BOOK MARK : Goofballs in Baseball: Head Cases Strike Out

Baseball has become an obsession in the Dominican Republic. But, writes the author of “Sugarball,” its players are not without their problems when they get to the big leagues. An excerpt.

Players fail for a variety of reasons, some of which have nothing to do with poor playing skills. One often hears the term “head case” applied to Latino players who fail or who do not reach their potential.

The term describes a player whose behavior is unpredictable, unconventional and difficult for the organization to control. Among those who could be considered head cases are George Bell, outfielder for the Toronto Blue Jays, because of his ill temper; Pascual Perez, pitcher for the New York Yankees, who is widely regarded as a “goofball” and Joaquin Andujar, former pitcher for the St. Louis Cardinals, because of his prodigious outbursts of temper.

But people in baseball use the term “head case” too inclusively, and some are too willing to call a Latino player a head case simply because he is a product of a culture foreign to them.

Not all head cases are Latino. Denis “Oil Can” Boyd, now pitching for Montreal, bobs about the pitcher’s mound and holds animated conversations with himself. Jimmy Piersall, who played outfield for the Boston Red Sox and was the most celebrated head case of his time, suffered a nervous breakdown and eventually wrote a book about it. But Latino players are labeled head cases to a disproportionate degree.

A ballplayer is an individual, a member of a socioeconomic group and a member of a cultural group. Most baseball clubs see the ballplayer only as the first of these and reward and punish him accordingly. They tend to divide the Latino players into two categories: the head cases and what I call the heads of the class. The heads of the class are players whose behavior is exemplary, who respond with the same equanimity to adulation and insult, success and hardship.

Some of these players are exuberant in their love for the game and minimize its difficulties; among them are Minnie Minoso, an outstanding player for the Chicago White Sox in the 1960s, and Tony Pena of the Boston Red Sox. Other heads of the class are more serious, like the shortstops Tony Fernandez of the Blue Jays and Alfredo Griffin of the Dodgers.

While most teams know that the greater number of their Latino rookies come from poor backgrounds, they often assume that this will become insignificant when the player reaches North America, or even dismiss it as insignificant in the first place. Unfortunately, this is not often the case: Even if a rookie’s family background is sufficiently normal for his ego to have undergone healthy development, extreme poverty is likely to have damaged it.

One young rookie who had all the tools for success provides an example. Thrown out of his parents’ shanty at the age of 8, he took to living where he could--in this instance under the grandstand at the stadium in his town. There he lived hand-to-mouth, at night collecting plastic soda and beer cups that he would wash and resell the next day. He lived this way for nine years, among thieves and rats, at the same time honing his baseball talents.

The scouts spotted his abilities by the time he was 17. When word of their interest got back to the boy’s parents, they insisted on rebuilding their familial tie and asked their son to move into the chicken shed behind their home. So starved was the boy for affection that he was willing to take even this rather than real love.

When the boy signed, his father took his signing bonus, and when he was given a sports jacket to wear in the United States, even this was taken away, but the son was gratified because now he was worth stealing from. Insecurities such as his make for an uncertain present and future. There can be little doubt that social and economic pressures can derail even the most talented rookies.

Poverty increases the pressure to succeed in the major leagues. Not only does a player’s family depend on his success but often his entire community does as well.

Jaime Torres, an agent for Latino players in the United States, says that for most of his clients high status is intoxicating and fear of failure a nightmare: “There’s always that status . . . it’s very prestigious (playing in the United States). But unfortunately, in the Dominican Republic when a player gets released, you wouldn’t believe the shame. You’re worthless. This is a failure. He was given the opportunity and he failed.”

To have come from a poor background, possibly rural, and to be uneducated makes the transition to the United States difficult. The anxiety not only affects the caliber of a rookie’s playing but may even prevent him from playing. For a Dominican 18-year-old, homesickness is much graver than for his North American counterpart heading off to college. It is compounded by serious doubts and a faltering sense of self-esteem. The player may simply leave the game if his team does not offer him the support he needs.

Among the cultural factors that come into play are two Latino male character traits-- machismo and personalismo --that contribute to an inflated sense of self-worth, self-centeredness and often a sense of entitlement. One sees these traits manifested in an excessive swaggering and cockiness, and an exaggerated male pride that is easily slighted.

For the Dominican player, or indeed for any Latin American player, the combination of rapid career advancement, possibly weak ego development, machismo and cultural dislocation can precipitate a fall. One player who succumbed to one revealed some of his empty boastfulness when he declared: “Before, nobody back home knew who I was; they didn’t talk to me. Now the big people, the guys with a lot of money, always say hi. They seen me in the playoffs. They know me.”

1991 by Yale University. Reprinted with permission

from Yale University Press.

* BOOK REVIEW: “Sugarball: The American Game, the Dominican Dream,” by Alan M. Klein, is reviewed on Page 8 of today’s Book Review section.