Steady Martinez sets tone for Nationals
Bumpy road led to ‘beautiful place’ for NL champs
WASHINGTON This wasn’t Dave Martinez’s idea of a good time.
It’s not that he didn’t want to be there, on a stage atop the infield at Nationals Park late Tuesday night, as the manager who brought the city of Washington its first pennant since 1933. Of course he did. His team, the Washington Nationals, was headed to the World Series. Anyone could get behind that. Martinez, though, isn’t a big fan of public speaking. He would rather be in the dugout, or the quiet of his office, or walking around the outfield cracking jokes with his players.
But now the microphone was coming his way, and nearly 44,000 people and a national television audience were looking at him, and he had to think — fast — of what to tell them. He stalled by saying he didn’t have any words. His voice cracked with emotion, a familiar sound, and that’s when it hit him. That’s when his mother’s voice popped into his head.
“I’ll say this,” Martinez started. “Often bumpy roads lead to beautiful places.”
A packed ballpark approved with a booming cheer. Yet the fans couldn’t have known, in that moment, how hard Martinez tries to believe that. It wasn’t always easy, no matter how many times Lillian Martinez told her son that phrase, and no matter how many times he told it to himself.
When he was a kid growing up in Manhattan, mimicking Roberto Clemente’s swing, melting hours into his father’s baseball cards, Martinez couldn’t process a mother’s wisdom.
He’s the child of Puerto Rican parents, learned Spanish from a doting grandmother and spent hours dreaming of Clemente and the major leagues.
Then whenever he slumped in a 16-year career — and he did slump — Martinez thought he would never make contact again. He lost sleep over failure.
But when the Nationals sank to 19-31 in mid-May and their World Series odds were close to zero, Martinez was older. Wiser.
He heard the calls for his job but never read the stories.
He had a health scare in September and feared for his life, but rejoined the club before doctors had cleared him.
Ask the Nationals how they arrived in the thick of autumn, a title chance in hand, and there is a common thread: the 55-year-old Martinez never panicked, when many managers would have.
Then they found a beautiful place.
When the Nationals were at their worst, stumbling through spring, Martinez looked into television cameras, and promised better results. He sat in his office with general manager Mike Rizzo and promised the same. If he walked through the clubhouse, a space he leaves to his veterans, it’s what the players heard.
“He manages like you would expect an experienced player to,” right fielder Adam Eaton said. “When you’re hitting every day, pitching, whatever, you can’t let any one thing eat you up. You’ll go crazy. You’ll burn out.
“Davey lived that, and as a result, we have such a relaxed environment. That starts with him.”
He was in the back of an ambulance Sept. 15, connected to all those machines, wondering whether he maybe cared too much.
A lot crossed his mind on the ride to the emergency room. He wondered whether stress caused the pain. He thought about his children and his family. He thought about his team, in the heat of a pennant race, and how he hated to miss even one pitch. But for once, he had to think about himself. His heart was telling him to slow down.
“These guys back here, they cured my heart,” Martinez said on the victory stand Tuesday night, after his club swept the St. Louis Cardinals in the National League Championship Series. “My heart feels great right now.”
He soon left the stage and walked onto a packed field. Reporters converged. He took pictures with fans and friends.
When he found some space, Martinez drew a long breath and looked around. He rubbed his greying beard and grinned.
This is what his mother was talking about all those years ago. This was why panicking never crossed his mind.