Ronald Edwin Gant played just under half of his major league seasons in Atlanta; during and after his Atlanta tenure, he taught many fledgling young Braves fans the gritty realities of life including the injustice of man, the injustice of the universe, the fragility of the human body, the heartbreak of parting, betrayal, and desperation. Gant opened our idealistic eyes to the harshness of sports fandom again and again, but so sleek were his exploits, so prototypically old-school was his skill set, and so genuine was his story that all is forgiven and forgotten; Gant’s story defined us without anyone ever realizing it.
Gant was born in Victoria, Texas on March 2, 1965. He was drafted by the Braves in the 4th round of the 1983 amateur draft. A power-hitting second baseman, Gant made it through the minors to Atlanta in 1987, impressing in 21 games with a couple homers and a respectable average (.265). He earned the starting nod in 1988 and returned the favor with 19 homeruns, 60 RBI, 19 steals and a .259 average. He finished fourth in Rookie of the Year voting, and appeared to be a long-term fixture in the lineup, although his sketchy defense at second base drew concerns. The team experimented with a move to third during the season, as Gant’s 31 errors all but canceled out his offensive contributions.
Gant flat-lined in 1989, hitting just .177 with 16 more errors at second as the team began transitioning him to the outfield; Gant spent the summer back in the minors learning the new position. Gant spent the following offseason in the gym, bulking up to fill his six-foot frame with corner outfielder muscle.
Gant returned to Atlanta in 1990 as a new player. The lithe infielder with compact power was replaced by a chiseled specimen. Gant’s physique betold his prowess on the diamond; he batted .303 with a .357 OBP, 32 homers, 84 RBI, and 33 stolen bases. This feat was prodigious – at 25, Gant was the third member of the back-to-back 30/30 club. Gant’s fluid blend of power and speed foretold illustrious fortunes. On a beleaguered last place team, Gant was a seed of hope for tomorrow.
Turns out, Gant was one of many seeds sown, and the 1991 Braves rocketed to first place with the young slugger as an offensive lynchpin. Now playing centerfield, Gant went 30/30 for a second time as he knocked in 1005 RBI, though his high average proved unsustainable (he dropped to .251, with just a .338 OBP – still acceptable numbers at the end of the baseball’s Age of Innocence). Only Willie Mays and Bobby Bonds had ever hit 30 homeruns and stolen 30 bases in back-to-back seasons. Gant finished sixth in the MVP voting and helped the team to the World Series.
Gant ran his way into ignominious controversy in Game 2 of the 1991 World Series. Avoiding relay throw on a single to the outfield, Gant lunged back to the bag, whereupon first baseman Kent Hrbek applied the tag as he lifted Gant’s leg off of the base. Gant was called out, ending the top of the third inning with Lonnie Smith on third base and David Justice due up. The Braves lost 3-2.
Gant was no goat – rock-solid as he was, he still weighed in the 170-pound range – compared to Hrbek’s 6’4”, 235 pounds. He couldn’t have been prepared for Hrbek’s underhanded cheating. Atlanta fans never blamed Gant, accurately turning their venom of Hrbek. Nevertheless, the Twins took the Series in Seven.
Gant regressed a bit in 1992, ironically making his first All-Star team along the way. He hit .259 with a .321 OBP, 17 homeruns, 80 RBI and 32 steals while moving to leftfield to accommodate Otis Nixon, who was no longer suspended for his love of cocaine. Those numbers were nothing to sneeze at, but Gant responded with a resounding splash in 1993, crushing 36 homeruns and 117 RBI to go with 26 steals. He also hoisted his average to .274 with a .345 OBP. The team fell short against the Philadelphia Phillies in the 1993 National League Championship Series, but were establishing themselves as a dynasty in the making, with Gant as a cornerstone. Gant himself was on the precipice of his prime, and the Braves rewarded him while securing their own future with a big long-term contract, paying Gant $5.5 million a year (one of the richest contracts in team history at the team).
The ink was hardly dry on Gant’s shiny new deal when he took a spill on an ATV ride and shattered his right leg. The news broke to broken Atlanta fans – the Gant who looked so invincible on the field was now out for the season and likely out of Atlanta for good as the team voided his contract and released the peaking star who now prepared to spend a year of his prime rehabilitating a devastating injury.
The team soldiered on until the player’s strike wrecked everyone’s 1994 season. The lack of all baseball mitigated Gant’s absence, and by the time 1995 rolled around and Gant showed up in the heart of the Cincinnati Reds’ lineup, it seemed far less strange than it should have. Gant was a different player; though his plate discipline was as strong that year as any of his career (.386 OBP), he wasn’t the same ball of power and speed that seemed so routinely poised to electrify in Atlanta.
Of course, Gant quickly did his best to re-open old wounds, playing his way to his second All-Star Game with a .274 average, 29 homeruns, 88 RBI and 23 steals. Gant won Comeback Player of the Year honors, and did his best to throw salt on the wound when he and Deion Sanders spent a post-victory locker room interview praising the positive atmosphere of the locker room in Cincinnati, explicitly contrasting it with the Atlanta clubhouse. Easy as it was to attribute their hurtful words to latent bitterness – Gant over his contract being voided, while Deion’s over his desire to play center and bat lead-off, which led to a rivalry with Otis Nixon, who also happened to prefer both things – the sting was there, as two of the most-loved Braves appeared hard at work burning bridges.
After the Braves vanquished those Reds in a squeaky-clean NLCS sweep, Gant’s one year flyer with Cincinnati earned him a big payday in St. Louis. Star-crossed to the end, Gant’s Cardinals promptly became a player in the National League, meeting the Braves in the 1996 NLCS. They were helped to that stage by Gant’s .259 average, .359 OBP, 30 homeruns, 82 RBI and 13 steals. Gant homered twice in Game 3, helping the Cardinals take a 3-1 lead in the series. In shocking twist of fate, Gant was exceptionally close to becoming a premiere Braves villain. His every at-bat was terrifying, not just for his prowess at the plate, but for the cosmic dalliance of fates. The Cardinals couldn’t make good on the prophesy, though, and collapsed, with the Braves outscored them 32-1 in the remaining three games behind dominant turns from Smoltz, Maddux and Glavine.
Gant began his steady decline the following season with a .229 average and 17 homeruns. He rebounded a bit in 1998 with a .240 average, .331 OBP, 26 homeruns, 67 RBI and 8 steals. That offseason, he was traded to the Philadelphia Phillies. In keeping with Gant’s post-Braves series of battles with Atlanta, he was a member of the squad (though Gant himself was not prominently involved) that ignited the present Braves-Phillies feud over Eddie Perez’s predilection to being drilled by Paul Byrd fastballs. Of course Gant would be playing for the opposition in one of the biggest bench-clearing brawls in the Bobby Cox era; our former son again at odds.
For someone whose career came so close to being cut short early, it was startling to see Gant became an ageless wonderer. After Philly traded him to Anaheim during the 2000 season, Gant bounced around to Colorado, San Diego and Oakland. He had one-season resurgence in San Diego, hitting 18 homeruns at age 37 for the Padres in 2002, then washed out in Oakland in 2003, languishing with a .146 average in 17 games. He was released that summer and retired at 38.
Though Gant kept finding himself in heated rivalries with his former time, time healed well and Gant returned to Atlanta in 2005 as a color commentator. He has since found work as an analyst and television personality on Braves broadcasts, his ringing voice a welcome reminder of our glory days, his beaming smile a beacon of atonement. In our fanhood, we were enamored by Gant; we glorified him, wept for his loss, bristled at his denunciation, feared his retribution, admired his longevity, and welcomed his return. By the end, Gant was no more a ballplayer than an emotional experience.
Part of the magic of Gant was the way he lurked just below super-stardom. No individual number was ever staggering; the beauty was in the combination. Gant made just two All-Star teams, though he finished in the top 15 of MVP voting four times. This is not a wildly shocking revelation; in fact, it is wholly Gant-like. He was always bigger than his numbers. When he went 30/30, it felt titanic, yet simultaneously natural. Gant was homegrown in baseball parlance and mythic stature - his legend eclipsed his own exploits. He was a comic book character made real when his right leg snapped. This cartoonish element was part of Gant’s legacy, he always seemed animated, whether as the lightning bolt of his youth or the relentless ironclad of his later years, he was more figure than fact. Gant’s legacy could only have come about on a team like Atlanta, in a time like the late 80s/early 90s. He will always be remembered as being better than he was, because his imagery outshined his statistics. Yet those statistics remain duplicitously impressive and archaically impregnable. He was our legend rising, our fallen warrior, our prodigal son. We may not have known exactly what “Being a Brave” meant, but for a time Gant felt like the textbook definition. Don’t stop the Chop.
