Gary Sheffield and Shadows

Gary Sheffield accomplished nearly everything a professional baseball player could accomplish in his 22-year career. He appeared in nine all-star games, hit 509 home runs, won five silver sluggers (including three in a row), and won a world championship with the 1997 Marlins.

Why then does he feel like a footnote, a bridesmaid, a perpetual second fiddle?

When he officially retired on February 17th, more than a full year after his final game, the news bulletin read like an afterthought. I thought he’d already retired. Or maybe he was injured. Or maybe he was asking for a trade. It was a bizarre anticlimax for a player whose on-field accomplishments and off-field tribulations should have enraptured us.

But they didn’t, and it’s hard to figure.

In a way, Sheffield’s career in the shadows was one of countless “buts.” He hit 509 homers BUT never hit 50 in a season. He won five silver sluggers BUT never won an MVP. He was a franchise player BUT he played for an incomprehensible eight different franchises (Brewers, Padres, Marlins, Dodgers, Braves, Yankees, Tigers, and Mets). Sheffield never belonged to anybody, he was a power-hitting mercenary in a power hitters era.

Even his considerable shortcomings were hopelessly marginal. His petulance and combustibility couldn’t compare to Milton Bradley’s or Many Ramirez’s. His connection to steroids got lost in the buzz around Bonds, Clemens, and McGwire. His penchant for controversy -- most notable in comments about the Yankees and later about Latino players -- never garnered him the attention of an Ozzie Guillen or John Rocker. Heck, Gary Sheffield wasn’t even the most intriguingly talented, self-immolating baseball player in his own family, that title belongs to his uncle, Dwight Gooden.

And unlike Doc, Sheffield lacked an intangible greatness that transcended his statistics. What would we call his career-defining moment? The 1997 World Series? I doubt it. That team was known as much for its sudden destruction as it was for its dramatic triumph.  And, I believe, whatever is left of Sheffield’s steroid-burdened hall-of-fame candidacy will ultimately succumb to this memorability deficit. The name Gary Sheffield simply doesn’t resonate with the same nostalgic power of a Kirby Puckett or Ken Griffey Jr., or even a Tony Gwynn.

It’s a shame, because Sheffield was really freaking good. When he swung he swung hard, and he hit the ball with an unhinged fury. The sublime power emanating from his manic pre-pitch bat-churning made him one of the game’s most fearsome batters. Unfortunately for Sheffield, and his chances at enshrined glory, it took me until now to summon that mental image. The memories don’t flow freely.

Further reading (with some opinion’s on Sheff’s hall chances)::
http://sports.espn.go.com/mlb/news/story?id=6131472
http://www.hallofverygood.com/2011/02/gary-sheffield-officially.html
http://www.sbnation.com/mlb/2011/2/17/1999038/gary-sheffield-retires-hall-of-fame-clock-starts-ticking
http://hardballtalk.nbcsports.com/2011/02/17/gary-sheffield-retires/