Wednesday, September 22, 2004

 

Jeff Kent, A Man With Feelings

I know, there's a ton of Giants stuff going on right now, and I haven't posted a damn thing since before I went on vacation. Suffice to say that I'm not sure who the heck is occupying the Giants uniforms at the moment, but they're sure pitching, fielding, and running better than the gang I was watching back in August.

Tonight, I wanted to talk to Jeff Kent. Well, that isn't going to happen, but I wanted to write about his comments about being booed by the fans in San Francisco:

"I was disappointed. It hurt," Kent said. "I figured the boos for the first year, as being sarcastic. It's OK. I appreciated and respected the fans here, and I guess I expected it in return. I get booed in New York and all over. I thought I had a relationship with these folks. It's OK. They need us to lose."

Jeff Kent could have been, and for a time was, as beloved a Giant as anyone else. The whole identity of the Giants infield for me was Aurilia, Kent and Snow, up until last season when Kent left. Then Richie left, and I've been anything but shy in talking about my deep respect and affection for Rich Aurilia. On the other hand, I don't think I've had a single thing to say about Jeff Kent in this space. But let me now speak personally to him, after a fashion, and respond.

Jeff, you had a huge set of shoes to fill when you arrived. Matt Williams was one of those Giants who stayed a Giant no matter what uniform he ended up wearing. It wasn't fair to you that you were viewed as that nobody the new idiot general manager traded for. You had a tall job in winning over the fans, and I lot of guys couldn't have done it.

But you did. And you did it by playing your ass off, day after day, and turning into not only the best second basemen the Giants had had in decades, but maybe a Hall of Famer. Certainly an MVP. It took me a while to see it--my wife started pointing out to me how often you produced with men in scoring position. I started watching you carefully, and damned if she wasn't right. Before long I was calling you "Mr. RBI." When you came up, I'd tell my wife, "Look out! Here comes Mr. RBI!" And more often than not, you came through.

Two or three years later, I started telling people how you might just be the second coming of Rogers Hornsby. And I don't think I was full of it. You were that good.

And Giants fans loved you. Why wasn't that enough, man?

I know it wasn't. When Barry Bonds took that step from superstar to immortal in 2001, everything changed. You were the reigning MVP, but everyone stopped talking about you. Barry was conquering all, and you were in his shadow, along with the entire rest of the league. It bugged you. We could all see it. We still loved you, Jeff, but you weren't the man anymore. You were still the same hard-playing, ass-kicking player we knew, but Barry was the man, and I don't think you could handle it.

The 2002 season is when everything fell apart. You know what I'm talking about. The spring training motorcycle crash. The lies. The dugout blowup in San Diego which you started. Things really went sour for you, and I can totally understand you getting frustrated. But all that was forgiven, I think, after you guys went to the World Series. Like you said, we had a relationship.

All you had to do was come back and give it another shot. That's all. But it was plainly obvious you wanted to be anywhere but here.

You, Jeff, rejected us, the fans. The city. The team. The legacy.

It was a slap in the face, Jeff. And it hurt. It still does.

That's why we still boo, and that's why we always will boo you. You made it personal. You turned your back. It hurts you now, huh? Well, that's the way it goes.

You're probably still a hell of a player, but I wouldn't know, because I haven't paid any attention these last two years.

Jefferson 8:34 PM

|