Five Greatest Infielders in San Francisco Giants History

The Giants are honoring the all-time best infielders in their history this week, and it raised the question in my mind: who would I consider to fit the bill?  Who are the Giants’ greatest infielders?

Three things stand out, as I think this through:

1.  Wow, the Giants have had very few quality infielders.  I could not even come up with ten that were worthy of honor, so we’re doing five.  That the Giants have been in San Francisco since 1957 and we can identify really only 5 really outstanding infielders is pretty remarkable.

This is especially interesting since the Giants have had some of the greatest outfielders in the history of the game: Willie Mays, Barry Bonds, and Bobby Bonds, among others.

2.  The SF Giants have never had a truly great shortstop.  Current SS Omar Vizquel is certainly great, but he can hardly be considered a Giant — only four of his twenty years in the big leagues have been with the Giants.  Chris Speier?  Rich Aurilia?  Johnny LeMaster?  Hal Lanier?  I don’t think so.

3.  The top five infielders, though, are pretty awesome.

Herewith, then, my top five SF Giants infielders:

1. Willie McCovey, 1B – McCovey Cove, the water behind the right-field wall in the Giants’ new ballpark, is aptly named: McCovey stormed onto the scene in 1959 by hitting .354 with 13 homers and 38 RBI in only 52 games.  One of the greatest left-handed hitters in baseball history, he crushed 521 home runs in his career, all but 52 of them coming while playing for the Giants.  In his best overall season, 1969, he batted .320 with 45 home runs and 126 RBI.
2. Orlando Cepeda, 1B – Because he won the 1967 MVP while playing for the Cardinals, many people forget that he spent his best years (and most of his career) with the Giants.  He played for the Giants from 1958 to 1966, and had only one full season in which he hit less than .300 — and in that year he batted .297.  In 1961 he batted .311 with 46 home runs and 142 RBI.
3. Jeff Kent, 2B – If Jeff Kent doesn’t end up in the Hall of Fame, close the doors on the thing.  It doesn’t make any sense anymore.  He is the all-time leader in home runs by a second baseman, and he had a nine-year stretch in which he had over 100 RBI in eight of them — and in the other he had 93 in only 130 games.  In his MVP year of 2000, he batted .334 with 33 homers and 125 RBI.  Kent’s unprecedented power as a middle infielder is underlined and boldfaced by this: while he was hitting all those home runs, he was also hitting tons of doubles — he is the Giants’ single-season record-holder for doubles, smashing 49 in 2001.  Jeff is a friend, and it should be noted that he’s a great guy, too, despite the press’ painting him as prickly and unfriendly.
4. Matt Williams, 3B – A promising career cut short by injury.  In a five-year stretch starting with 1990, his home-run totals were 33, 34, 20, 38, and then an amazing 43 in only 112 games in 1994 (a pace that would have broken Roger Maris’ record years before the steroid era).
5. Jim Ray Hart, 3B – An excellent fielder, he played third fiddle to Mays and McCovey, but did it with excellence.  In a five-year stretch starting in 1964, he averaged 28 home runs in notoriously cavernous Candlestick Park, while batting .283.

Update on Kobe-Hating

Given the emphasis that’s been placed in the press on Kobe’s improved leadership qualities with his teammates, it was interesting to read Boston Red Sox pitcher Curt Shilling’s take on Game 2 the other day.  Shilling, whose blog is called 38 Pitches, had seats right next to the Laker bench and had this to say about witnessing Kobe up close and personal:

“This one stunned me a little bit. Who doesn’t know Kobe Bryant right? I only know what I have heard, starting awhile back with the entire Shaq debacle. I don’t really have an opinion one way or the other on or about him other than to know that people feel he might be one of the 4-5 greatest players to ever lace it up. What I do know is what I got to see up close and hear, was unexpected. From the first tip until about 4 minutes left in the game I saw and heard this guy bitch at his teammates. Every TO he came to the bench pissed, and a few of them he went to other guys and yelled about something they weren’t doing, or something they did wrong. No dialog about “hey let’s go, let’s get after it” or whatever. He spent the better part of 3.5 quarters pissed off and ranting at the non-execution or lack of, of his team. Then when they made what almost was a historic run in the 4th, during a TO, he got down on the floor and basically said ‘Let’s f’ing go, right now, right here” or something to that affect. I am not making this observation in a good or bad way, I have no idea how the guys in the NBA play or do things like this, but I thought it was a fascinating bit of insight for me to watch someone in another sport who is in the position of a team leader and how he interacted with his team and teammates. Watching the other 11 guys, every time out it was high fives and “Hey nice work, let’s get after it” or something to that affect. He walked off the floor, obligatory skin contact on the high five, and sat on the bench stone faced or pissed off, the whole game. Just weird to see another sport and how it all works…as a fan I was watching the whole thing, Kobe, his teammates and then the after effects of conversations. He’d yell at someone, make a point, or send a message, turn and walk away, and more than once the person on the other end would roll eyes or give a ‘whatever dude’ look.”

Interesting to hear shock from another professional athlete about Bryant’s demeanor and behavior with teammates.

The Fine Art of Kobe Hating

In 2006 ESPN came out with a commercial on Kobe Bryant, in which Kobe suggests that there are those who hate “my game, my swagger, my fadeaway…” etc.  There are reasons to hate Kobe (even petty ones, of which, I admit, I have some — I am disturbed, for example, by the rodentish look of his face), but it’s hard to hate his game.

My goodness, his game is a thing of beauty.  Sacrilegious as it may sound, he has in some ways one-upped his idol, Michael Jordan.  He is stronger than Jordan was at the same age, and his outside shot is better:  Kobe takes twice the number of three-pointers as Jordan took, and hits them at a higher rate.  He is a tenacious defender and a striking athlete overall.

He has not threatened America, he has not done harm to my children, and he has not hit on my girlfriend.  He has nothing to do with the price of gasoline.  He does not play bass for the band Good Charlotte.

And yet I hate him with the white-hot intensity of a thousand suns.

He has done some egregious things: he is a multiple-offense adulterer, he ran Shaq out of town after depending on him for championship rings, and he was petulant in criticizing Lakers’ management and in disrespecting his team’s young (and talented) center, Andrew Bynum.  (Repeat after me, everyone: there’s such a thing as YouTube.  Careful out there.)  But these are not what I hate.

I hate that he’s not himself.  That he’s a fake.

Sam Anderson suggested, in Slate, that athletes are as susceptible as poets to what Harold Bloom called “The Anxiety of Influence.”  In his book of that title, Bloom posits that all literary texts are a response to the texts which precede them, as is our reading of the new text.  All is influenced by history, and in the case of near history the anxiety to outperform can be crushing.

Kobe’s clear desire to inherit Jordan’s mystique prevents him from inheriting it.  His entire persona seems considered, where his predecessors’ were not: Jordan’s tongue wagged without forethought, Magic’s joy was pure and infectious, and Bird was precise and surgical but so…very…real.

Kobe is rehearsed, from his on-court antics to his “encouragement” of teammates (the same ones he disses on video), to (famously) his passing up obvious open shots a few years ago in the playoffs, the better to establish that he can be unselfish, not to his teammates’ eyes but to the public’s.

Before the start of the last playoff game, Jon Barry suggested that, with Boston’s excellent help defense, Kobe would have to take what he was given.  The greatest team player of my lifetime, Bill Russell, sat at the announcer’s table and shook his head, almost wearily.  Finally, he looked up.  “Kobe Bryant simply will not take what he is given,” said Russell firmly.  “He’ll take what he wants.”

What does he want?  He stands before us like Saturday Night Live’s Jon Lovitz, pleading: “I just want to be loved, is that so wrong?”

No, I guess it’s not.  But who are you?