't be mistaken.
Nothing, reads the moral of this story, is guaranteed.
"But you know what?" asks the man who authored this tale "There are worse things in life."
With that, Ben Grieve eases the tension. Indeed, there are much worse things than playing baseball for a living, no matter where it might be. Presently, for the 1998 American League Rookie of the Year, that place happens to be the minor-league fields at Tucson Electric Park.
In a month, it will be in the International League and it doesn't figure to change. The only contract Grieve deemed worthy to sign in the offseason was a minor-league offer from the Chicago White Sox, so a summer with the Triple-A Charlotte Knights likely awaits him.
"It's not as bad as it seems," Grieve says. "I could be doing a lot of other things, so I don't look at it as a negative."
He is pleasant. Polite. Striking in his manner, really, because you'd figure somewhere in this stream of words -- somewhere between the lines -- would be even the slightest hint of bitterness.
Remember, Ben Grieve was The Natural, a kid with a swing so sweet that 20 lines of .300, 25, 100 seemed destined to fill up the back of his baseball card. He hit .288 with 18 homers and 89 RBI in his rookie campaign and was to be a cornerstone of the A's for years to come.
Huston Street, Nick Swisher, Dan Johnson, are you listening?
Initially, the projections came to pass. Grieve had 28 homers and 86 RBI in 1999, 27 and 104 when the A's won the AL West a year later. In between came a four-year, $14 million contract, money well spent because naturals don't come along every day.
Now, six shorts years later, he's, well, what exactly?
A father, for one. Grieve son, Bode, turns 3 in May, and his daughter, Kaia, is 8 months. Bode is looking forward to seeing his dad play, and "he's not at an age where he cares if it's Triple-A," Grieve says. "It'll probably be better for him."
He's a role model, for another. Nobody has accused Grieve of bulking up on steroids, although at least one notable personality suggested he should have. Jose Canseco, that patron saint of deep thinking, wrote in his book, "Juiced," that Grieve today would be a star if only he had turned to the juice.
Regrets?
"Are you asking, Would I rather be like Barry Bonds?'" he asks. "No."
Grieve was never like Barry Bonds. Remember those throws from left field, the kind that remind you normally see at the local softball field? Or that speed, which inspired the joke that Grieve didn't so much slide into a base as sit down. Or all those cans of corn that turned into an adventure?
But at least he could hit.
Until one day he couldn't. The A's traded him to the Tampa Bay Devil Rays in January 2001, and he never hit better than .264 after that day. He hit 19 home runs one year, but never more than 11 in all the ones that followed. He eventually moved on to Milwaukee, then to the Chicago Cubs, and finally to here.
He calls it a four-year "slump" and blames it on overanalyzing. "In high school and Legion, you just swing your way out of it. Here, they have video rooms. ... I fiddled with my swing so much. ... When I was with Tampa Bay, I'd look at my swing in the mirror so often, my wife thought I was crazy. It's still there somewhere, but I haven't been able to find it."
It's probably not here, either. And Grieve no longer seems willing to lose sleep in his quest to find it. Outwardly, he never did, but he insists that's a misconception. He cares deeply about what's become of his career, he says, and no, he never pictured it turning out this way.
"But, I had three or four really good years," he says. "The A's gave me that nice contract. I've got plenty of money to live. What's there to complain about?"
Not much. There are far worse things in life.
http://www.contracostatimes.com/mld/cctimes/sports/baseball/mlb/oakland_athletics/14102646.htm
Posted on Wed, Mar. 15, 2006
RICK HURD: INSIDE BASEBALL
No regrets
Here tells A cautionary tale. At a picnic table, several yards away from diamonds filled with dashed dreams and forgotten hopes, the words spill forth. They come in even, measured tones and the underlying message can't be mistaken.
Nothing, reads the moral of this story, is guaranteed.
"But you know what?" asks the man who authored this tale "There are worse things in life."
With that, Ben Grieve eases the tension. Indeed, there are much worse things than playing baseball for a living, no matter where it might be. Presently, for the 1998 American League Rookie of the Year, that place happens to be the minor-league fields at Tucson Electric Park.
In a month, it will be in the International League and it doesn't figure to change. The only contract Grieve deemed worthy to sign in the offseason was a minor-league offer from the Chicago White Sox, so a summer with the Triple-A Charlotte Knights likely awaits him.
"It's not as bad as it seems," Grieve says. "I could be doing a lot of other things, so I don't look at it as a negative."
He is pleasant. Polite. Striking in his manner, really, because you'd figure somewhere in this stream of words -- somewhere between the lines -- would be even the slightest hint of bitterness.
Remember, Ben Grieve was The Natural, a kid with a swing so sweet that 20 lines of .300, 25, 100 seemed destined to fill up the back of his baseball card. He hit .288 with 18 homers and 89 RBI in his rookie campaign and was to be a cornerstone of the A's for years to come.
Huston Street, Nick Swisher, Dan Johnson, are you listening?
Initially, the projections came to pass. Grieve had 28 homers and 86 RBI in 1999, 27 and 104 when the A's won the AL West a year later. In between came a four-year, $14 million contract, money well spent because naturals don't come along every day.
Now, six shorts years later, he's, well, what exactly?
A father, for one. Grieve son, Bode, turns 3 in May, and his daughter, Kaia, is 8 months. Bode is looking forward to seeing his dad play, and "he's not at an age where he cares if it's Triple-A," Grieve says. "It'll probably be better for him."
He's a role model, for another. Nobody has accused Grieve of bulking up on steroids, although at least one notable personality suggested he should have. Jose Canseco, that patron saint of deep thinking, wrote in his book, "Juiced," that Grieve today would be a star if only he had turned to the juice.
Regrets?
"Are you asking, Would I rather be like Barry Bonds?'" he asks. "No."
Grieve was never like Barry Bonds. Remember those throws from left field, the kind that remind you normally see at the local softball field? Or that speed, which inspired the joke that Grieve didn't so much slide into a base as sit down. Or all those cans of corn that turned into an adventure?
But at least he could hit.
Until one day he couldn't. The A's traded him to the Tampa Bay Devil Rays in January 2001, and he never hit better than .264 after that day. He hit 19 home runs one year, but never more than 11 in all the ones that followed. He eventually moved on to Milwaukee, then to the Chicago Cubs, and finally to here.
He calls it a four-year "slump" and blames it on overanalyzing. "In high school and Legion, you just swing your way out of it. Here, they have video rooms. ... I fiddled with my swing so much. ... When I was with Tampa Bay, I'd look at my swing in the mirror so often, my wife thought I was crazy. It's still there somewhere, but I haven't been able to find it."
It's probably not here, either. And Grieve no longer seems willing to lose sleep in his quest to find it. Outwardly, he never did, but he insists that's a misconception. He cares deeply about what's become of his career, he says, and no, he never pictured it turning out this way.
"But, I had three or four really good years," he says. "The A's gave me that nice contract. I've got plenty of money to live. What's there to complain about?"
Not much. There are far worse things in life.
