By Lauren Smart
By Jane R. LeBlanc
By Lauren Smart
By Elaine Liner
By Jim Schutze
By Rachel Watts
It was not quite the way Gonzalez expected to enter the record books, not how he expected to get his 145th RBI. Then again, the Rangers' history is not required reading, unless you want to read one long story about defeat, disappointment, humiliation. It's only appropriate Gonzalez break his own 1996 season mark of 144 RBIs by getting a free pass. Drama has never been this team's strong suit.
After the game, manager Johnny Oates tells a handful of reporters gathered in his office that Gonzalez "continues to amaze me." He recalls the days when a player driving in 100 runs during an entire season was a "milestone"; but, Oates says, "those days have long gone by the wayside." The importance of the moment doesn't elude the manager, who will look for one or two highlights to recall after this season ends in a shrug, not a pennant.
And it does not elude Gonzalez, who stands at his locker after the game, wearing only gray boxer-briefs and a wide smile. So often after games, wins or losses, he will appear in the locker room for scant moments, showering and dressing quickly and then disappearing without uttering so much as a word to the media. Gonzalez does this not out of arrogance, but because he is a reluctant superstar who, after a decade in the big leagues, still has trouble uttering complete sentences in English. Better to disappear, he figures, than to stumble over the language in front of the cameras. He is too proud to look foolish, no matter how hard he tries.
But tonight, he stands and speaks until there are no more reporters left to ask him questions. Too bad, then, that there are only a handful to ask him anything--not a single TV camera is around to record the night Juan Gonzalez broke his own Rangers RBI record. Then again, perhaps it is a hollow victory to own such a mark; owning a Rangers record is a little like beating yourself to win the World Series. It's hard to take seriously a team that has seen post-season play only once in 27 years of existence; it's hard to root for a team that stands in its own way as it tries so desperately, so clumsily, to win the American League West this season.
One writer asks Gonzalez whether he thinks about winning the American League Most Valuable Player Award, which he garnered two years ago--when he first set the team's RBI record and led the Rangers to the playoffs against the New York Yankees. The Rangers were humiliated in the series against the eventual World Series champs, but Gonzalez belted five homers during the series. Better players than he have wilted beneath such pressure, but he emerged from the Yankees series a hero, posting Reggie Jackson-like numbers.
He smiles coyly when asked about the MVP nod. He insists he does not think about such accolades, that it would be meaningless if the AL West title did not accompany it. Besides, he says, it's likely he wouldn't even receive the award unless the Rangers won the division.
"It's hard to separate the numbers from the wins," he says. "You have two things: the numbers, and the team. But when you play together, you realize your goals. For example, I am having a tremendous year, but the team is having a good year too. You never know what will happen. I continue working hard for my numbers, but for a better chance, you need to win the division. It's more important for me to win the division."
Right now, it looks as though that will not happen. Going into Tuesday, the Rangers were three games behind the Anaheim Angels, looking more like a team content--almost eager--to finish second instead of first. In recent days, the Rangers have blown leads so often, you might mistake them for the 1919 Chicago White Sox. Despite outstanding performances from Will Clark (with 95 RBIs after Monday) and Ivan Rodriguez (batting .329), their failure looks almost purposeful. They have been betrayed by their once-competent bullpen; by Todd Stottlemyre, brought here in a trade involving Fernando Tatis that could forever haunt this team; by bats that seem dipped in concrete whenever runners are on base; and by an ailing Mark McLemore, who is quite literally on his last legs at second base, committing error after mortifying error.
The players may change, but this year's Texas Rangers look like every other model that preceded them. No matter how much money owner Tom Hicks sinks into the payroll, the Rangers will eventually be undone by their own history, which they can no more escape than their own skin. Even Rangers fans, among the most resilient and forgiving in any sport, have wearied of such teases and imminent disappointment. That's why they have not come to the Ballpark as they did last season; attendance will fall well short of 1997's record-setting three-million-plus mark.