Phillips brought joy to Cincinnati baseball
Infielder with big smile, flair loved the game
Brandon Phillips was an everyday smile in a game that too often prompts brooding. He was the acrobat-thief at second base, whose little-kid approach to the game dimmed only in recent times. Cincinnati has never seen a second baseman who played defense the way Phillips did, and likely never will again.
The Reds had tried to trade him for three years at least, and they finally have. To the Atlanta Braves, for someone, it doesn’t much matter who. Phillips gets to play near where he grew up, the Reds get to see what a hunk of their future looks like. Everyone’s happy, or at least satisfied.
Yet it’s impossible, if you are a Reds fan, to say you won’t miss him. Phillips was a fixture along the railing before games, signing autographs. He was a mainstay in the community. When most of his well-known teammates were enjoying a full winter break, Phillips was boarding a bus for places such as Parkersburg, W. Va., and Fort Wayne, Ind., as a member of the Reds Caravan.
Brandon Phillips Field was the first baseball field built under the auspices of the Reds Community Fund. Phillips, along with Joey Votto and Jay Bruce, was also a prime financial supporter of the team’s Urban Youth Academy.
“In this day and age, he’s a rarity,” said Charley Frank, the community fund’s executive director. Even in recent years, when Phillips’ contract didn’t mesh with the team’s reboot, “He was still out there making fans feel wanted,” Frank said.
Phillips hit anywhere he was needed in the lineup. As a cleanup man, he hit 30 home runs. As a leadoff guy, he stole 30 bases. Phillips played hurt frequently and never made a big issue of it. He played at least 141 games in 10 of his 11 seasons here.
He approached baseball with a child’s heart. Some didn’t under- stand that. Some found it bogus, some thought it was a self-serving act. Old schoolers didn’t care for Phillips’ flair, although baseball needs all the flair it can get.
He was a unique player and individual. After he’d been in Cincinnati a few months, Phillips was quoted saying he enjoyed being a Red, because the team “let me be me.” He thrived on the love he got from fans. (A million Twitter followers can’t be wrong, can they?) At least once, he showed up at a Knothole game unannounced. He was frequently in attendance at University of Cincinnati basketball games.
In short, Phillips was One of Us, at least as much as a pro jock now can be. It mattered to him.
He was also the best deal former Reds general manager Wayne Krivsky made. Krivsky himself would dispute that. He did just that when I reached him Sunday. “One and 1-A,” he said. “(Bronson) Arroyo and Brandon.” Krivsky stole Arroyo from the Boston Red Sox in March 2006, a few weeks before he stole Phillips from the Cleveland Indians. (Wily Mo Pena went to the Red Sox. A minor league reliever named Jeff Stevens fetched Phillips from the Indians.)
A scout named Bill Harford that Krivsky had just recently hired was in Krivsky’s ear all spring in 2006 about this extremely athletic, young second baseman in Cleveland who was out of options and wasn’t going to make the big-league club.
Krivsky ticked off the potential second basemen the Reds already had in camp: Rich Aurilia, Tony Womack, Ryan Freel. Harford was insistent. Krivsky knew Phillips could field. He believed Phillips’ bat to be suspect, “until I saw him turn on a Roy Oswalt 95-mph fastball and send it into the palm trees in Winter Haven (Fla.),” Krivsky recalled.
In the third week of the ’06 season, Phillips drove in 17 runs in a six-day span. “Nobody had done that since (Mark) McGwire,” Krivsky said. “I’m getting chills talking about it.”
Phillips could be selfish. He was insecure. His locker was not in the mix of the veteran mainstays. For a guy who enjoyed the public, Phillips kept to himself in the clubhouse.
That’s irrelevant today. “The big smile,” Krivsky said. “He always had the smile, lighting up the room. He loves to play the game, and he loves to play it with flair. He took such joy in the game.”
Baseball economics being what they are and business being what it is, Phillips had to go. It wasn’t pretty. Nor was it avoidable. Phillips said frequently that he wanted to “be like Barry Larkin,” his idol, and finish his career with the Reds. It didn’t happen.
The memories are good, though. The very best.