Bear
01-24-2009, 02:02 PM
Bruce Jenkins
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Expecting the worst, I sat down for an interview with Jeff Kent in the spring of 1997, his first season with the Giants. I was amazed at his candor, his utterly forthright nature. We'd never met before, but he told me about the harsh lessons delivered by his father, an Orange County cop, and how they shaped his life.
"My father watched everything I did, and whatever it was, I had to do it right," he said, gazing intensely into the distance. "He'd let me know if I did something half-ass, and then I'd feel that I let him down. I had two younger brothers, but as the oldest by six, seven years, I was more roughed up, if you will.
"So if I went 3-for-4, I'd criticize that fourth at-bat. If I hit .350, I could have hit .400. I could go out and pitch a one-hitter, and he'd say, 'You could have gotten that guy on a curveball.' That's the way it was with my father, and I'm still that way. I have a tremendous fear of failure. I'm afraid of letting even one guy down."
After about an hour's conversation that day, I felt I understood Kent, or at least his basic nature.
From that moment on, I knew him a little bit less each day.
The next time I saw Kent, he brushed past me without making eye contact, as if he'd never seen me in his life. He had no problem with the column I'd written in The Chronicle, or so I heard, but he was done with me until further notice. No hello, no small talk. I was just another face on the baseball landscape, like every teammate he ever had. I'd seen some grouchy guys in my time - Dave Kingman, John Denny, Mike LaCoss - but no one so completely removed from everyone in his profession as Kent.
He doesn't have one friend on the team. That's what I heard from sources along every stop in Kent's career, including the last one, Los Angeles. But there was an interesting comment from Bob Milano, his coach at Cal, where Kent helped lead the Bears to the 1988 College World Series. "If something goes wrong with this guy, it's not a team problem," he said. "It's just a problem for Jeff. He always found a way to beat you on the field."
I'd like to think that's how Kent will be remembered, along with his genuine display of emotion during Thursday's news conference. He was an exceptional player, solid in the clutch, a winner, the greatest slugging second baseman in history. He played the game with unrelenting desire, and he played hurt. Those attributes should earn him a place in the Hall of Fame (he'll have my vote).
Turns out the man has a heart, as well.
That was no phony at the podium, trying to win over critics who had ripped him for years. That was the real person inside Kent's uniform, a man only his family and friends (all of them outside the game) recognized. There were times in his career when Kent's brutal honesty served him well, especially after a tough loss, when he'd come out to give reporters his perspective while the rest of his teammates were nowhere to be found. But that hard-line persona never cracked. He had taken it upon himself never to show emotion, vulnerability or weakness.
We see those things now, as he walks away. I'm thinking there will be more tears from Kent in the coming days. And here's a nod of admiration to someone who truly gave his life to the game.
If I had a vote for the Hall he would get mine also. He gave his all for the game and that all should be good enough for him to get in.:beerbang:
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Expecting the worst, I sat down for an interview with Jeff Kent in the spring of 1997, his first season with the Giants. I was amazed at his candor, his utterly forthright nature. We'd never met before, but he told me about the harsh lessons delivered by his father, an Orange County cop, and how they shaped his life.
"My father watched everything I did, and whatever it was, I had to do it right," he said, gazing intensely into the distance. "He'd let me know if I did something half-ass, and then I'd feel that I let him down. I had two younger brothers, but as the oldest by six, seven years, I was more roughed up, if you will.
"So if I went 3-for-4, I'd criticize that fourth at-bat. If I hit .350, I could have hit .400. I could go out and pitch a one-hitter, and he'd say, 'You could have gotten that guy on a curveball.' That's the way it was with my father, and I'm still that way. I have a tremendous fear of failure. I'm afraid of letting even one guy down."
After about an hour's conversation that day, I felt I understood Kent, or at least his basic nature.
From that moment on, I knew him a little bit less each day.
The next time I saw Kent, he brushed past me without making eye contact, as if he'd never seen me in his life. He had no problem with the column I'd written in The Chronicle, or so I heard, but he was done with me until further notice. No hello, no small talk. I was just another face on the baseball landscape, like every teammate he ever had. I'd seen some grouchy guys in my time - Dave Kingman, John Denny, Mike LaCoss - but no one so completely removed from everyone in his profession as Kent.
He doesn't have one friend on the team. That's what I heard from sources along every stop in Kent's career, including the last one, Los Angeles. But there was an interesting comment from Bob Milano, his coach at Cal, where Kent helped lead the Bears to the 1988 College World Series. "If something goes wrong with this guy, it's not a team problem," he said. "It's just a problem for Jeff. He always found a way to beat you on the field."
I'd like to think that's how Kent will be remembered, along with his genuine display of emotion during Thursday's news conference. He was an exceptional player, solid in the clutch, a winner, the greatest slugging second baseman in history. He played the game with unrelenting desire, and he played hurt. Those attributes should earn him a place in the Hall of Fame (he'll have my vote).
Turns out the man has a heart, as well.
That was no phony at the podium, trying to win over critics who had ripped him for years. That was the real person inside Kent's uniform, a man only his family and friends (all of them outside the game) recognized. There were times in his career when Kent's brutal honesty served him well, especially after a tough loss, when he'd come out to give reporters his perspective while the rest of his teammates were nowhere to be found. But that hard-line persona never cracked. He had taken it upon himself never to show emotion, vulnerability or weakness.
We see those things now, as he walks away. I'm thinking there will be more tears from Kent in the coming days. And here's a nod of admiration to someone who truly gave his life to the game.
If I had a vote for the Hall he would get mine also. He gave his all for the game and that all should be good enough for him to get in.:beerbang: