There are some enterprises in which a careful disorderliness is the true method.
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Video post
Keith Hernandez on the death of Gary Carter. via SNY
When I was growing up, Keith Hernandez was my favorite player.
His hitting was incredible. His defense was preternatural. The way he could read the situation and anticipate what was about to happen in, it looked like magic.
But the thing that I admired him for more than anything else was his honesty. Not the colorful honesty that serves as a cover for grandstanding. But a weary sense of the truth of things that is so rare in a sport full of scripted platitudes, in a life where your role is clearly delineated.
From Keith’s honesty, we learned how tired the players could get, how difficult the game could be. And sometimes, your star player needed to be decked.
After the Mets won the World Series in 1986, everybody wrote books. Davey Johnson. Lenny Dykstra. And yes, Gary Carter published an inspirational tome about how hard work and faith can take you to the top. The ghostwriters had a field day.
Only Keith had already written his book, in 1985. The year they lost. A diary of the entire season; a year inside of his head, day in and day out. An honest account of a great and terrible time for him. I treasured that book. Through it, my favorite players became more that heroes. They became real people.
Later, Keith would write a book analyzing a baseball game through every single pitch. A completely unremarkable game between two teams not fighting for a title or a pennant. Just the workaday matter of playing the game.
Keith played, he wrote, he spoke without his edges sanded away. He wore them proudly. He never just slapped on a brave face for the camera.
And that what I’m thinking about tonight, listening to this heartbroken man talk about the death of his good friend, and not needing to hide his tears.
Keith is still showing us how to do it.
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