Ramirez was Julio Franco with power. He had it all: natural weight shift, power to all fields, intimidation proof, perfect demeanor from at-bat to at-bat.
Cleveland Indians' Manny Ramirez tries to keep pitcher Roy Padilla from getting up during the tribe's workout at their spring training facility in Winter Haven, Fla., in 2001.I don't care about Roger Clemens being indicted for lying to Congress. Don't care about Alex Rodriguez, Barry Bonds, Rafael Palmeiro, Sammy Sosa, Mark McGwire and most of the other players who have admitted to using, or having been tainted by, steroids and other performance-enhancing drugs.
But I do care about Manny Ramirez. When Ramirez played for the Indians, he was fun to cover. He didn't say a lot, but he did strange and goofy things almost every day on and off the field. And there was the hitting.
For years I thought Julio Franco was the best pure hitter I ever saw in an Indians uniform. Ramirez was Franco with power. He had it all: natural weight shift, power to all fields, intimidation proof, perfect demeanor from at-bat to at-bat.
I thought about Ramirez last week after Kenny Lofton was inducted into the Indians Hall of Fame. An e-mail suggested that Ramirez should be among the players inducted when he retires. It made me mad.
Not the e-mail, but the fact that Ramirez was suspended for 50 games in 2009 when he tested positive for a performance-enhancing drug with the Dodgers. When I talked to Mike Hargrove, his former manager, Hargrove said he felt like he'd been punched in the stomach when he heard the news. To this day, I feel like shaking Ramirez by the dreadlocks and screaming, "Why?"
He was caught at the end of a Hall of Fame career. Caught when his legacy had been ensured. Ramirez had my vote for Cooperstown in his back pocket. Same with the Indians Hall of Fame. Now he has neither.