RADIO
No amount of words exist that can do Jose Fernandez justice, but I’ll be selfish here and use this platform to put together my own reflections on him, both his life and his passing, in the hopes that it helps me, and some of you, work through this tragedy while celebrating the life of one of baseball’s brightest stars. While fantasy baseball largely revolves around statistics instead of players, it also has opened the door for many to gain exposure to players beyond their favorite team. Luckily, that meant more of us got to witness the rise of Marlins ace Jose Fernandez. Unfortunately, that also means many of us are hurting right now.
We all woke up on Sunday morning to the chilling news that Fernandez and two others had passed away in a boating accident in Florida. I couldn’t believe it -- a sentiment echoed by many. Once I realized it was true, it immediately set in that there would no longer be any more celebratory fist pumps or dugout-banister slaps from #16. Just look at this remarkable reaction and ask yourself if you've ever felt this charged up about anything:
I defy you to find another example that trumps the absolute ecstasy on display there. He loved the game. He loved having fun. He wore it on his sleeve and he didn't apologize for doing so. It's impossible to miss. There didn't even have to be a game going on for this to be seen:
While it can be all too easy to romanticize those who have passed, I don’t think anyone would argue against the fact that Fernandez had quickly become a baseball icon – for reasons shown on and off the baseball field. For both his magnificent talent and his passion for the game. I'm sure many of you have encountered someone telling you that baseball is just too boring, to which Jose was a universal counter-argument.
Some background: The 24-year-old was drafted 14th overall by the Marlins in 2011, and made his MLB debut on April 7, 2013 against the Mets despite never having pitched above the Single-A level. He didn’t need to -- he was that good. His career began with a 1-2-3 inning on three fly outs, though it was his second inning that would show what the electric righty was all about. He struck out the side: Ike Davis looking, Mike Baxter and Lucas Duda swinging.
He would retire the first 10 Major-League batters that he faced before Daniel Murphy managed to hit a single off of him in the fourth inning. He didn’t get the win, but everyone knew they were seeing something special unfold. After posting a 2.75 ERA with 103 strikeouts in the first half of the season, he was named to the NL All-Star team at the age of 20, and would go on to win the 2013 NL Rookie of the Year award in a landslide, garnering 26 out of 30 first-place votes.
I could type all day about his on-field exploits, but we'll just sprinkle a few more in here. We should never forget how his 31.2 K% stands as the highest mark that baseball has ever seen, how his 2016 SIERA of 2.80 is easily the best in the Majors this season, and just how incredible his mid-90s fastball and wipeout slider truly were, but there’s so just much more to this man beyond the stats.
This is a guy who successfully defected to America from Cuba at 15 years old with his mother (who, as you’re probably aware by now, fell overboard en route to Mexico only to be saved by Jose, who didn’t even know it was his mother when he dove into the water).
This is a guy who credited so much, especially his love and talent for baseball, to his grandmother, Olga Romero, who surprised him while the cameras were rolling during an interview in his rookie season.
This is a guy who battled back after undergoing Tommy John surgery in 2014, only to appear even more dominant than before.
This is a guy who, just days ago, posted a picture of his girlfriend on Instagram expressing his love for her and the family that they were about to become.
This is a guy who hung out with Cristina Llanes, an ill 20-year-old who requested to meet with Fernandez through the Make-a-Wish program, the day before he passed away.
His infectious smile and passion for the game was, as his manager Don Mattingly said, like that of a Little Leaguer. While his approach towards playing the game ruffled a few feathers along the way, it’s clear that many people loved him for it and that, above all else, he wasn’t going to let them ruin his enjoyment.
I had the pleasure of meeting him, if only for a brief moment, at Coors Field on July 22, 2013. He wasn’t pitching until the next day, but that meant that he was chasing down fly balls in centerfield during batting practice. It seemed as though he could never get enough of the game. Sitting right next to the edge of the visitor’s dugout, I could hear many of his teammates ribbing him for flying around out there. In my unprofessional scouting opinion, he could've filled in at CF for sure. After the Marlins were done taking batting practice, they all started to mosey on back towards the dugout to prepare for the game.
All, except for Jose Fernandez. Now I won’t say I’m a professional autograph-seeker or anything, but I’d at least classify myself as a wily vet. My friends and I used to get to games early and sprint around to where players might sign. When a player came over, they usually spent about 3-4 minutes signing before moving along with their routine, and if you were lucky you got a little banter with it. Jose Fernandez walked along the foul line for at least a good five sections, signing for at least 15 minutes.
Look at that, the field is empty behind him, but there he was making all of us happy. He’d occasionally act like he was done, which elicited a choir of groans out of children and grown adults alike, only to crack a huge smile, turn back and sign some more. He even walked away with a little boy’s ball one time. He was a kid out there. At the time I was just ecstatic to have exchanged pleasantries and gotten an autograph from him, but it's been a little over three years now and I can still vividly recall the aura that surrounded him. The happiness and excitement that he generated just by signing some baseballs and cracking a few jokes. I’ve never felt that at a ballgame before. I'm not sure I ever will again.
Just watch this:
jose giving an autograph and letting a young fan give an autograph to him in return. pic.twitter.com/1LJEO0R7Da
— Meninist (@MeninistTweet) September 27, 2016
There is little that touches the pain felt when a young life is cut short, but when you further magnify that by having it happen to one whose spirit has been so readily captured by the spotlight, it hurts. It hurts on many different levels. I spoke to someone at the grocery store today who doesn’t even follow baseball, but expressed how overcome they were upon seeing the video put together by the MLB. That’s one of the nice things about humanity, one can recognize joy in another without necessarily understanding what they’re doing. You didn’t need to know a thing about baseball to recognize that he was having the time of his life. His exuberance translated to all languages, spoken and unspoken.
Without getting existential, there is a clear void in our world when someone passes away. Whether it’s their family, friends, teammates, fans, or simply fellow human beings, the ripple effect can be felt far and wide.
I lost my father to cancer when I was 14, but was horribly ill-equipped to deal with it at the time. I've since waded through the lessons learned from loss, with the most important seemingly being that our moments should not be taken for granted. Let yourself fully embrace the highs, the lows, all of the energy that life has to offer. There is no one way of working through it, but perhaps hearing mine may help some.
An obvious way is by writing this. I’ve had to take several breaks, and I thank you for bearing with me here. This whole thing has provided a jolt, a stark reminder of our mortality, which I've tried to channel into a healthy inner discourse about my own approach to life. While we cannot allow ourselves to become paralyzed with dread by constantly thinking about our own fragility, little reminders can go a long way. It seems like a cliché to just write “live life to the fullest”, because at a certain point those phrases lose their meaning.
I took stock of everything I was doing – my jobs, my relationships, my attitude, my goals, and so on – and gauged how satisfied I was about the direction of each. Now, most of us need to do things that don’t exactly make us giddy with excitement, but that doesn’t mean we can’t approach other people and the times we have ahead of us with a positive attitude. This is not to say that Jose Fernandez was never in a bad mood, that commentary is well beyond me, but that doesn’t change the impression that he left.
Seriously, just gander at what Google yields when you type in "Jose Fernandez smile". The results are plentiful. It's heartbreaking, yet beautiful. The power of a pure smile, of someone so outwardly happy, is an unrivaled force in this world. Losing such a radiant source of jubilant energy will take a while to bounce back from, but I have to believe that future (and current) generations have been inspired by Fernandez's glow -- that we'll see the trickle-down effects of his actions for years to come.
In the end, I’m just a fan of the game who had a brief encounter with Fernandez. While I'm blessed enough to cover baseball for a living, I'm no clubhouse reporter, and I had only been exposed to glimpses of JoFer as a person. And yet, that was enough to leave a mark. The fact that he could have such far-reaching impact through just that speaks volumes. Don’t let others dampen your innate enthusiasm.
I'm almost afraid to end this piece -- it feels like he's still alive so long as I keep typing -- but we must allow ourselves to say goodbye.
Thank you Jose, for being a beacon of light that I fear I sorely undervalued in the moment. All I can hope to do is move forward with a fuller appreciation for what life sends my way, with the first step being this opportunity to reflect on the life and legacy of an incredible pitcher, and an even greater person.
