A Manny among men

Sporting News, The, June 21, 1999 by Michael Weinreb

Those who know him can't quite figure him out. But make no mistake: Manny Ramirez has become one one of the most feared hitters in baseball--even if he doesn't yet know it

Here, in the home clubhouse at Jacobs Field, amid the din of baseball's best team readying itself to beat the daylights out of another opponent, Indians shortstop Omar Vizquel sits quietly in front of his locker. Nearby, on one of the televisions, drones a major league game in progress.

Across the room, right fielder/RBI machine Manny Ramirez is trying to play table tennis--with both hands, his tattooed chest heaving with laughter to the ticktock, ticktock of the game as he awkwardly wields paddles righthanded and lefthanded. His head bobs and his eyes sparkle, betraying a boyish innocence not often found in big-league clubhouses anymore.

Vizquel, after stealing a glance at Ramirez, gives a joyless hiccup of a laugh, then points to the TV and says, "Sometimes, I think that's the only place where Manny knows what he's doing."

The most dangerous batter in the most dangerous lineup in baseball turned 27 on May 30. In his sixth full major league season, he has blossomed into one of the best pure hitters in the game. He is on a pace to drive in 203 runs, and while some of that might be attributed to the hitters around him, there is no dispute: Manny Ramirez is a star.

How good can he be? Former Indians scouting director Mickey White, one of the decision-makers who chose to draft Ramirez with the 13th pick in 1991, says: "That is why they play 162 games."

This much is abundantly dear: Ramirez hits with power (15 home runs through Saturday). He hits line drives. He hits consistently (.342). He hits to the opposite field He hits when he's behind in the count. He hits fastballs and breaking balls and knuckleballs. He hits Ping-Pong balls with both hands, for crying out loud.

But when he's tattooing baseballs all over the American League, he does it with a buttery swing, a swing that makes your knees--and opposing pitchers' knees--buckle.

A computerized scouting report on Ramirez shows his "red zones," where he hits the ball with the most power: Against righthanded pitchers, he likes the ball middle of the plate and in; against lefthanders, his power is middle and away. Show that to baseball people, and they say, "Yes, he dives over the plate against lefties."

Indians hitting coach Charlie Manuel doesn't let people tinker with The Swing. He doesn't even like to touch it himself. He has never seen a batter so free of tension, so decidedly nonchalant at the plate.

There have been swings like this before. Manuel compares it to a righthanded version of Tony Oliva. White, now working for the Pirates, saw shades of Roberto Clemente. Vizquel sees a mirror image of another lefty, Ken Griffey Jr.

It is no coincidence that Clemente is in the Hall of Fame. Oliva would be there if not for injuries. Griffey is headed there.

"One of the most beautiful swings I've ever seen," says teammate Sandy Alomar, eloquently simple in his analysis of Ramirez.

Yet analysis of Manny Ramirez is never simple. True enough, Manny Ramirez is a star.

But he is an enigma, too.

He dyed his hair a Crayola shade of burnt orange-yellow this spring. He left his paycheck in one of his boots in a visiting clubhouse. He told a clubhouse attendant to wash his car. Said there was money in the glove compartment And there was. About 10 grand. In cash.

He has worn other people's socks. He has worn other people's pants. He has used other people's bats.

Ah, yes, the bats.

Those accusations by unidentified Yankees earlier this month that Ramirez is using a corked bat appear to be more gamesmanship than reality.

The Indians were annoyed at the charges but also amused at the Yankees' reasoning. New York players noted that Ramirez changed bats after hitting the home run that aroused their suspicion because the bat made an odd sound upon contact. Truth be told, however, Ramirez is so cavalier about his bat selection that he picks up the first piece of lumber he encounters.

"A different bat in almost every at-bat," equipment manager Ted Walsh says. "There's no rhyme or reason to it. He'll just go to the bat rack and grab anyone's bat and go to the plate."

And the one that didn't "sound" right on the questioned home run? "He was using Sandy Alomar's bat," Walsh says.

(True story: Alomar grew tired of Ramirez borrowing his bats and sometimes breaking them. He banned Ramirez from his bat stash. However, because Alomar is injured and was back in Cleveland rehabbing, he wasn't around to guard his bats in New York. So Ramirez is back in Alomar's bats, using them to pound opposing pitchers.)

"He goes purely by feel," says Manuel of Ramirez, who has been known to take six bats from six teammates to the pregame batting cage, trying them all. "Manny makes it very simple. If the bat feels good, he uses it. If the pitch looks good, he swings at it.'

See ball hit ball. Pick up bat, swing bat.

No one knows why Manny Ramirez does what Manny Ramirez does--except Manny Ramirez. He is not high on sharing his feelings with strangers. He has not spoken with the local media this season, although no one seems to know why. So here's how best to gauge how bothered he was the day after the Yankees' accusations: Before he went out to stretch and take batting practice--pausing to chat with friends in the stands from his old neighborhood, nearby Washington Height--he sat in the visitors' clubhouse at the Stadium with headphones on, listening to music and watching video of Roger Clemens.