If you were an Indians fan back in the mid-90s, you couldn’t help but love Manny Ramirez.
Now, you can’t help but feel sorry for him.
As most of the world knows by now, Ramirez, who was a rising star during the Indians’ glory days of Central Division titles and World Series appearances, tested positive for a banned substance for the second time in his career. Rather than face a 100-game suspension, the 38-year-old Ramirez informed MLB that he would retire.
If Ramirez has truly left the game, it brings an end to arguably the most enigmatic career in the history of baseball.
Arguably the majors’ best right-handed hitter for an extended period, Ramirez spent much more of his time as one of baseball’s whackiest players.
His memorable moments of borderline insanity — coupled with certified stupidity — on and off the field are well-known and far too long to list.
So, in that respect, the shameful ending to what could have simply been one of the greatest hitting careers ever, is a fitting one.
Ramirez should be ashamed for never taking the game seriously. For a guy that changed his bizarre hairstyles on a consistent basis, he never quite got around to changing his approach to a professional one. Unlike countless other top-shelf players, he never played the game the right way.
Ramirez should be ashamed for wasting his abundance of God-given talent that most players would die for. He was a great hitter for a spell, but he could have been a great player his entire career.
Among many other things that again are too long to keep listing, Ramirez should be ashamed of his countless acts of immaturity that created strife in nearly every big league clubhouse that he entered.
And finally, Ramirez should be ashamed for cheating, testing positive twice for banned substances.
It is this that is almost certain to keep Ramirez out of the Hall of Fame. With 555 home runs, 1,831 RBIs and a lifetime .311 batting average, the 12-time All-Star was a pretty safe bet to get the call to the Hall on his offensive stats alone, even with the antics and lackadaisically bad defense.
The steroid stuff changes everything, and it should.
But while it is tough to feel sorry for a player that on top of making millions of dollars, tarnished his image, career and the game with his own hand along the way, there should be no bitter Manny memories for the Indians and their fans.
Outside of his occasional lapse in the field and laughable off-field incident, Ramirez, who grew up in Cleveland amongst a myriad of established veteran stars, toed the line.
And he produced at the plate — boy, did he ever (30-plus home runs and 100-plus RBIs in five of six seasons from 1995-2000) — as he rose from highly-touted prospect to budding superstar right before Tribe fans’ eyes.
Plus, though his entire career will now be under question, there have been no allegations of banned substance abuse while Ramirez played for the Indians. If there was anytime Ramirez didn’t take them, it was early in his career.
Outside of departing taking more money elsewhere, which nearly every star player in Cleveland has done, Ramirez did little to sully his relationship with Indians fans.
Manny really didn’t start “being Manny” full force until he departed Cleveland via free agency for Boston prior to the 2001 season.
A world title with the Red Sox followed but so did confrontations with veteran leaders in the Boston clubhouse and unreasonable trade demands to the front office.
Ramirez finally got his wish when he was traded to the Dodgers during the 2008 season. That ushered in “Mannywood” in LA, but that quickly soured, as Ramirez was suspended for 50 games the following season for testing positive for a steroid masking substance.
The Dodgers traded Ramirez to the White Sox during the 2010 season, and the Sox unloaded the Manny baggage as fast as possible, granting him free agency at the end of the year.
That left Tampa Bay to play sucker, and the D-Rays did, signing Ramirez to a one-year contract worth $2 million. They got five games and one hit out of him before Ramirez went off the rails again with a 100-game suspension that brought him to this shameful completion.
So, Indians fans, you don’t need to feel sorry for the way Ramirez’s career ended, just for how it turned out after one of your boys of summer left Cleveland.
Feel sorry for a kid that remained a child for his entire baseball life and never realized or cared how good he could have been without all the nonsense or the steroids.
Feel sorry for a guy that just didn’t get it.
Contact Chris Assenheimer at 329-7136 or cassenheimer@chroniclet.com.
