Baseball, Public Compete for Canseco’s Energy

It is 6:14 on a pure New England evening -- too late for summer’s heat, too soon for autumn’s chill -- when Jose Canseco clomps up the steps of the third-base dugout at Fenway Park, the last of 38 Oakland Athletics players and coaches to reach the playing field. He is hit with a bomb of juvenile caterwauling, such as might precede New Kids on the Block launching into a concert or, to hear it another way, Ravashing Rick Rude climbing through the ropes. His teammates glance furtively, and return to their work.

Canseco stops first and shakes hands with Dave Boutin, a wheelchair-bound 21-year-old. “Hi Dave, Jose Canseco,” he says before signing a small crate of items for Boutin, including three caps, an authentic jersey, dozens of baseball cards and a poster. Meanwhile, at the rail between the dugout and home plate, the throng is 10-deep, pressed against the wall, waving paraphernalia at Canseco. He turns toward them to oblige. “This,” a security guard said, “presents a unique problem.”

All the while they wave pens and markers and Canseco makes his way from one end to the other. The big kids -- the bald ones -- try to stick a hand through beneath a child’s arm, as if to mix embarrassment with worship. It all ends in time for Canseco to hit, which, lord knows, he needs to do at this point, with his one home run in 24 games and his batting average having free fallen from .320 to the mid-.280s in less than two months.

Dave Stewart, the reliable pitcher whose four consecutive 20-win seasons and unfailing professionalism form much of the substance of the World Champion A’s, has seen this movie, too. He has seen Canseco hit home runs of indescribable dimensions, seen him work crowds in every American League city, seen him spout bombast to a writer, only to sulk at seeing it in print the next day.

“He’s the one player who’s always got something, from day to day, that causes him not to be into the game,” Stewart said. “When he’s into the game, it’s great to have him on your ballclub. But so many things interfere with him performing at his best. He never goes into a game undistracted.”

Carney Lansford, the A’s veteran third baseman, said, “Jose has to go out and do his job, baseball-wise, be a little less obliging. You’re getting paid to play baseball, you’re not getting paid to sign autographs or do interviews. When you play 162 games a year, the thing you have to do most is stay mentally and physically fresh. You can get burned out very easily.”

Ah, if only they understood. Jose Canseco is different from them. Not different only in the Gatsby sense -- richer, by millions, even than his wealthy teammates -- but different in the sense that he plays a different game and lives in a world that is different from everybody else’s in his sport. Perhaps Michael Jordan would understand. Or Magic Johnson. Sure, Michael and Magic. They would understand. Joe Montana, too. They would know what it will be like this week when the postseason begins and the spotlight shines brightest.

It is not just the $23.5 million contract that pays him $5.5 million this season alone and makes him richer than any player in the game (and richer, too, than several midwestern states). It is not just the numbers -- past, present and future -- such as 40-40, 50-50 and whatever-whatever. It is not just the hair, the eyes, the chest, the arms. It is not just 1-900-ASK-JOSE or a secluded house in the hills or the beautiful wife or the past problems with fast cars and loaded guns. It is all of these.

‘What will people remember me for?” Canseco said, repeating a question. “The most memorable thing is that I was a trend-setter. I was someone who set the standards for the future. I was someone who wasn’t afraid to voice his opinion, who lived through all the criticism. I was exciting to watch. Someone who, if he had to be replaced, would be very difficult to replace.

“To me,” he said, “this whole game is going Hollywood. Fans want to have a good time; they won’t want to go to the ballpark if none of the players are known. So what if a guy hits a home run? We don’t know him. They want to see Canseco. He keeps them entertained. Whether they want to boo him or cheer him, they get into the game.”

Tough work, you understand, to take the game of baseball and carry it into the 21st century all by yourself.

Talent started all of this. Canseco is 6-foot-3, 230 pounds, meaty and sculpted at the same time. “Best bat speed I’ve ever seen,” said A’s hitting coach Merv Rettenmund, repeating an assessment he has offered many times. Willie Randolph, the venerable former New York Yankee and current Athletic, said, “He misses balls and has them go out. Reggie could do that, but Reggie was just force, as strong as an ox. He didn’t have nearly the bat speed that Jose does.”

On it goes. The stories get repeated like when college chums gather at reunions and talk about the beer they consumed -- his 550-foot shot into the fifth deck at the SkyDome in Toronto, his rising liner that Baltimore Oriole third baseman Craig Worthington jumped at ... just as it cleared the wall, batting practice moonshots for show. In 1985, he was American League Rookie of the Year; in ‘88, he made good on a prediction to become the game’s first (and still only) 40-40 man, with 42 home runs and 40 stolen bases. He has promised more, and at age 26, his body willing, is capable of delivering.

“No doubt,” Stewart said. “I listen to all the things he says about himself, and there’s no doubt. I can honestly say that, physically, he has no limits.”

Production and promises, however, have given birth to another monster. In his incessant desire to match -- and better -- his feats and predictions, Canseco is given to impetuousness and immaturity. And predictably, each incident is magnified beyond realism. It comes with the territory and he knows it. When he arrived late to Yankee Stadium and blamed a cab driver for taking him on a two-hour tour, it was the stuff of sidebars and whimsy. “Because,” Canseco said. “I’m ... big ... news.”

This he says with much bravado and self-confidence, as if partly burdened and partly proud. In truth, he is more complex than this. Much more creative and sophisticated, too. He spends most of his public time alternately brandishing the enormous chip on his shoulder and then removing it to ask for understanding.

“I think the uniqueness of Jose Canseco reveals itself on a daily basis,” A’s general manager Sandy Alderson said. “Sometimes in a positive light, sometimes not.”

The Oakland A’s might be the best baseball team of this generation. Beginning with this week’s playoffs, they will be odds-on favorites to repeat as American League and World Champions, the first team to win consecutive World Series since the Yankees of ’77 and ‘78, and the first team to play in three straight Series since the same Yankees (1976-78). On this team, with 14 past or present All-Stars and with a payroll that could soon surpass $30 million, a guy could get lost.

The team, in short, is close to digging a place in history and rooting itself forever. Canseco is another matter. For all his glitter, he is still just five seasons old, possessor of 160 home runs, 94 stolen bases and a career .270 batting average. His promises of 50-50 are nothing more than howling in the dark.

“He has to eventually leave himself short,” Stewart said. “He’s never going to be able to play his game like he’s capable with everything else he does. I don’t care what his statistics are. He’s been great. I know that. But he’s still got more.”