Since agreeing to come back to Fire Brand recently, I’ve been reading the site’s archives — in part to get a feel for the place after a few years and in part to try and brush off the writing cobwebs and remember how to do this again (and I’m already opening an article with a self-referential aside, so I guess it’s like riding a bike). Anyway, it struck me while reading that these pages haven’t yet addressed one of the most notable deals of the winter: Nomar Garciaparra’s one day contract.
The Fireside Chats crew put together an excellent discussion of the move (and he was also named the All-Aughts SS of the decade), but I feel like Nomar’s Red Sox career — and his career in general — deserves an obituary in addition to a eulogy. After all, you can trace these current Red Sox — and moreso this current Red Sox era and fanbase — right back to 1997 and right back to the phenom shortstop that lit Fenway on fire that summer. Nomar Garciaparra created the modern Boston Red Sox, and gave us some of the greatest moments this side of October, 2004, and now he’s Red Sox property again, this time for eternity.
So how do you put a period on a career like Nomar’s, a career that can’t help but feel unfinished? For eight seasons, it seemed as though the number 5 would one day join 1, 4, 8, and 9 on the right field facade. For eight seasons, Boston had its answer to Jeter and A-Rod, its own entry in the trinity of late 90s shortstops. It had the heir to Williams, the new face of the franchise, and a whole new set of legends. And then… it all vanished beneath controversy and recrimination. Swept away by one of the most dramatic trades in Red Sox history, and then made almost irrelevant by the 2004 World Championship, the career of Nomar Garciaparra remains a testament to what might have been instead of what was.
I can pinpoint the moment I fell in love with Nomar. It was August 30, 1997, the day his record-setting 30 game hit streak was broken. Sitting along the first base side, I can clearly remember the look of anguish on his face after he lined out in his final at bat, closing the streak. The standing ovation he received didn’t change that look, even as he tipped his helmet to the crowd; at the time, I remembered being impressed by his perfectionism.
There was more there, however. As he waved his hand almost perfunctorily at the crowd, he spoke volumes about the kind of star he would become: a reluctant legend who never quite knew how to handle the attention directed at him. He owned this town — more than Pedro Martinez, more than Paul Pierce, more even than Tom Brady. Nomar was a god and we worshiped at his altar. But he never accepted it, and he never accepted the changes that fame would thrust upon his life. He certainly never accepted the media — that strange half-breed of fan mouthpiece and fan manipulator whose relationship with so many Sox stars has soured their stay. For Nomar, the media became toxic. It made him feel unwelcome, under-appreciated, and overexposed.
I won’t bore you with a litany of his stats — they continue to amaze even now, but we all remember them. What’s more interesting is how Nomar changed after leaving Boston — how he changed as a ballplayer, how he changed as a man, and finally how he changed in the eyes of Boston fans. As usual, it was through the filter of the media that we saw Jeter’s dive contrasted with Nomar seated at Yankee Stadium. It was to the media that Nomar complained during the A-Rod saga between 2003 and 2004, and it was from the media that he hid most of that season. Finally, on July 31, 2004 — a month shy of seven years after his streak was broken — Nomar was traded away.
We all know where the Red Sox went from there, but it’s important to pause and reflect on where Nomar went as well. First to the Cubs, where he injured himself almost immediately and missed much of the rest of the season; then on to LA where the Dodgers played him everywhere but shortstop as a part-time fill-in. Finally to Oakland as a designated hitter. These waystations made Nomar appreciate more what he had here, and in a way seeing him struggle helped Sox fans overcome any animosity that remained from his exit. When he returned to Fenway last season, for the first time since 2004, the pure emotion on his face was palpable. He had made his peace, we had made ours.
All of these events led to Nomar returning to the fold two weeks ago. He came back to acknowledge what everyone already knew: no matter where he went, no matter how the split had occurred, Nomar Garciaparra belonged in Boston. It’s especially fitting that he joined the very media machine he once so despised — while most Boston media members saw this as hypocrisy, I see it as bygones. Nomar’s time in the baseball wilderness brought him closer to Boston than he ever had been while here, and allowed us to appreciate him from a more distant vantage point. Hopefully, Nomar will get one more chance on the field at Fenway — a first pitch, a ceremony, or even a simple appearance in the Legends Box. But even if that doesn’t happen, we can celebrate the fact that this once bitter divorce has been reconciled, and the career of Nomar Garciaparra finally feels complete.