Deep 6

All-star voters may not have noticed (c'mon, people, Nomar's hurt), but young shortstops are busting out all over. They're baseball's future-and a reflection of its past

It was evolution, we were told. Shortstops, like quarterbacks and point guards, were just going to keep getting bigger, stronger and better.

Embrace it, they said. And say goodbye to the old prototype while you're at it. Say goodbye to No. 2 hitters and hello to guys who'll hit in the 3-hole. Say goodbye to bunts and hello to bombs. Take a good look at the Holy Trinity: Jeter, Nomar, A-Rod. And then a fourth: Miguel Tejada. Shortstops for a new millennium.

And more were on the way. Or so we were told.

Instead, we've seen that the trend toward taller, more powerful shortstops was not a trend at all. It wasn't evolution. It was an aberration.

It's not that we haven't seen an influx of talent. On the contrary, teams across baseball have turned over the position like so many 6-4-3 DPs. Since 2001, almost half the big league clubs have handed short to a rookie or a second-year man. The average age of shortstops across the majors is 28.4, a half-year younger than that of any other spot on the diamond.

The new blood is more old-fashioned than New Age. Bust out the timeless lexicon for the best of today's youngsters. Slick. Heady. Scrappy. Speedy. When we're talking about shortstops like Cesar Izturis, Jose Reyes, Khalil Greene, Russ Adams and J.J. Hardy, those words fit. Clint Barmes has a bit more pop. But he's the exception that proves the rule (and it helps that he hits at Coors Field).

"These guys aren't built big, they're lean," says Larry Bowa, who was a scrawny rookie with the Phillies back in 1970 and, as Philly's firstyear manager in 2001, entrusted the job to a young prototype, Jimmy Rollins. "They've got great athleticism. And they're going to be around for a while."

As baseball emerges from what Bowa euphemistically calls the Live Ball Era, maybe this has less to do with size and experience and more to do with style of play. Take a look at the shortstops for the past four Series champs, counting backward: Orlando Cabrera, Alex Gonzalez, David Eckstein, Tony Womack. Slick. Heady. Scrappy. Speedy.

Time to say hello again. And embrace them.

-JEFF BRADLEY

Cesar Izturis

The ball comes, off Michael Tucker's bat quick and mean, like a shot from a sling. It's a base hit all the way, a screamer between short and third. But Cesar Izturis, a modern-day glove man worthy of an old-time nickname like Death to Flying Things, has other ideas. He springs right, backhands the shot on the one-hop, cocks and fires to first. Just like that, Tucker's meat.

Folks in the stands at SBC Park shake their heads; guys in the Dodgers' dugout giggle under their breath; Vin Scully, up in the booth, says, "My, what a briiiiiiiilliant play by the young shortstop"; and out in the LA bullpen, reliever Giovanni Carrara says to no one in particular, "I'm telling you, you ain't seen nothing yet."

Carrara knew young Cesar when he was really young: Izturis roomed at Carrara's mother's house in Venezuela at age 14. "Even as a teenager, he was special," Carrara says. "His hands were so quick and soft. From the very beginning, I knew." For those who still don't know about Izturis, now a 25-year-old Gold Glover, he's worth the price of an MLB TV package. Just listen to his countryman and idol Omar Vizquel: "I've never seen a shortstop move the way he does. He's awesome."

So why did the Blue Jays, who signed Izturis at 16, send him packing to LA with Paul Quantrill for washout pitchers Luke Prokopec and Chad Ricketts in late 2001? When he first joined the Dodgers, switch-hitter Izturis was overmatched, especially from the left side. In his first two seasons in LA, he batted .195 and .246. Then last year, he batted .289 lefty, .285 righthanded. Now he's on pace to threaten the Dodgers' single-season record for hits, 241, set by Babe Herman 75 years ago. "I'm not going to say I've learned to hit," Izturis says. "I just feel good right now."

Hitting coach Tim Wallach will tell you that feeling is the product of hard work. "Over the winter and in spring training, we had him work one-armed, with the weighted bat, to get stronger from the left," he says. "But more than anything, he's worked on his approach, trusting his hands, learning to let the ball get deep." The same hands that serve Izturis so well in the field are now giving him an edge at the plate. Coach Manny Mota says his wrists are so quick he can wait half a beat and drive the ball to the opposite field, rather than try to pull it. "Cesar reminds me a little of Pete Rose," says Mota. "He has those kind of hands." As Izturis stands in the cage taking BP at SBC, his motion is clean and easy, his shoulders loose, his head down and in. No pulling, all purpose. "It's confidence," Izturis says. "Right now, when I go to the plate, I know I can hit the ball. That changes everything for me."

It's transformed him from spectacular glove man to all-around force. Says Jim Tracy, "When he first started to play for us, he was a guy you had to think about pinch-hitting for in key situations. Now, as a threat from both sides, and with the uncanny way he plays the field, he's the best shortstop in the business."

A 5'9", 180-pounder who's never hit five home runs in a pro season? Imagine that.

-ERIC NEEL

Khalil Greene

He's never going to tell you he's feeling it. That's just not his way. He's going to keep it inside, work it out in the cage, maybe take a little extra infield to get loose, spend an extra minute alone in the clubhouse with his books. It's gonna be his thing, not yours.

You're going to have to read it in his body as he moves to the ball, in his cuts at the plate. You're going to watch him make plays with that loose-limbed style of his, and you're never going to know for certain how or if pressure affects him.

But rest assured, there is pressure. Things are different in San Diego now. Last year, Khalil Greene was the new kid finding his way, the youngster bucking for Rookie of the Year. This year, the Padres need more. They've got a potential Cy Young winner, a top-flight pen, a speedy leadoff man and some vets with pop. They're looking to win, they're expecting to win. The shortstop on a club like this can't just contribute, he's got to lead. He has to see himself in that Ripken mold, to imagine he's right there with Jeter.

All that was true from the jump this year-before Greene missed 17 days with a broken finger, before Mark Loretta, the heart and soul of the team, went down with torn ligaments in his left thumb-and it's doubly true now. The 25-year-old sophomore shortstop has to mesh with his new two-headed double-play partner (Damian Jackson and Geoff Blum). He has to make up for the loss of Loretta's timely, potent bat. (He got off to a good start by hitting .311 in May.)

And he has to keep making highlight-reel stops in the hole. "You're involved in so many plays at short," explains venerable Giant Omar Vizquel, "that at some point as you mature, you have to assume you're the leader out there."

Greene won't cop to anything so explicit, not out loud anyway. "I don't think you assume a leadership role," he says. "It comes in the plays you make." But get him alone somewhere quiet, he tells you, "I never really expected myself not to do it." And he hesitates, as if he can't quite find the words or doesn't want them to come out wrong. And you ask again, can he step up and deliver all that's required? Then he kind of looks off in the distance and says, "I just know I want to be in those situations. To be in those situations and to come through … that's what matters to me." That's as bold as he'll get.

You want more than that, you'll just have to watch.

-E.N.

Jose Reyes

Derek Jeter was slipped into the bottom third of the order when he joined the Yankees in 1996, safely surrounded by veterans. Jose Reyes, on the other hand, is fully exposed as the 22-year-old leadoff man for the Mets. Because of his prominent place in the lineup of a New York team, his undisciplined swings are dissected daily.

No doubt Reyes faces more pressure than Jeter did as a kid shortstop, so the Yankees' wise old man offers some advice. "Make sure you have fun," says Jeter. "You could be hitting .500, but if you're 0-for-4 and leave a guy, you've got to answer about why you're so bad that particular day. You need to draw some kind of positive out of every single day." When Jeter's words are relayed, Reyes smiles and nods. "I'm having a great time," he says. "I don't worry about other stuff."

Back in 1996, an error earned Jeter this back-page headline: SHORTSLOP. "It sticks with you," he admits. "But I was pretty quick to realize that you can't sit around and sulk. It makes you realize that you've got to take the bad with the good."

Facing the D-Backs on May 31, Reyes led off from first without a clue on how to diagnose lefty Brad Halsey's pickoff move. On consecutive pitches, he darted back to the bag as Halsey delivered homeward. But after a hit advanced Reyes to second, he broke for third on the lead end of a double-steal, getting such an explosive jump that catcher Chris Snyder didn't even bother making a throw.

Despite his slight six-foot,160-pound build, Reyes' arm is staggeringly powerful. "An 80, on the 80 scale," says one veteran scout. But his mistakes on simple plays can be crushing. With the Mets protecting a lead against the Yanks, Reyes began to spin to turn a DP and dropped the throw. No outs, instead of one or two, and the error led to a loss.

"Reyes is very young, very raw, very green," says Willie Randolph. "We're putting a lot on him, so I've been very, very patient, because if you start reacting to what he should be doing prototypically, then you might send him to Triple-A. We just have to wait for him to grow out of his mistakes."

A decade ago, as a Yankees coach, Randolph was saying the same thing about Jeter.

-BUSTER OLNEY

J.J. Hardy

J.J. Hardy's gene pool is very impressive. "Aunts, uncles, all athletes," says the Brewers' rookie shortstop.

Mark Hardy, J.J.'s dad, once ranked 323rd on the ATP Tour. "He's in his mid-50s, and he could beat me 6-0, 6-0," J.J. says. "I still don't think I can return his serve." J.J.'s mom, Susie, was once one of the nation's best women's amateur golfers, dueling Nancy Lopez. His brother, Logan, is a scratch golfer.

James Jerry Hardy might be the best of the bunch. Two months into his major league career, the 22-year-old Tucson native has established himself as one of the premier defensive shortstops in the game. There's nothing flashy about the 6'2", 181-pound Hardy; he's just fundamentally sound. Demanding, too. "I got a little lax,'' he says of one of his two errors this season, on a Pedro Feliz grounder April 23. "It shouldn't have happened." When bench coach Rich Dauer positions the defense, Hardy is often already in the right spot. His throws, says Dauer, "have Alan Trammell-like carry." They travel on a line and arrive at first base chest high.

Offensively, though, the first eight weeks were a nightmare for a guy who had never struggled at anything athletically in his life. At this point, the Mendoza line is a long-term goal. "I'm focusing on defense more, because if I were taking my hitting to the field, I wouldn't even be here," Hardy says. "That would be two negatives."

His down-to-earth attitude comes from many places, including his brother, the scratch golfer, who's 17 months older. Logan spent six months fighting in Iraq. "He went through mental trauma," J.J. says. "He saw things that normal people don't see. He was the one who volunteered to drive a Humvee through roadblocks." Logan is now back safely in the States. "He's helped me," J.J. says. "If I have an 0-for-4, I think about my brother, and know it's not that bad."

Hardy missed all but one month at Triple-A last year with a torn left labrum, and he hasn't hit a home run since having surgery last May. "No excuses," he says, "but I used to swing all the way through the ball. Now, I'm finishing my swing real quick." His biggest hit of the season-a walk-off single-came in Milwaukee against the Mets on May 8. He was mobbed by teammates. "Everyone is pulling so hard for him," says coach Rich Donnelly. "He's the kind of guy who steps out of the food line so the veterans can eat first. He's so respectful."

That, too, is in the genes.

-TIM KURKJIAN

Russ Adams

After three years of building a team that can compete in a division usually dominated by the Red Sox and the Yankees, J.P. Ricciardi believes the time is coming when the Blue Jays start playing "our real good baseball." Then the Toronto GM adds, "And Russ Adams will be in the middle of it."

And he'll probably be leading off, too. Adams, 24, has been on the fast track since being chosen 14th overall in the 2002 draft. After just two full minor league seasons, Adams hit .306 with four home runs in 22 games with the Jays last September. He got the starting job this spring, and through May he was among AL rookie leaders in several offensive categories, including RBIs.

Adams was an all-state golfer, quarterback and baseball player at Scotland High in Laurinburg, N.C., before attending North Carolina, where he was first-team All-ACC as a second baseman. "We thought we were getting a good athlete who hadn't played a lot of shortstop," says Ricciardi. "We knew he was our type of player from the standpoint of plate discipline. We just thought he'd grow into the position. Some guys find a way to survive and figure it out. Russ is one of those guys."

Adams has some pop for a 6'1", 180-pounder. He can open up on a ball over the inner half of the plate. Ricciardi projects him as a cross between Mike Bordick and Walt Weiss, a .280 to .300 hitter who could reach double digits in homers. Defensively, Adams' suspect arm—not to mention hotshot prospect Aaron Hill, who's playing third while Corey Koskie rehabs
from thumb surgery—may eventually send him back to second.

But Jays infield instructor Brian Butterfield isn't conceding anything. "I've always felt that if you could give some kind of test, you'd find that the most creative people in this game are shortstops," Butterfield says. "You have to be creative to come up with some of the things that people like Omar Vizquel come up with. Russ can be like that. When he gets his fingers over the ball, he gets as good a carry on it as anybody."

During infield practice, Adams has been joined at the hip with veteran John McDonald, who's a paint-by-numbers hitter but Picasso with the glove. In Adams, McDonald has found a willing pupil. "The thing everyone has told me is to do all my work at game speed," says Adams. "That means taking ground balls seriously and making sure your feet are always moving. The key will be to continue to keep working and stay confident. You need a short memory to play this position."

And a long view.

-JEFF BLAIR

Clint Barmes

The folks in Clint Barmes' boyhood neighborhood in Vincennes, Ind., remember him as the kid whose baseball glove was either attached to his left hand or hanging from the handlebars of his bicycle. The only time Barmes ditched the mitt, it seemed, was to dribble a basketball or accompany his father on work trips.

Barry Barmes sold the family farm during a financial squeeze and took a job driving an RC Cola truck. Young Clint would ride along to Terre Haute and help wheel the bottles of pop into stores. Hard work was the Barmes family way, a heartland heirloom passed down. "Clint's always been the first one to the field and the last to leave," says his mother, Erma, a respiratory therapist at Good Samaritan Hospital in Vincennes.

Some things never change. Even when the 26-year-old rookie was hitting .400 for the Rockies in mid-May, his teammates were more impressed with his fanatical work regimen. Watch him during batting practice, says teammate Todd Helton. Not only does Barmes field grounders and chase pop flies longer than anyone else, he always guns the ball to first base rather than toss it back to the coach in the fungo circle.

The six-foot, 190-pound leadoff man has been compared to David Eckstein and Craig Counsell, fellow Little Engines That Could. But he reminds Rockies bench coach Jamie Quirk of Mike Bordick, and he prompts manager Clint Hurdle to summon the name of Marty "Slats" Marion—a gritty, rail-thin, eight-time All-Star for the Cardinals from 1943 to 1950. "You see a lot of knees and elbows," Hurdle says of Barmes, "and he'll show you a rocket coming around on the double play."

Barmes, who played hoops at Olney Central College in Illinois, is a natural athlete, but something less than a natural shortstop. Scouts have expressed reservations about his footwork, and the old questions about his defense were sure to resurface after he made 12 errors in his first 52 games this season. "Each year I come into spring training and they tell me, we're going to get you some balls at second base," Barmes says. "Then I end up playing a full season at shortstop." Barmes has always impressed scouts with his tenacity, if not his grace, and he's quickly won over the Colorado clubhouse. "Clint and Juan Pierre are the only two players I've played with whom I can say I'm a fan of," says Helton, who's had more than 200 teammates in nine years with the Rockies. "You don't find too many blue-collar shortstops."

That's a collar that fits Barmes.

-JERRY CRASNICK

Print Article . Email Article. Subscribe to The Magazine