Shoppach to the Rays, or: Why I Love Baseball

Yesterday, the Tampa Bay Rays traded for a catching improvement in the form of Indians catcher Kelly Shoppach, in exchange for a player to be named later. The Rays incumbent catcher, Dioner Navarro, went from being a marginal All-Star in 2008 to absolutely wretched in 2009 (100 OPS+ to 52). Late in the season the Rays traded for Greg Zaun, who hit well, but Zaun is 38 and now a free agent (although the Rays have offered him arbitration). Navarro is probably not as bad as he was last year (he’s only 25), but almost certainly not as good a hitter as he was in 2008.  It’s yet to be determined which of those two will remain with the club.

Shoppach is an entirely different animal. His batting average is ugly (.214 last year) and that’s partly because he strikes out a lot (36.2% of the time last year), but, when he does make contact, he hits for a lot of power (.208 career ISO).  Also, he walks a decent amount, especially when compared to Navarro’s 4.6% BB rate last year.  Shoppach is one of those unusual “three true outcomes” kinds of guys who’s never going to impress with slapping the ball to the opposite field, but, when he’s not striking out or walking, he’ll probably hit the ball hard.

However, this trade intrigues me for a different, more personal reason, than how it will affect either the Indians or Rays; I care because it involves the player I know as “Slippy.”  The story…

When I was in high school in Sarasota, FL, I used to go to games at Ed Smith Stadium, home of the Sarasota Red Sox.  The SaraSox were the Red Sox Florida State League affiliate, a High-A league.  One summer, I went to quite a few ballgames; cheap entertainment for teenagers is hard to come by in Sarasota, but crappy Ed Smith provided in abundance during the summer, with its aluminum benches and ample parking.  If we got there early enough, we could sign up for the various between-inning on-field contests held there.  One particular night I won the pie-eating contest, but only because my friend Brett let me take the chocolate cream pie, while he took the coconut.  At the end, he had coconut coming out his nose, it was gross.  What was more disgusting was the coconut in my ear and hair after Brett threw the pie at me in reaction to his loss.

Another, more spectacular, thing happened that night: I was introduced to Slippy.  Before his first at-bat, Slippy was just another no-name (especially on a team with the Greek God of Walks) A-Ball hopeful  trying to make it to The Show.  But then, he swung and missed, and in the process let fly his bat.  And then he did it again!  After his first two at-bats he had lost control of his bat at least 5 times!  Knowing nothing else about him, Brett and I dubbed him “Slippy.”  We probably could have come up with something more creative, but it was the first thing that came to mind and it stuck.  We cheered loudly for Slippy and, in a stadium with probably fewer than 300 people, were probably the most obnoxious fans there.  Our cheers were sometimes derisive, sometimes encouraging, but always enthusiastic!  I’m sure Slippy heard us, and in his last couple of at-bats I think he only threw his bat once.  My memory is hazy now, but I’m pretty sure good ol’ Slippy hit a double or home run in that game!  That game remains one of my favorite baseball memories.

As I became a more well-read and involved baseball fan, I saw Slippy’s birth name come up a few times.  I remember reading something about him as one of Boston’s top catching prospects and thinking, “but he can’t hold on to the bat!”; later, I read about him being sent to the Indians as part of the trade that brought Coco Crisp to Boston.  By that time, I figured he had learned how to keep his hands on the bat.  Nonetheless, I secretly began to root for Slippy and was really pleased when he got a shot at extended duty in 2008.  He did well!  This past season wasn’t so great, but he still put up decent hitting numbers for a catcher.  Now that he’s with the Rays, I hope he gets the starting job, so when I come home to visit my parents I can take the 45 minute drive to Tropicana Field to see my old friend Slippy on a major league field (if you can call the Trop that)!

I developed an attachment to a player based on one game he played as a minor leaguer, and now I’m rooting for his continued major league success.  I love baseball.

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