A lot of smart baseball played here comes out of the Dominican Republic, and last night’s Home Run Derby proved to be no exception. Credit that to the winner's father.
Jose Cano, former Astro’s pitcher, threw batting practice (BP) to son Robinson Cano, named after Jackie Robinson, as if the rest of this story wasn’t cool enough already. You couldn’t help concluding that Jose staged this show.
The field of eight hitters got whittled down to four so pathetically fast Chris Berman and them danced around questioning why the rest even got picked. The derby is not something anyone practices for. These guys spend their lives trying not to pop up. Here you want to. It’s a whole other thing.
We suspect contestants would do a lot better laying off the first ten strikes they want to swing at, giving the pitcher time to settle in. A few inches here and there makes all the difference in the world in BP, and we’d just like to see what would happen if the hurlers got in a couple dozen good real-time warm-up tosses.
The remaining field of four had been narrowed to two way before the gates even opened once David Ortiz and Prince Fielder decided they were going to drop down in the strike zone, calling for low pitches. The closer a pitch is to your eyes, the easier it is to hit the thing dead center. Go after balls at thigh level, and you’re telling the other all-star line drive hitters that either you’re so much better than them you swing at anything or you need a miracle to win. Sometimes peers have to be excused for assuming the latter. This time that was not the case.
The upward bat angle coming into low strikes makes the ball go very high - moon shots as Chris Berman said - but when the all-stars oohed and ahhed, that wasn’t about the height. It was because these two morons managed to hit the ball at all. Jose Cano threw to Ortiz too. Probably didn’t said a word about location. Was glad to help Big Popi fall flat on his foolish face.
The Ortiz/Fielder debacle left Adrian Gonzalez v. Robinson Cano, only because both were ordering fat high-inside strikes, the logical place to work from. They’re close to your eyes, and your arms align best high. The ball even banks off the bat for you here, rebounding more of its incoming speed outward.
Jose almost never missed. Manny Acta, Gonzo’s BP pitcher, left the ball out over the plate enough to mess with Adrian’s mind. You pull high-inside, and Gonzo found himself taking some shots into the opposite field with an inside-out swing.
That’s as discombobulating as it sounds. Robbie got to use the same stroke most every time, and could lengthen it, looking masterful. Two-stroke Gonzalez, though actually playing better ball, came off looking like a clown by comparison.
Jose won. Manny lost.
And Major League Baseball awarded Jose’s trophy to Jose's kid. Pitcher won this one, not slugger. Jose threw great BP, and really bore down. Didn’t crack a smile all contest long. When Robbie tied Gonzo at the end, Dad ran out from behind the screen to give him a great big hug.
“Uno mas,” Jose ordered, sticking an index finger in the air. The kid nodded, then popped one more into the seats, and the title was his. Jose’s, we mean.
Because it truly, truly was. Jose Cano pulled this win off like the championship father he obviously is.
Expect Baseball Czar Bud Selig to ban dads from participating in Home Run Derbies after the winter meetings.
