Forgotten Treasures: Vlad Guerrero's Defense

He was a cartoon, really, in the best ways possible. And some of the worst ways, too.

Vladimir Guerrero, the father, not the son, never really seemed to be living in the same universe as human beings. He was enormous, and played to his size, everything big. Big swings, big strides, big throws, big hits, and big misses. He played as if every action on the field should be accompanied by one of those little bubbles they superimposed onto the fights in the old Batman television series, filled with nonsense words to describe the sounds of blows being landed. “Boom!” “Splat!” “Kapow!” “Ooof!” “Zlopp!” “Glipp!” And who could forget “Crunch!” with a C or “Krunch!” with a K?

He’d hit a towering home run on a pitch 10 inches outside, or stroke a single to center field on a ball that skipped before arriving at home plate. He’d slide into second with a roar that made you fear for the safety of the shortstop. He had back-to-back 30-30 years, and come within a single home run of turning one of them into a 40-40 year. He’d lead the league in good things like runs scored or hits or total bases, or bad ones like being caught stealing or grounding into double plays. Everything was larger-than-life.