Driving force: regardless of where A's shortstop Miguel Tejada plays, he has a passion and focus worthy of an MVP

Sporting News, The, April 7, 2003 by Ken Rosenthal

Offers, Miguel Tejada had offers. Not free-agent offers--those are coming in the off-season. The offers Tejada received this past winter were invitations to functions in the Bahamas, Jamaica, Palm Springs--offers he never imagined when he was growing up poor in the Dominican Republic, offers he warranted as the American League MVP.

Tejada, the Oakland A's shortstop, rejected at least 20 such proposals, says one of his agents, Diego Benz. He preferred to stay at home in the Dominican with his wife, Alesandra, and two children, Alexa, 4, and Miguel, 1. To the surprise of even his own countrymen, he preferred to play winter ball.

"After he became a star, we thought he'd never play again," says former major league shortstop Felix Fermin, Tejada's manager with the Cibao Eagles of the Dominican winter league. "Sammy Sosa, Pedro Martinez, they're stars, and they don't play anymore."

Well, Tejada has played every year since 1993, reducing his schedule in recent years by joining the Eagles after December 17, the date both his children were born. He plays for the enjoyment of his fellow Dominicans. He plays to refine his game. He plays because his occupation is his passion, and he can't stop.

Tejada's future is uncertain; the A's say they can't afford to re-sign him. Only this much is clear: The team that lands Tejada as a free agent will be getting one of the most driven players in the game.

Tejada, 26, has played in 432 consecutive games, the longest active streak in the majors. He has started 740 of the A's last 758 games at shortstop, one of the game's most physically demanding positions. He hates even coming out of spring training games.

"I never get tired playing baseball," he says.

To play winter ball, major leaguers require the permission of their clubs. Some general managers fret over the inferior quality of the fields and lights, fearing injuries. "Certainly, you have concerns," A's general manager Billy Beane says. "But we sort of accept the risk with Miguel. We get over it."

Tejada's next team probably won't. Beane predicts that the club that signs him will insist that he stop playing winter ball as a condition of the contract, just as the Rangers once did with Ivan Rodriguez, a native of Puerto Rico.

Such demands are understandable considering the tens of millions teams invest in star players. Tejada likely would be agreeable; he plans to live in the U.S. year-round so his children can attend school here. But it will be a sad day in the Dominican when he no longer can represent his country in the Caribbean Series, the championship event of the winter leagues.

In this year's Series, Tejada's Cibao club faced Puerto Rico's Mayaguez Indians. Before the deciding game, Tejada promised Fermin a victory, vowing to be the hero. He then tripled, doubled twice and singled in Cibao's 7-3 victory.

Two weeks later, he reported to spring training.

Billy Koch was trying to close a game for the A's last season when Tejada made an error, spun in anger and began yelling at himself. The scene was not unusual. Tejada plays with tremendous fire, occasionally erupting at himself over mistakes. Ask players about Tejada, and the first thing they mention is his intensity. "You can see it in his eyes," Rangers second baseman Michael Young says. "He'll do anything to beat you."

The Angels' Darin Erstad marvels at Tejada's energy, saying "he looks like he's completely fresh every day." A's pitcher Mark Mulder says, "You kind of always hear him. He's always chirping back there."

The A's can't help but chuckle sometimes whet Tejada returns to the dugout after striking out, cursing himself in English and Spanish. But Tejada has learned to control his emotions since jumping from Class AA to the majors in 1998, and his breakthrough last season reflected that change.

"When I don't get a hit, I'm not mad because I didn't get a hit," Tejada says. "I get mad because I want to push myself. That's how I become a better player--remembering when I do something wrong."

The A's gave Tejada two DVDs at the end of last season, one showing the times he reached base, the other showing his outs. Tejada watched only the outs. Every season, it seems, he corrects deficiencies in his game.

First, he defied critics who said he lacked the concentration to play shortstop. Next, he developed power, producing three straight 30-homer seasons. Finally, he proved that he could hit for average, batting .308 last season, 33 points above his previous best.

The turning point ha his career--and in the A's 2002 season--occurred last May 19 in Toronto, when former manager Art Howe moved Tejada to the third spot in the order after batting him fifth and sixth over the first 42 games. The A's, struggling to replace departed No. 3 hitter Jason Giambi, already had tried David Justice and Eric Chavez.

"Give me a shot," Tejada told Howe. "I can do it."

With those words, an MVP was born.

"It changed him as a player. It changed his whole game," Chavez says. "He said, `Hey, I'm the best player on the team. I'm finally getting what I deserve.' And he took that into his defense. He started to believe in himself."