AMID CHAOS, HE’S STEADY AS HE GOES
Even-keeled approach of new arrival Rendon will be a welcome addition for the struggling franchise
WEST PALM BEACH, Fla. — Dave Martinez stormed off the field last October, the Washington Nationals manager’s anger over a controversial runner’s interference call at first base leading to the first World Series ejection of a field boss in 23 years.
As he slipped through the dugout en route to the clubhouse in Minute Maid Park, the air thick with tension in the seventh inning of a one-run Game 6 against the Houston Astros, Martinez caught a glimpse of Nationals third baseman Anthony Rendon, who, amid all the commotion, looked like a guy waiting for a bus.
“After my little episode with the umpires, I remember turning around and seeing him sitting on the wall near the ondeck circle, just kicking back like he didn’t have a care in the world, ” Martinez said at the team’s West Palm Beach training facility in February.
“And the next thing you know, he goes up there and hits a home run. That’s Anthony Rendon.”
Rendon’s two-run blast to left field off Will Harris pushed Washington’s lead to 5-2, but you’d hardly know it looking at Rendon.
While the Nationals bench exploded with jubilation, Rendon’s face was expressionless. He rounded the bases with nary a fist pump. He barely cracked a smile as he accepted congratulatory high-fives.
Rendon added a two-out, two-run double in the ninth inning to seal a 7-2 win. The following night, in Game 7, his seventh-inning homer ended Zack Greinke’s shutout and kick-started a 6-2 victory that clinched the Nationals’ first World Series championship.
It’s this ability to slow down the game in heart-pounding moments, to be seemingly impervious to pressure and to deliver in the clutch that the Nationals will miss most about Rendon as they look to defend their title in a pandemic-shortened 60-game season.
And it’s what the Angels, who haven’t won a playoff game in 10 years or reached the postseason in six, hope to gain after signing the 29-year-old Houston native to a seven-year, $245-million free-agent contract in December.
“The Angels are getting a superstar,” Nationals shortstop Trea Turner said. “He’s really consistent, even-keeled and calm. It’s innate. Whether it’s Game 7 of the World Series or he’s hanging out in the locker room in spring training, he’s the same guy.”
The portrait of Rendon that emerged from the Nationals clubhouse this spring was that of a human metronome, a player who is as productive and consistent on the field as he is predictable and easygoing off of it.
Rendon does not seek the spotlight or shrink from it. If he ever churns on the inside, it doesn’t show on the outside. It’s not in his nature to panic. He’s been known to yawn during some of his most pressure-packed at-bats.
“Tony shows more emotion whether the Rockets win or lose a basketball game than he does on the baseball field,” Nationals pitcher Stephen Strasburg said.
Rendon, who will team with Mike Trout and Shohei Ohtani to give the Angels a formidable middle-of-the-order trio, wasn’t always this serene.
“I was kind of a spaz in high school,” said Rendon, who attended three schools before finding the right fit at Lamar High in Houston. “I had a temper. I always wanted to get a hit. I was competitive, so I’d always throw my helmet and get angry.”
As Rendon matured physically and emotionally at Rice University, where he was named college baseball’s player of the year in 2010 and where he became a Christian, his anger and frustration began to subside.
Rendon learned to control what he could — his work ethic, the time he spent in the batting cage, the number of ground balls he took, his study of opposing pitchers — and to let go of the results. He learned to accept failure.
“If you get too high during the highs and too low during the lows, you get drained mentally, and you’re probably going to end up being drained physically, too, because you’re beating yourself up,” he said.
Rendon laughs when reminded of the stoic look on his face after his dramatic World Series Game 6 homer, but he swears his insides matched his outside.
“That home run didn’t win us the World Series,” he said. “I don’t want to be that person who celebrates too early, like the marathon runner who thinks he won the race and gets passed up at the last minute. But once we were on stage with that trophy, I let loose.”
After hitting .319 with a 1.010 on-base-plus-slugging percentage, 34 homers and a league-leading 44 doubles and 126 RBIs to place third in NL most valuable player voting in 2019, Rendon shined in the postseason.
He hit .412 in the NL Division Series against the Dodgers, sparking a Game 5 comeback with the first of back-to-back solo homers off Clayton Kershaw that tied the score in the eighth inning. He doubled off Joe Kelly ahead of Howie Kendrick’s game-winning grand slam in the 10th.
Rendon hit .417 in an NL Championship Series sweep over St. Louis and had two homers, three doubles and eight RBIs in the World Series. He made several run-saving defensive plays throughout the month.
“You saw it in the playoffs last year — this guy has ice in veins, like nothing bothers him, nothing gets his heart racing,” Nationals catcher Kurt Suzuki said.
That stage won’t be as grand and the lights won’t be as bright when the Angels open the season at Oakland on Friday night. Games initially will be played without fans, and the lack of in-stadium buzz could neutralize Rendon’s ability to thrive in high-pressure, high-energy situations.
“When you have more people in the stands and they’re egging you on, whether they’re cheering for you or against you, that will get you excited or more motivated,” Rendon said. “With no fans, it could go either way [depending on the] player. Hopefully, it doesn’t have any impact on me.”
Rendon’s demeanor is reflected in his stance and swing. He arches slightly back at the waist before leaning into the pitch, his hands quiet, save for a little waggle, his head still, an approach that reminds Strasburg of his former coach at San Diego State, Hall of Famer Tony Gwynn.
“He has the luxury of having really quick, really strong hands, so he can let the ball get deep and track pitches deep,” Strasburg said. “When you’re able to do that, you don’t commit early and chase too many pitches.”
Rendon is that rare slugger with plate discipline. He’s averaged 25 homers and 100 RBIs the last four seasons. He had more walks (84) than strikeouts (82) in 2017 and almost as many walks (80) as strikeouts (86) in 2019.
Consistency is a key. Rendon’s swing has changed little over the years. He still follows the mantra of the man he considers his “hitting mentor,” Houston-area youth coach Willie Ansley, a former minor leaguer who taught Rendon to stay loose, keep his hands inside and put the barrel on the ball.
“That’s what I try to do to this day,” Rendon said. “I’ve been playing this game for a long time, and I know my swing inside and out. I’ve been on both sides of that spectrum, where I’ve been so antsy, I’m like, ‘swing hard, swing hard, I’m gonna kill this ball,’ and it never works out.
“You end up flying open or your shoulder ends up flying out, and it’s not a good swing. The best swings I have are the more relaxed swings. You’re calm, direct to the ball.”
Rendon was not a vocal leader in Washington, nor was he a media darling. He does not have Twitter or Instagram accounts. Though he was cooperative, affable and engaging during a 25-minute interview in Tempe, Ariz., in March, he is not one to hold court with reporters every day.
“I’m an introvert by nature,” Rendon said. “I don’t like it when people recognize me when I’m at dinner or out grocery shopping. There are some people out there who enjoy the attention more than others, and I’m not that person. I’m here to do my job, to try to hit homers, field ground balls and help my club win.”
Baseball is Rendon’s job, but it is “not who I am as a person,” he said. He is a husband to Amanda, a father to daughters Emma (2) and Savannah (4 months), a brother to David, a son to Rene and Bridget Rendon. He has a rule when visiting family and relatives for holiday gatherings: No talking about baseball.
“I’m just a normal person like everyone else,” he said.
But as much as Rendon prefers to blend in, his on-field heroics make that difficult.
“Tony just wants to play baseball and go home to his family,” Suzuki said. “He’s the best player nobody talks about.”