HERNANDEZ HAS TO CHANGE IF HE STILL WANTS TO BE KING
Pitcher’s demotion sad for fans who hoped he would see postseason, Jerry Brewer says.
It was just five years ago. Sometimes you forget how fast a life in sports can be, and then perspective comes in a jarring flash. In 2013, Felix Hernandez was crying and celebrating a US$175-million contract extension with the Seattle Mariners. He was vowing, “I’m not going to disappoint anybody. I will do my best — better than my best.” And then Father Time started pestering him.
He was easy to believe on that February day as he wore a threepiece suit and represented the best of a recovering Seattle pro sports scene. This was just before the Seahawks made two straight Super Bowl appearances and acquired national intrigue. This was while Seattle and Sacramento were in a fight over custody of the NBA’s Kings, which ultimately ended with more heartbreak for fans still grieving the loss of the SuperSonics. At the time, Hernandez wasn’t just a perennial all-star and former Cy Young Award winner; he was, by far, the biggest and most appreciated star in the city. And he was an immovable source of pride. His new contract meant that, for a second time, he had declined an opportunity to wait for free agency, even though the Mariners were a losing ball club with a questionable future. Throughout baseball, the question to Hernandez was, “Why are you so loyal to Seattle?”
“I’m doing this because I love Seattle,” Hernandez said. “This has been my life. This has been my family.”
The relationship between Hernandez and Seattle has always been deep and personal. He signed with the Mariners at age 16 and made his debut at 19. He was nicknamed King Felix before his head could fit a crown, and he managed to live up to the hype. And his journey from Venezuela to stardom has been such a heartfelt, genuine one that it was impossible for longtime followers not to feel an emotional connection to the ace. Which is why it’s so hard to watch him now.
Hernandez is in the sixth season of that seven-year contract. And he’s a bad pitcher currently, one of the worst starters in the game, with an unfathomable 5.73 ERA in 23 starts. Last week, Mariners manager Scott Servais bumped him from the starting rotation to the bullpen. This isn’t merely a bad season, either. Hernandez hasn’t pitched like royalty since 2015, and at this point in his career, there may be no reversing his decline. He is just 32 years old, but this is his 14th season.
It is a reminder why pitchers such as Nolan Ryan and Randy Johnson are revered for their longevity. Washington Nationals ace Max Scherzer has had a different career arc and thrown 550 fewer innings than Hernandez, but he just turned 34, and it’s ridiculous to observe what he has achieved since turning 30. It is hard just to be young and great; it is incomprehensible to be old and great, too.
Hernandez’s accomplishments won’t be discredited because his talent failed to burn on both ends. But there is sadness in acknowledging that he nears the end just as the Mariners finally are showing signs of building a sustainable winner. There is sadness in realizing the Mariners currently win despite him. There is sadness in knowing Hernandez lost so many victories and never made the playoffs in his prime.
The simple numbers don’t do him justice: 168-124 career record, 3.32 ERA, six-time allstar, two-time ERA title, 2010 Cy Young, one perfect game. Hernandez easily could have 200 victories if bad Seattle offences hadn’t squandered some of his finest performances. From 200615, when he was in his 20s, Hernandez won 139 games, averaged 32 starts and 218 innings a season and struck out 206 batters per year. And he was better than those stats. He had four-plus pitches, including a four-seam fastball with mid-90s velocity and cartoon-like movement and an incomparable change-up.
When Hernandez threw his perfect game against the Tampa Bay Rays in 2012, shortstop Elliot Johnson expressed how difficult it was to face the best version of King Felix. “I saw one (fastball) out of nine pitches,” he said. “They all look like fastballs out of his hands, but it winds up being a breaking ball, or that split-finger-looking change-up — whatever that thing is.”
He had power, and he could pitch. A common misconception about Hernandez, one that I’ve heard a few times since moving to Washington, is that he’s a thrower who ran out of magic once his velocity dipped. That’s actually the wrong assessment. Hernandez became so infatuated with his off-speed stuff that he probably didn’t throw his fastball enough when he still had it. He possessed so many tools, but at times, he would have been better off keeping it simple. A little bit of fastball neglect probably robbed him of his electricity before age took over.
In addition, Hernandez had decent but inconsistent work habits, and his diet was not good. Now, he doesn’t throw hard and can’t locate his fastball. Every little thing adds up as an athlete ages. That’s why we marvel over LeBron James and even Scherzer, who is both a maniac and a diligent worker.
Even though Hernandez now struggles to consistently keep his fastball at 90 m.p.h., he still has the lingering talent to reinvent himself in a CC Sabathia-like fashion and be a solid middle-ofthe-rotation option. But while his vanity helped to push him when he was young, it works against him now.
He’s still a proud man who desperately wants to be a productive pitcher again. But he hasn’t come to terms with the reality that, to do so, he must change. He can’t bear down and will it to happen. He has to be different, and since he was a teenager, being King Felix was all that he needed. Perhaps this demotion triggers the appropriate humility.
Mariners fans are left to hope so because, for all his loyalty, Hernandez has yet to receive the ultimate reward. For years, Hernandez’s admirers — many of whom wore yellow T-shirts, held up “K” cards and formed a section down the left-field line called the King ’s Court during his starts — longed to see him get the chance to start a postseason game. Then, they figured, the world would realize his greatness. And the moment would cement the bond between the city and its patient superstar.
Can it still happen? The Mariners seem ready, at last. But after all those years of Hernandez waiting on them, they can’t wait on him. He has to catch up, and it’s tough to run fast when Father Time is attached to your back.
Five years ago, it was moving to see both Hernandez’s emotions about his contract and the public’s giddy reaction to his commitment. It was the story of a partnership that you didn’t want to end. Yet here we are, in 2018, forced to think about an inevitable conclusion.
Time — not King James, not King Felix or any other aweinspiring yet fleeting force — rules sports. And it remains a merciless leader.
He has to be different, and since he was a teenager, being King Felix was all that he needed.