Celebrate David Ortiz, the most important Red Sox player ever
He came when no one else wanted him.
The 2002 season was over, and hefty slugger David Ortiz had just been released by the Minnesota Twins after the team had been unable to find a trade partner. It was then, as the story goes, Pedro Martinez called the Red Sox brass and said they needed to take a chance on the big swinger from Santo Domingo. The Sox tossed Ortiz a one-year deal for $1.25 million, a flyer on a guy who could maybe provide some pop as a pinch hitter.
He spent his first two months mostly on the bench for the team, making a few plate appearances late in games. Then manager Grady Little decided to give him a shot, putting him in the starting lineup at DH ahead of Jeremy Giambi, and the history of Boston sports was changed.
He was excellent right away, a man who finally found his professional home in Fenway Park, a place he said reminded him of being back home, playing on the island. It had that glorious short porch in right, too, that tucked-in foul pole just 302 feet from home plate. He had a target there, something to swing for, something he knew he could, and would, find again and again.
Fenway was smaller than other parks, cramped, intimate. He could hear the crowd, joke with the folks behind the batter's box. It was perfect for him, and every at-bat felt special. You could feel it when that ball popped off the bat, that ethereal crack that exploded out to the Mass Pike and brought 37,000 people to their feet.
When the Red Sox made that postseason in 2003, the other players weren't quite ready, but Ortiz was. In that heartbreaking series loss to the Yankees, the one simply referred to as "the one with Aaron [expletive] Boone," Ortiz was sensational, hitting two homers and notching six RBIs in the series. The whole of Boston had their heart shattered that night, but lurking beneath the gloom was Ortiz, more confident than ever. He had had them. He wasn't afraid of Yankee Stadium. He wasn't intimidated by history. He was emboldened that series, knowing if he got just one more shot, if they could just get back there, he'd take care of the rest.
We all know what happened after that. Ortiz became, and remained, the greatest postseason player in Red Sox history, bringing three World Series rings to Boston in the span of 9 years … after Boston fans had waited 86 for one. He transformed an entire region of fans, as he, along with Tom Brady, Zdeno Chara and Paul Pierce, brought the people of New England out of their sad-sack self pity and made them proud once again. (Too proud, if we're being honest, but Bostonians have never done things halfway.)
Along the way Ortiz became the voice of Boston. For a city with such a horrifying history of race relations, it was no small thing that in the aftermath of its darkest moment, the bombing of the 2013 Boston Marathon, it was Ortiz, a 6'3″ black man from the Dominican Republic, who the city turned to, seeking comfort. He delivered a defiant, expletive-ridden address to the crowd at Fenway Park and to the millions tuning in, a speech at once completely inappropriate and wholly perfect.
Once again, Ortiz had put the city on his back. Once again, he had lifted them up to places they weren't ever sure they could go. When no else believed, he believed. He believed that, down 3-0 in the 2004 ALCS, he just needed an at-bat to rewrite history. Then he did it again. And again. For 13 years he did it. And when the city needed him, in the days after one of the city's bloodiest tragedies, he believed again, believed that he could send a message that could lift the people up. His words were crass and imperfect, but it hardly mattered. He believed, and so the people of Boston could believe. This was our [expletive] city. Yes, yes it was.
Ortiz's goodbye was not the one people wanted. His team went out limply to the Indians in the ALDS, losing in three games, and in the closing game the Cleveland pitchers never gave him much of a chance to be the hero one last time. His final at-bat was more-or-less an intentional walk, a disappointing end but one that speaks to his greatness - even at age 40, in his final professional baseball game, opposing pitchers wanted no part of him. They'd learned their lesson.
Red Sox historians can and will make the case for Ortiz as one of the greatest players to ever wear the uniform. For a team with Babe Ruth and Ted Williams, Pedro Martinez and Carl Yastrzemski, I'm not sure exactly where he lands in the all-time list in terms of his on-field production. I do know that for the city of Boston, and everything he did for Red Sox fans and the people of New England, there has never been a more important player to wear the uniform. It took a while but he, this cast-off from Minnesota, had found his home. And the home was better for it.