There is a reason the catcher's equipment earned the nickname “tools of ignorance.” Major League catcher has long been manned by stocky individuals with the countenance of Rooster Cogburn. Braves catchers were often bred in this mold – defensive-minded workmen who were endearing if not offensively glamorous - when arose from the gritty belly of baseball young Javier Lopez. A Latin heartthrob with plenty of offensive pop, Lopez was the first in an inspiring trend of sweet-swinging Bravo backstops. His highs in Atlanta were unnaturally towering; despite and because of this, his exit from the game was remarkably unceremonious. Ultimately, he became an early relic of a tainted era.
Born in Ponce, Puerto Rico in 1970, Javier Lopez signed on with the Braves as an amateur free agent in 1987. He crept onto the major league scene, grabbing a cup o’ coffee behind Greg Olsen and Damon Berryhill in 1992 and 1993 before splitting time with Charlie O’Brien in 1994. He showed some power that year, hitting 13 homeruns in just over 300 at-bats, but 1995 would be the year he won hearts. In 100 games (still only a majority time-share with the eternally grizzled O’Brien) Lopez hit .313 with 14 homers and 51 RBI, then torched the Rockies (NLWS) and Reds (NLDS) to the tune of .391 clip as the Braves snatched the NL pennant in just eight games.
After winning the NLCS MVP, Lopez’s World Series numbers weren’t great – he went 3-17 – but he was glorious in a tight Game 2 victory. After homering off ageless righty Dennis Martinez to break a 2-2 tie in the sixth inning, Lopez delivered his defining moment in the eighth inning.
With Atlanta clinging to a 4-3 lead, Alejandro Pena gave up a single to Cleveland’s breakout star Manny Ramirez. With one out and fledgling slugger Jim Thome working the count, Lopez caught an inside fastball and, with shocking quickness and precision, whirled to his right and ripped off a snap throw to first baseman Fred McGriff. McGriff deftly laid the tag on a diving Ramirez for the second out of the inning; an unorthodox pickoff play that required a secret signal and clockwork timing and accuracy. This play was not only the first mainstream instance of “Manny being Manny,” but it instantly distinguished Lopez as an Atlanta folk hero.
A runner on first with one out is hardly a nerve-racking threat, but the precision and punctuation of Lopez’s gambit added gravity to the moment; erasing Ramirez eliminated doubt in the minds of snakebitten Atlanta fans. The stunning success of such a cerebral pickoff could mean only that the team of the 90s was at last divinely inspired. Never mind that Kenny Lofton was running laps around the bases like a video game character (or that Sid Bream’s slide in ’92 has induced similar inspiritment). Never mind that an imposing Indians lineup wasn’t likely to be stymied much longer, even by a Hall-of-Fame rotation. In one snap throw, Lopez gave us our reassurance. We just might do this.
The Braves won their World Series, and Javier Lopez became Javy, the starting catcher and resident co-dreamboat[1]. He put up outstanding numbers, hitting in the upper .200s with 23 homers in ’96 and ’97, followed by a .284/34/106 line in 1998. During his peak years, Lopez always seemed to be swinging a bat two sizes too small. The lumber looked simple in his arms, as he flicked his oversized wrists and sent baseballs to grubby-handed graves. On his best days, Lopez appeared to be using a souvenir bat to knock rocks into reservoirs. His swift, jerky swing had a childish imperfection that was wholesome in its impurity.
Lopez was enjoying a torrid start to the 1999 season before tearing his right knee, an injury which dashed Atlanta’s World Series aspirations (they still somehow made the series, but were swept handily by the Yankees; it’s hard to argue Lopez would have been the difference anyway). He was done for the year, and the injury lingered.
Lopez would return with a productive .287/24/89 line in 2000, but the cruel tricks of time began their ravages. Major League catchers age like NFL running backs and guacamole; the toll of crouching down nine innings at a time, for roughly 130 games a year, wears mightily on human legs. Catchers rarely see extended offensive success – Mike Piazza leads all catchers with 427 career homeruns – and often find themselves shifted to first base or outfield to extend their careers. Lopez was not immune to the annals of time. He hit .263 with 17 homers in 2001, then just .233 with 11 homers and a .299 on-base percentage in a 2002 season that saw him looking increasingly feeble at the plate. Then something funny happened.
In 2003, Javy Lopez delivered a jaw-dropping 43 homerun campaign, to go with a .328 average and 109 RBI. The rest is circumstantial, conjecture and hearsay. But the Braves had recently acquired Gary Sheffield, who was known to spout the virtues of his offseason workout program with one Barry Bonds. We know now that Bonds’ offseason workouts consisted of beach running, heavy lifting, and a bountiful application of anabolic steroids.
I’m not saying Sheff brought ‘roids to the Braves locker room in his overcoat like a troubled new kid on Saved by the Bell, but one has to imagine that Lopez, his career slipping away, could see the positives of such a strategy embodied in Sheffield. In fact, one barely has to imagine, as Lopez spelled it out himself on a radio show in 2010:
“Well, everybody seen players getting big, hitting the ball harder, home runs and stuff. All of a sudden – boom — they got the big contractand everybody’s like, ‘You know what, did that, it worked for him, why not do it?’ . . . I mean, how can I explain this? It’s like if you’re going to race cars, if you’re going to race a car and some people are using nitro in the fuel [Lopez laughed], and you see them winning all the time, and you’re using regular gas – you know what? If they’re using nitro and they’ve been winning, well, I’d be stupid enough not to use nitro, too.”
Steroid culture was just becoming a talking point when the bulked-up Lopez turned the final year of his contract into homer-happy lotto ticket. The Braves, however, couldn’t parlay a disgusting offense (seriously, look at this lineup) into postseason success, and Lopez followed the money[2] to Baltimore. He hit well his first season – although his power clearly diminished - before injuries went back to work on him. Lopez struggled in 2004, though he did have the pleasure of playing on one of the most bizarre, roid-crazed teams in recent memory with Rafael Palmeiro at first, Miguel Tejada at short and Sammy Sosa in right field. In fact, Luis Matos was the only player in the starting lineup not linked to steroids. Palmeiro was apparently just dumping “the cream” into a locker room trough.Lopez was traded to Boston midway through the third year of this contract, but he fizzled out in Beantown and never played in the majors again. He signed a one-year deal with the Colorado Rockies, but didn’t play in 2007. He retired in 2008 after a spring training invite with the Braves failed to pan out.
Javy Lopez possesses a curious legacy. He crept so slowly into our consciousness that, by the time of his breakout, he hardly even seemed fresh. His career-defining play came in his first season as a Braves starter, and his career year came in his last. As for the (technically unproven) steroid usage, Lopez flew comfortably under the radar. His career lacked the longevity or prolonged peak to merit Hall-of-Fame consideration, eliminating him from the ongoing legacy debate. He broke only insignificant records[3] as a result of his usage, avoiding the asterisk discussion. And he apparently used for such a short time that a) steroids do not seem responsible for his success and b) he can be easily forgiven as a victim of a larger culture.
Braves fans will remember Lopez for four things[4]:
- The Manny pickoff.
- He was one of the lasting faces of the franchise at its mid-90s zenith.
- He had a controversial, monstrous final season, during which we all realized he'd be leaving.
- The Greg Maddux thing...
The secret belief that Greg Maddux despised Javy Lopez was as much a part of the late 90s Braves as TBS and postseason failure. Maddux requested his own personal catcher each season, handicapping his own run support year-in and year-out. In typical Maddux fashion, the Mad Dog nonchalantly shrugged this off, saying that catchers needed a regular day off and it might as well be his start. Signifying himself as sacrificing for the rest of the staff, Maddux gave Lopez a subliminal compliment while casting no blame and downplaying the situation altogether.
Whoever the Braves backup was became Maddux’s personal catcher, because he might as well be. Maddux didn’t speak ill of Javy; he even allowed Lopez to catch him in select playoff starts. But his selectivity hinted at a distrust of Lopez’s capabilities. That the two never outwardly addressed the issue kept team chemistry from souring, but it confused their history. Though he was a strong against base-stealers and a solid all-around catcher, Lopez’s defense will always seem suspect because the smartest guy on the team never trusted him.
Nonetheless, Javy Lopez retired a three-time All-Star and a world champion. Though he lacks the iconic image of a Chipper Jones, or the ironic nostalgia of a Ryan Klesko, Javy Lopez attached his own subtle flair to the yeoman’s trade. Catchers were not supposed to be dreamy, carry the offense, binge on steroids or be detested by the staff ace. Yet these things all seemed natural to Javier Lopez. He left the game with a .287 average, 260 homeruns and 864 runs batted in. He left the Braves with Johnny Estrada and Brian McCann. And, if nothing else, he left us all with one indelible image, a viper-strike around Jim Thome’s back that turned a city’s spirits heavenward. Don’t stop the Chop.
[1] He would take sole possession of this title in 1998 after Chipper Jones impregnated a Hooter’s waitress.
[2] $22.5 million over three years. For a 33-year-old catcher.
[3] Todd Hundley’s most homers by a catcher in a single season.
[4] Well, five if you count coming-of-age girls, who will remember him as their first athlete crush.
