There is a long history of the interrelationship between baseball and race--the parallel universe of the Negro Leagues, the Hall of Fame racism of Hall of Famer Ty Cobb, Jackie Robinson's triumph over institutionalized bigotry.
For those of us in the northwest, the gnawing consideration of race has returned with the announcement that the Seattle Mariners have traded for a mercurial African-American outfielder named Milton Bradley. Seattle will be his seventh major league home. And that hopscotch journey in itself is the backdrop for his story. How could a player accomplished enough to have been named an All Star have, as they writers say, 'worn out his welcome' so frequently?
Well, he has 'issues'. You might even say he's a 'problem'. In fact, a 'cancer in the clubhouse'. Yep, that's what everyone knows.
Now, I don't know Milton Bradley, and I have no way of judging either the accuracy or context of the incidents which stick to his reputation like cat hair. But I do believe that if Bradley and his greatest detractor were to sit down together, they would probably stipulate to this description: a proud, private and competitive individual whose actions are characterized by occasional piques of anger. In other words, just like a lot of people. But what gives his profile newsworthiness are the specifics of those temperamental moments. So let's review some:
On the Field: Charged an umpire (and suffered an injury in the process when blocked by his own coach); stripped off his jersey and stormed off the field; after a plastic bottle was thrown at him by a fan, took the bottle and threw it down at the feet of the fan who first tossed it.
As a Teammate: Accused infielder Jeff Kent of being a racist; made people uneasy with his 'sullenness'.
As an Employee: Publicly criticized both a manager (Eric Wedge in Cleveland) and a general manager (Billy Beane in Oakland); argued in the dugout with his most recent manager, Lou Piniella, after Piniella told him to stop throwing his helmet.
As a Threat: Left the dugout to 'confront' a team announcer who had criticized him.
As a Victim: Claimed umpires expanded their strike zones in attempts to call him out; essentially saw the media as the enemy.
Now, we don't know the accuracy or all of the specifics, nor will we ever. However, we can augment this description with a few facts. After the aforementioned confrontation with the umpire, it was the umpire who was suspended for taunting Bradley with language you wouldn't want to hear from your Little Leaguer. In regards to his dispute with Piniella, the manager himself admits that he called Bradley a 'piece of shit', and that Bradley responded to him calmly. And certainly the media have taken full advantage of all opportunities to turn Bradley against himself.
But for kicks, let's compare these transgressions with Piniella, the demon of the dugout:
On the Field: realistically, too many to mention. He's been ejected from more than 70 games. To be fair, his career is three times as long as Bradley's (including manager years), but that's still more than four times as many ejections. But really, it would be a shame to omit mention of the numerous pieces of equipment thrown from dugout onto the field, the bumping of umpires, throwing dirt onto home plate, kicking dirt onto umpires' shoes, kicking his own hat around the infield, and even ripping bases from their moorings and flinging them into the outfield. Bradley has nothing to compete with this body of work.
As a Teammate: No, technically managers aren't teammates, but you're still sharing a clubhouse everyday, so what is said matters. When asked last year why he didn't replace a slumping hitter, he said, 'we really don't have many options'. Over the years, he has regularly called out players for not performing to his standards, and particularly for not being 'men'.
As an Employee: As sure as there is baseball every spring, there will be off-the-record Piniella comments every summer about how the front office is not giving him the players he needs (assuming he's losing a pennant race). And the same histrionics he's brought to dugouts have also characterized closed-door meetings with his own bosses.
As a Threat: He once came to blows with relief pitcher Rob Dibble--the star closer of his own team. As a player, the man who would later demand that Bradley cease throwing a batting helmet once threw one of his own and bounced it off the head of his own manager.
As a Victim: Lou has a temper. He won't deny it. And when he's angry, it's certain that the players, the front office, the umpires, the fans, the media or all of the above are out to get him. And yet, he remains the lovable 'Sweet Lou'.
So, it could well be that the simple conclusion here is that white people and black people who behave similarly are judged differently. OK, well, yawn. Nothing new there. Instead, what makes Milton Bradley most interesting is not the contrast with Piniella, who used to rule the Mariners' clubhouse, but with a new teammate who ostensibly holds the job now--the immortal Ken Griffey, Jr. Like Bradley, he is a black man. But in his case, he has not only overcome any racial victimization, he has elevated himself to a pedestal where the same sins that are held against Bradley, and are laughingly admired in Piniella, are relegated to the memory hole of baseball--if Griffey did it, let's just pretend it never happened:
On the Field: Leading off, let's give Griffey credit--anything he ever did on a major league field could not rise to the level of Piniella or Bradley. So let's move on.
As a Teammate: If you read the mainstream media, you know Griffey as the kind uncle of the clubhouse, always looking for a way to make his teammates looser, happier and better players. But the truth lies here, penned by a college sportswriter in Seattle a couple years after Griffey left town. It is not an opinion piece--it is filled with attributed quotes from people who actually shared those clubhouses with him. One from former teammate Dmitri Young stands out: ""Once Junior got [to Cincinnati], the team broke off into cliques. Then you had guys that basically gave up. (He's) got his accomplishments. But he throws them back in your face. He'd sit there and say, 'How many home runs do you have? How much money do you make?'" Another Reds player, Pokey Reese, added, "Junior's going to be Junior. He's going to do his thing and they are not going to say anything. But it's 25 of us, not one. I know he's Ken Griffey Jr., but someone should have said, 'We're all in this together.'"
As an Employee: Managers and owners knew who ran the teams Griffey played on. When in Seattle, he publicly complained, 'where's my pitching?' As if a star of his caliber had a right to more dollars being spent on a supporting cast more to his liking. (For the record, nine members of the Mariners' pitching staff when he made that statement had successful major league careers). Aside from the impact on the pitchers of his own team, this was a clear message to ownership that they had better perform better. That was not an isolated expectation. In Cincinnati, manager Dusty Baker defended keeping a clearly declining Griffey in the most important spot in the batting order because it was 'a matter of respect' owed for all that Griffey had accomplished. In other words, massaging Griffey's ego was more important than the team's success.
As a Threat: Bradley allegedly left a dugout to 'confront' a broadcaster whose opinion he did not appreciate. We actually don't know his intentions because no confrontation occurred. But Griffey was much clearer on this issue. In Cincinnati, when criticized by team broadcaster Jeff Brantley, Griffey concluded a home run trot around the bases by looking up at the broadcast booth and delivering a throat slash gesture to Brantley. Nice role modeling for all the young fans in the park.
As a Victim: Here's where Griffey really cements his Hall of Fame credentials. Despite a level of blind adoration matched by no other athlete in Seattle history, Griffey sees disrespect behind every door. In order to escape the town, and move to a park where his own personal statistics could be better padded, he concocted a preposterous theory about being closer to his wife and kids in Florida. If so, no one asked why it was that he had moved those beloved wife and kids out a Seattle suburb in the first place. Or how he enforced a provision in his contract which limited the Mariners to deal with only four teams--those in Atlanta, New York, Cincinnati and Houston. Last time anyone checked, none of these locales would allow Griffey to drive home for a nice meal and a couple hugs after a night game. Some fans were understandably upset about this ruse. And Griffey responded thusly, ""The front office, the fans and the media, everybody's ripped me." When that didn't work, he implied that his reason for leaving was a death threat (certainly no small matter) that was months old, and one he hadn't bothered reporting to the police or his own team. To him, the words 'fault' and 'Griffey' should never appear in the same sentence.
An English novelist named Anthony Powell once wrote, "life is full of internal dramas, instantaneous and sensational, played to an audience of one." The actions of Milton Bradley, related by sportswriters across the country, have cast him in the role of villain for the internal dramas that play out in the minds of baseball fans. For many of them, the color his skin confirms Bradley's status.
But those same sportswriters, equally intent on casting the valiant lead, have ignored the same actions in order to promote Ken Griffey, Jr., as an athletic and interpersonal superhero. Consequently, Griffey is now positioned as the one last hope to 'save' Bradley's career--correcting flaws which can only be conquered by the unflawed.
When the Seattle team comes together in spring training, this internal drama will have the chance to be played out in public. Can Griffey remold Bradley in his own image? Among his other predilections, Bradley is known to not suffer fools. Beginning in March, he will have the chance to try again.
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