“I hit twenty-four home runs, but I struck out a lot. It also seemed like I would suddenly be on the bench when I got close to numbers where incentive bonuses kicked in. My family enjoyed it there. I just didn’t enjoy the baseball very much. By the end of the season I knew I wanted to come home—regardless of the money.”
He re-signed with the Rays for 2010, knowing he would be sent to Durham at the start of the season. Aided, no doubt, by a smaller strike zone, he was having a monster season when he was called up to the Rays in August. In ninety-eight games in Durham he hit thirty home runs, drove in ninety-five runs, and was hitting .303 when the call back to the majors finally came. Although he didn’t hit for average down the stretch, he continued to hit for power, hitting seven home runs and driving in twenty-three runs in the last six weeks.
His return to good health, and his combined thirty-seven home runs and 118 RBIs in the majors and minors earned him a one-year $1 million contract with the Rays for 2011. The Rays had lost Carlos Peña, their starting first baseman, to the Cubs in free agency, and it looked as if there would be plenty of playing time for Johnson.
“It was all set up for me—finally,” said Johnson, who was thirty-one on opening day of the 2011 season. “I was healthy, I had a good contract with the potential to get a better one, and I was finally solidified in the lineup.”
The season started well. On April 8, Johnson hit a three-run, eighth-inning home run with the Rays trailing the White Sox 7–6 that proved to be the game winner. That was a continuation of his knack for getting big hits in big spots. In 2008, shortly after being called up to the Rays, he had hit a walk-off home run in a pivotal September game against the Red Sox. He had done the same thing against the same team late in 2010 after that season’s call-up from Durham.
But the good start—and the good health—didn’t last. Six days after the home run against the White Sox, he was hit in the hand by a ninety-six-mile-an-hour fastball thrown by Twins closer Matt Capps. “He nailed me with it,” Johnson said. “It really squared me up. But I figured it would just be sore for a couple of days and that would be it. Nothing was broken.”
The injury appeared to be just what Johnson had thought—a painful bruise and nothing more. Johnson kept playing. But he had no power, and as his batting average slipped, he got anxious at the plate. His ability to draw walks and not swing at bad pitches had always been a strength. Now he wasn’t walking very often (he went from walking once every thirteen at-bats to once every twenty-one at-bats), and his batting average dropped like a stone.
“I wanted to play through it,” Johnson said. “The doctor told me I’d gotten hit on a nerve and it was kind of a use-it-or-lose-it deal. I could play or I could have major surgery and hope it got fixed. I wanted to play. But I literally couldn’t control my hand when it was on the bat. It just wasn’t strong enough.”
He was sent down to Durham in May, and things didn’t improve. “It got to the point where I couldn’t carry groceries in from the car,” he said. “So I went for another MRI.”
This time he was told that the hand would heal on its own but it could be a couple of months or it could be a couple of years. “That was scary,” he said. “I was in the twilight zone.”
As the summer wore on, the hand began to feel better. He managed to hit thirteen home runs in Durham and was a September call-up to Tampa. By then, Casey Kotchman had established himself as the starting first baseman, and Johnson was used sparingly as a pinch hitter. That was his role on the last night of the season with the Rays tied with the Red Sox for the wild card spot.
Sam Fuld had pinch-hit for catcher Kelly Shoppach in the bottom of the eighth and drawn a two-out, bases-loaded walk to cut the Yankees’ lead to 7–1. “At the time I didn’t think much of it,” Fuld said. “I mean, we were still so far behind, but at least we had a chance right there to cut into the margin.”
By the end of the inning, Longoria had hit his three-run home run, and the margin was down to 7–6. As the Rays came to bat in the bottom of the ninth, manager Joe Maddon told Johnson he would bat fifth in the inning if the Rays could get that far.
“I went up to the [indoor batting] cage to get some swings and get loose,” he said. “I wasn’t there for very long when one of the security guys came in and said, ‘Hey, Dan, you’re up.’ ”
Yankees reliever Cory Wade had needed only eight pitches to retire Ben Zobrist on a fly ball and Kotchman on a weak grounder to third. Down to his last out, Maddon decided to push all his chips in and bring up a power hitter, Johnson, to hit for a line-drive hitter, Fuld.
Johnson sprinted down the runway, grabbed a bat, and walked into the cauldron of noise that Tropicana Field was at that moment. Because the Trop is, without question, major-league baseball’s worst venue, the Rays almost never sell out—even in a pennant race—and this game was no exception. A crowd of 29,518 was in the ballpark, but they were all now on their feet believing that if Johnson, who was hitting .108 for the season in the major leagues, didn’t get on base, the Rays’ season would be over since the Red Sox were still winning in Baltimore at that moment.
Johnson had not hit a major-league home run since the three-run shot against the White Sox on April 8. He was comforted somewhat by the sight of Wade on the mound. “I’d played with him in the minors during the season,” he said. “I knew he liked to throw his changeup as an out pitch, and I figured at some point I would see one.”
Wade had been in Durham until the Rays had released him in June and he had signed with the Yankees, who had sent him to Scranton/Wilkes-Barre until calling him up in September.
The count went to 2-2. The noise was overwhelming. Johnson almost didn’t hear it.
“I’m not sure why, but when I get in situations like that, a kind of calm comes over me,” he said. “That’s the way I had felt in those other situations when I’d hit walk-off homers—very calm.”
On the next pitch, Johnson was convinced that Wade would try to get him out with a changeup. He guessed right. Wade threw a changeup high in the zone but on the outside of the plate, or maybe a little bit outside. Johnson swung at it anyway.
“I figured I would hit it hard and, in all likelihood, it would go foul. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred if you swing at a changeup away you’re going to pull it foul.”
This was the hundredth time. The ball was hooking as it headed in the direction of the right-field stands, and Johnson, watching it, was convinced it would go foul. It didn’t—crashing into the foul pole as everyone in the ballpark stared at it in disbelief. Stunned, Johnson rounded the bases and was pummeled by his teammates when he reached home plate.
“I had my jersey torn off; I was pounded, hit, punched; I think I was black-and-blue by the time I got to the dugout,” he said. “It was the best feeling I’ve ever had.”
Three innings later, Longoria’s home run ended the game. Although most of the postgame and postseason attention was focused on Longoria, Johnson became something of a cult figure and won a number of awards for the most dramatic moment of the 2011 season.
That didn’t mean he had a place to play in 2012. Baseball is not a sentimental sport—especially when it comes to front-office decisions. Kotchman, who had hit .306 after taking the first-base job when Johnson was sent down, signed with the Indians—getting the kind of contract ($3 million) that Johnson had hoped he would get for 2012. The Rays, still uncertain about Johnson’s hand, decided to bring back Carlos Peña, who had hit twenty-eight home runs in Chicago. That left the hero of September 28 looking for a job before Christmas.
He finally signed a split contract with the White Sox, who were looking for some insurance at first base and at DH after Adam Dunn had been through one of the most miserable seasons any legitimate player had ever had in baseball history. After averaging forty home runs for the previous eight seasons, Dunn had signed with the White Sox prior to 2011 for four years and $56 million. He had hit .159 for the year and—uninjured—had hit only eleven home runs. Not knowing w
hat to expect from Dunn, the White Sox signed Johnson.
“I had a good spring,” Johnson said. “My hand was finally okay, and I had my power back. I really thought I was going to be on the club as a first baseman and a DH.”
He thought that until he got the call into first-year manager Robin Ventura’s office. Ventura told him he was being sent to Charlotte. He was stunned.
“I vented; I let him know how I felt,” Johnson said. “I told him I thought the question was whether I was healthy or not and I thought I’d shown them that I was healthy. He nodded and explained to me what they were thinking and gave me the line you always hear: ‘If anything happens …’ ” He paused. “Robin’s a good guy. I probably let it out the way I did in part because I was frustrated, but also because I wanted him to know I still had the drive.”
Going to the minor-league camp was difficult. It wasn’t just the crowded room or the stares he got from young players who had seen replays of his home run dozens of times. It was finding himself, at the age of thirty-two, being told he had to wear sunglasses in the outfield during batting practice; he had to be clean shaven at all times; his uniform had to be neat and tucked in at all times. Many teams—not all—insist on their minor leaguers being clean shaven and neatly dressed.
“I understand that, especially in camp, you aren’t trying to win games, you’re trying to teach young players how to win,” Johnson said. “I’m not a young player who is learning anymore. It was difficult because of that … and because I didn’t think I belonged there.”
He had put aside his frustration and had played well throughout the spring and summer in Charlotte. He was used to playing on winning teams—at both the major-league and the minor-league levels—and he brought that approach to the Knights’ clubhouse.
“The only thing that’s tough is giving him a day off,” Skinner said. “He doesn’t want one. To him, every day is a chance to win a game and show people what he can do.”
That was why Johnson kept after Skinner on that August day in Norfolk when he decided to rest him.
“If I was really upset about it, I’d go in and close the door,” Johnson said. “Would I rather play? Of course I would. The only thing worse than playing in Triple-A is not playing in Triple-A. The only way for me to get another chance is to show people I can still play the game, still hit the ball.” He stood up, picked up the bat that he’d been holding, and took a stance. “I can’t show them I can still play sitting in the dugout.”
On September 1, Johnson was called up to the White Sox. The next night, playing in place of Dunn, he came to the plate against Detroit’s Max Scherzer for his first major-league at-bat since The Home Run almost a year earlier. He popped out to short left field but singled later in the game. He played sparingly throughout the month as the White Sox failed to hold on to their division lead against the onrushing Tigers.
On the last day of the season, with the pennant race over, Ventura gave Johnson another start. He hit three home runs, drove in five runs, and finished his major-league season hitting .364 in just twenty-two at-bats.
On November 30, the White Sox, feeling safe after a solid comeback season by Dunn, released him.
It was time—again—to try to find a job. There are no guarantees in baseball—even for heroes.
25
Podsednik
HOT STREAK
Scott Podsednik could certainly attest to the lack of guarantees in baseball. After all, he had been a World Series hero in Chicago in 2005 … and was released two years later. He had played superbly in Phillies camp in spring training in 2012 … and had been sent to Lehigh Valley. He had played poorly there and been traded to Pawtucket, and on May 23—six weeks after thinking his baseball career might be over—he walked into the visiting clubhouse in Baltimore, checked manager Bobby Valentine’s lineup card, and saw his name penciled into the eighth spot in the batting order, starting and playing right field.
“I’ve heard guys who have been in the majors for a while and then gone down say that getting back is as gratifying as the first time you’ve been there, and I know now that’s true,” he said. “The thing is, when it happened, even though I hadn’t played well at Lehigh Valley, I felt I deserved it and that I was good enough to still contribute.
“I wasn’t nervous, because I felt like I belonged up there. I was excited but not nervous.”
When he had gotten the call from Pawtucket to join the team in Baltimore, Podsednik had been out of the big leagues for a year and a half—since September 2010—when he had hurt his foot playing for the Dodgers. After he had spent all of 2011 either in the minors or hurt, and started 2012 at home thinking about retiring, to be back in the majors at the age of thirty-six was no small thing.
“You do appreciate things as you get older,” he said. “It took me a while to get to the majors the first time around, and longer to become an everyday player. I’ve had a lot of injuries I’ve had to fight through. I just didn’t want to walk away bitter. If I had quit without going to Lehigh Valley, or if I’d quit while I was there and not playing well, I would have gone out as one of those bitter guys in Triple-A who told people he could still play but couldn’t prove it. Now at least I get a chance to find out if I’m right—that I can still play major-league ball.”
Podsednik was in the majors because the Red Sox’ starting outfield had been hammered by injuries: Jacoby Ellsbury and Carl Crawford were on the sixty-day disabled list, and Cody Ross had just broken a foot, leading to Podsednik’s call-up. Podsednik knew that all of them were going to have places in the lineup waiting for them when healthy. That wasn’t his concern. Proving to the Red Sox—or someone else watching—that he belonged in the majors was his concern.
Which is exactly what he did. On his first day back in a major-league lineup, Podsednik homered in a 6–5 Red Sox victory. A day later he was leading off. The next four weeks brought back memories of his best days in Chicago. Seeing that he could still steal a base, Valentine often moved him to the leadoff spot, slotting him in the lineup in the outfield wherever he fit best on a given day.
After nineteen games in Boston, Podsednik was hitting an eye-popping .387 and had stolen six bases—putting him on pace to steal about fifty if he were to play an entire season. On the Red Sox, fifty stolen bases is often considered a good decade.
But the injury bug bit yet again.
On June 17—Father’s Day—the Red Sox played a Sunday night game in Chicago against the Cubs. Podsednik led off the game with a single to center field and scored a moment later on a Dustin Pedroia double. But in the third inning, running out a ground ball to shortstop, he felt something pull in his groin on the left side. He said nothing about it because the last thing he wanted was to come out of a game. He hoped it was just a tweak and it would loosen up as the evening wore on.
It didn’t. In the fifth, Podsednik came up with one out and a runner on first base and hit a hard ground ball to second base. Trying to bust out of the batter’s box to avoid a double play, he realized he couldn’t push off on the leg at all. He could barely jog to first base, allowing the Cubs to complete an easy double play. Seeing that he was hurt, Valentine sent Daniel Nava to play center field in his place in the bottom of the inning.
The next day the Boston media reported the groin pull as “mild” and quoted Podsednik as saying, “I just tweaked it. Nothing serious. I’ll be fine.”
There is no such thing as a mild groin strain—especially for a player whose game is dependent on his legs. Two days later, Podsednik went on the disabled list just as Cody Ross was coming off it. Ellsbury and Crawford weren’t too far away from playing, so Podsednik knew his future in Boston was suddenly in doubt—regardless of his batting average or his play.
“It was discouraging,” Podsednik said. “In a lot of ways it’s been the story of my career. If you check, you’ll see that whenever I’m healthy, I produce. The only thing that’s really stopped me is getting hurt.” He smiled. “Unfortunately, that’s happened a
lot. In this case, the timing couldn’t have been much worse.”
Podsednik was ready to come off the DL on July 6, nineteen days after his injury. By then, Ross was back in the lineup and Nava was playing well. Ellsbury was rehabbing and would be back in Boston within a week; Crawford wasn’t far behind. And so Podsednik was reactivated and sent immediately back to Pawtucket. This time, though, he wasn’t as discouraged as he had been at the end of spring training.
“They knew what I could do,” he said. “Scouts had seen what I could do. The trading deadline was only a few weeks away. I took the approach that there was a good chance something would happen, either in Boston or with someone else, by the end of July. I wasn’t happy to go back, but I told myself it wasn’t going to be long. I just had to show people I was healthy—again.”
Podsednik played solidly in Pawtucket, hitting .281 and stealing four more bases in twenty-five games. His theory turned out to be right: something did happen by the end of July. On the thirty-first, just prior to the trading deadline, the Red Sox traded him along with pitcher Matt Albers to Arizona for Craig Breslow, a relief pitcher they thought could help their bullpen.
Podsednik was ready to get on a plane and head to Phoenix when he got a call from his agent, Ryan Gleichowski. “They want you to report to Reno,” he said. “They want you in Triple-A.”
This was one of those baseball trades that made little sense. Basically, the two teams had swapped relievers. Podsednik had been thrown into the deal for no apparent reason except perhaps that the Red Sox figured with their outfield now healthy he was no longer needed.
When Gleichowski told Podsednik the Diamondbacks wanted him in Reno, his reaction was quick and it was firm: “No. I’m not going out there to play in Triple-A.”
Since he had been in the majors during the season and the contract he had signed with the Phillies allowed him to opt out if he was in the minors anytime after June 1, he wasn’t violating his contract by refusing to report.
Where Nobody Knows Your Name: Life In the Minor Leagues of Baseball Page 25