Braves Have Good Reason to Be Chipper

They say whenever they want to get under Chipper Jones’ skin, really needle him, which is rare, his teammates among the Atlanta Braves can be heard calling out, “Larry! LARRRRR-eeeee!” from across the room, or across the diamond. A grin immediately spreads out above that Georgia peach fuzz on Chipper’s chin.

The kid has been the only rookie in baseball this season with anything close to Hideo Nomo’s appeal. When the voting is tabulated, Larry (Chipper) Jones, 23, named for his father and nicknamed for being “a chip off the old block,” very well may be confirmed as the National League’s top rookie of 1995.

Oh, Nomo’s a nominee.

“Hey, even I’d vote for Nomo,” Jones says.

He’s a throwback, this young, bubble gum-popping third baseman, who is hitting .300 in the National League championship series that heads tonight into Game 3, but that doesn’t make Chipper so magnanimous that he responds dishonestly to the question, “So, you mean you want Nomo to win rookie of the year?”

Jones extends his palms and says, “Wait! I wouldn’t go that far.”

Far from the seasoned professional that Nomo already was, Jones came to the majors fresh and green. He led all rookies in games played, at-bats, runs batted in and runs scored. A switch-hitter, Jones hit 23 home runs--all but three from the left side--and is willing to brag that his .265 average would have been higher, but Manager Bobby Cox batted him third in the lineup, emphasizing power.

So, he is not without ego. But the thing about Chipper Jones is, he reminds people of Cal Ripken Jr., of Dale Murphy, of players who personify milk-and-cookie goodness. At a time when ballplayers were being taunted for their self-obsession, along came Jones with many of the old-fashioned qualities fans have traditionally admired.

One observer looked at Jones’ baby face and said, “Erase the fuzz, he’s the young Mickey Mantle, right off his Topps card.”

Cox had another picture.

“Reminds me of Eddie,” said the manager of the Braves, as if further identification were unnecessary. “The lips, the eyes, the face, the way he moves--Eddie Mathews.”

Should they think him a vestige of summers past, it is understandable. Watch him out there. Camped at third base, Jones is the one with his stirrups pulled tight, his cuffs tugged high. In olden days, a glimpse of stocking wasn’t looked on as something shocking, the way it is today.

The pink Bazooka shoots out of his mouth like a balloon at a carnival’s helium tank. OK, so the kid is right out of Norman Rockwell at a time when so many athletes are right out of Norman Bates. As a boy, Chipper Jones threw the ball against the barn door until his dad, Larry, got home to play catch. So, who plays him in the movie, Redford or Costner?

Brash?

On the contrary, Jones asked to play in the minors until he was ready, unlike other top prospects who demanded immediate promotion to the Show.

A sure thing?

“I didn’t even know I was going to make the team,” he says of spring training.

Last season had ended abruptly for Chipper, not with a labor walkout but with a limp-off, one requiring knee surgery. The Braves had sacrificed their much-admired team leader, Terry Pendleton, to make a place for Jones at third base. They also had gambled by letting Ron Gant go, leaving a hole in the order that they hoped Jones would fill.

“What was last summer like?” he was asked.

“Depressing,” Chipper said.

Prodded by his wife to work out, lift weights, rehab the knee, Jones made his way back. She was there to cheer his return, and one day Karin Jones was walking down an aisle when she slipped and spilled her drink, a scene that ESPN happened to capture on film. It was seen coast to coast, on home screens and stadium boards.

Larry (Chipper) Jones joked, “It’s about time the wives got some of the headlines.”

A woman attending an Atlanta game the next night got off an even better joke.

“If I Was Married to Chipper Jones,” her banner read, “I’d Spill MY Drink, Too.”