Here’s Looking at Kent in a Whole New Light

I wanted to write something nice about Jeff Kent, and before you ask, yes, I’m feeling fine, and Kent was not standing over me with bat in hand or threatening to set up the daughter who can’t get a date with Jason Phillips.

“I’ll tell you what,” Kent said before Tuesday night’s game, “I’ll take you to lunch if you go interview someone else.”

We’ve been tight like that all year.

Kent was kidding, of course, but then, of course, he was not. You never really know. Is the snarl a grin? Or the grin a snarl?

I began the season determined to find out. I knew the cantankerous reputation, but I remember something a difficult running back, Ronnie Harmon, told me when we first sat down for an interview.

I began by telling Harmon, “I hear you’re a real @#$%{circ}&,” and he replied, “That’s funny, I hear you’re a real @#$%{circ}&.” We never had a problem.

The perception is Mr. Chuckles and I have a problem. I told Kent if we were stuck on a raft, most people believe one of us would be thrown to the sharks.

“Of course, I’d toss you a life jacket,” I told him, beating him to the wisecrack. “I would pull you all the way to shore,” Kent said, a second later, “but you’d be in the water holding on to the raft.”

And so it’s gone from Day 1 -- shot for shot. We exchanged philosophies on opening day, and agreed serious player to tongue-in-cheek columnist we were not going to get along. But he said something that day that was remarkable, and something I didn’t believe. He said he’d always talk to the media, no matter how the previous chats had gone.

That brings me to Kent Compliment No. 1: We’re 112 games into the season and Kent has kept his word, never refusing to talk, including to the most obnoxious, galling, get-under-your-skin guy out there, and I know that for a fact.

“Write about me and lay off the other kids in here,” Kent said. “When they get strong enough, then you can go and try to wear them out.”

No sir, this is no Kevin Brown. Not even close. Upon closer examination and just between us, he might be one of my favorite players -- a little off-kilter in his thinking, and red-neck over the edge when it comes to proving no one can get to him, but peel away the layers, and he’s a pro.

*

MOST DAYS I begin by telling him, “Gosh, it’s been so long since we’ve chatted,” which usually gets some kind of “My lucky day” retort from Mr. Chuckles with more than a hint of disgust and occasional obscenity.

On Tuesday he said he was “not in the mood” to talk. I reminded him he’s never in the mood, and he explained why. “On the 45-minute drive here every day I’m putting on my game face. That’s what has worked for me. It’s my comfort factor. You could say I’m too scared to change, don’t have the time, or don’t want to change. Whatever, I don’t care. It works for me.”

If you watch closely, everything about Kent is game-face contained: his swing, his throwing motion, his economy of words. I’ve urged him to cut loose and have some fun. “We’re from two different worlds,” I said, and immediately I got the quintessential Kent, the quick-witted, former Berkeley student: “I hope so,” he said.

But then he continued to explain himself, the athlete who sits alone in the corner of the locker room, for a moment dropping his guard.

“What is the one thing you think of with a great pitcher? Intimidation. I’m trying to project that right back. I put on that coat when I come to the ballpark. It’s hard to talk to you, have tea and then five minutes later go out and face an intimidating pitcher.

“It’s my coat of armor. And I don’t want someone getting to me and softening me up when I have to go out there and bust somebody’s [butt].”

Kent Compliment No. 2: Agree or disagree on the approach, he treats this game like serious business, grinding on every at-bat, each ground ball, and now as a spectator it’s easy to understand why he has put together a Hall of Fame resume.

I told him I respected him for that, and then quickly added a cheap shot in case he wanted to hug me or something. I’ve heard there are some guys around here who get so carried away by the fawning media, it’s like they want to have an affair.

*

ON MOST days we go smart aleck to smart aleck with both later agreeing I’ve won because he gets no chance to respond publicly. Tuesday was different. Kent won me over.

The San Francisco Giants made it to the seventh game of the World Series. The Houston Astros improved overnight with Kent. And yet, he said, “I’m not completely satisfied.” No championship ring, and as for the quest to win one, “I’m getting worn out,” he said. The Dodgers will do that to you.

Kent Compliment No. 3: I told him I’ve always thought a champion is measured in consistent performance rather than team championships. I told him, “slap me, but that’s almost a compliment.” He turned to the side, but I caught the grin -- glad it wasn’t a slap.

Then he became reflective. “The first thing out of my 7-year-old son’s mouth when I come home now is, ‘Dad, did you win?’ Most of the time I have to tell him no, and he kind of sighs.”

Kent dropped his head, the cranky competitor suddenly overcome by emotion, unable to speak. “Excuse me here,” he said, “these things soften me up.”

He tried to regroup, but struggled, the tears filling his eyes as he spoke -- the words a little jumbled. “It is supposed to be fun and we are all winners.

“As my kids get on with sports.... It’s such a fine line. There is so much at stake up here; that’s probably why I’m getting tired. It will soon end.”

I know this, it’ll end sooner than later if I keep complimenting Kent and softening the great competitor up. He struck out four consecutive times against the Philadelphia Phillies, his game face awash in emotion earlier, so it’s back to roughing him up from now on.

For once, an athlete who will welcome cheap shot after cheap shot.

T.J. Simers can be reached at

t.j.simers@latimes.com. To read previous columns by Simers, go to latimes.com/simers.