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There are those you want on your side during one of baseball’s slappy-shovey bench-clearing brawls—like Gary Sheffield, whose crazy-eyed glare and whip-fast bat affirm that he is an individual with whom one should not fuck. And then there are these guys.
 Alex Rodriguez and Derek Jeter, New York Yankees
They’ve got the heft and athletic instincts to do damage if they so choose. What they lack is what sports-radio caller and behavioral scientist alike refer to as “balls,” as witnessed by their let’s-chortle-about-our-portfolios conversation on the edge of the infield during a Yankees/Mariners scrap some years back. Besides, their sideburns are just too beautiful to put at risk.
 Adam Dunn, Cincinnati Reds
A supportive teammate, the 6’6”, 275-pounder wouldn’t hesitate to charge in from left field. Here’s the thing, though: He's so cloddish that watching Dunn attempt to snare a sinking liner is like watching a mosquito try to eat an apple: the result can only be measured in degrees of failure. By the time he reaches the fray, the fight will long be over. Hell, the game might already be over.
 Dontrelle Willis, Detroit Tigers
Demoted to single-A ball to find the strike zone and his smile, Willis won’t be provoking a big-league brawl any time soon. Our issue here is his increasing heft. C.C. Sabathia claimed the fat-guy throne following David Wells' transition into Cold Stone Creamery franchisee, but Willis is only a few cheeseburgers away from staging a bold (and juicy!) coup d’état.
 Matt Stairs, Toronto Blue Jays
Watching him unleash that smooth lefty swing and round the bases with the urgency of an ingrown hair, we can’t envision Stairs getting too worked up about the petty slights—the high-and-tight heaters that follow a home run, the inevitable retaliatory ass-plunking—that fuel bench-clearing slobberknockers. Stairs just seems so… nice. When he retires, he’ll be the mother of all first-round picks in his local beer league.
 Omar Vizquel, San Francisco Giants
One of our all-time favorite players, because he’s smart, creative and, even at 41, quicker than a wink. But the aspects of his game that fuel our admiration are the very ones that make him useless in a confrontation. What’s he gonna do, deflect a haymaker with his charm? Level a foe with his base-running savvy? We’re sorry, Omar. Here’s a laminated pass that excuses you from all future dustups. |
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