I know it’s kicking a dead horse at this point but I need to talk about Mike Trout.
Baseball writers and analysts have been drooling over the guy and rightfully so. He has been the runner-up to the American League MVP twice and has become the advanced stats communities’ Messiah by leading his league in Wins Above Replacement (WAR) for the last two years.
His defence in the field is something to marvel at and his physical size makes me think Stan Lee created him.
But this year he seems more man than Superman. His current season stats are not bad by any means but they just don’t seem like the Trout we know. Perhaps the reports of his crashing back to earth have been exaggerated. Either way debating his numbers isn’t what this post is about. I wrote this because I believe The Millville Meteor is the type of player that rarely comes around in baseball.
I Didn’t Make Up The Nickname!
I say this because on Monday night I bought a $15 ticket for a first row left-centre field seat at the Rogers Centre (Thank you Stubhub!). For nine innings I was sitting behind the future of baseball.
I took my seat about 30 minutes before first pitch because I’m a sucker for batting practice. The Angels were just finishing up and Trout was shagging fly balls. TV does not do his build justice. I began to question bringing my girlfriend to the game. I was afraid she would leave me for him. With Trout being the same age as me – but also a professional baseball player- I wouldn’t blame her. I would breakup with myself for Mike Trout.
Dreamy
As players were finishing up stretching they began to head for the dugout. The one exception was Trout. He was still signing autographs. I had never seen a player stay out this long for fans before a game. I was astounded by his self-awareness. A good chunk of the crowd was there just to see him and he knew that. He knows he has become more than a baseball player. At the age of 22 he is the future of the game and also one of its biggest ambassadors.
Trout had an average night with two RBI’s but also struck out with two runners on late in the game. To my disappointment he didn’t hit a home run to the upper deck of the Rogers Centre like a juiced Jose Canseco.
But in a clichéd fashion, it was the small things that really stood out.
When he was running to first base trying to beat out a ground ball he seemed like a freight train running down the baseline. It was his first at bat of the game and he was running like the season depended on it. I think they added the new home plate collision rule to make sure Trout never murders a catcher.
The one play that got the loudest reaction was when Trout came over to left field to backup a fly ball. Angels left fielder Grant Green had to run to his right to snag a tailing line drive. Out of nowhere Trout was there in case he mishandled it. He probably could have caught the liner himself coming from center field. It earned a “wow” from the fans sitting in left field. A guy that big should not be able to move that fast.
Attendance for the game was 13,603 but I would argue that there was one fan that mattered the most. He sat one section to my right wearing an Angels cap. He was around 12 years old and I’m guessing that he, like myself, was there to see Trout.
During the fifth inning he kept yelling out Trout’s name and at the end of the frame his hero answered. On his way back to the dugout Trout turned back to the kid, gave a head nod, and a smile. That was it. The young fan had noticed and his night was made. His play on the field taught the kid to never take a play off but that smile may have lit a passion that will never go out. Thanks to Trout, I may see this fan in the big leagues one day.
For an uneventful game he had done more than the box score could show.
Call this piece “Troutsturbation” but when you see him in person you understand. Next time Mike Trout comes to your town buy a ticket and become a true believer.
The View From Up North 