Kevin Mitchell

(NYM 1984-1987, SDP 1987, SFG 1987-1991, SEA 1992, CIN 1993-1994 & 1996, FUK/NPB 1995, BOS 1996, CLE 1997, OAK 1998), .284/.360/.520, 1173 H, 234 HR, 1989 Most Valuable Player, 2 All-Star Games

Kevin Mitchell had the potential to hit 45 home runs every single season he played the game, yet only did it once. “World” Mitchell, so called by Gary Carter because he could play any position and anywhere, rarely appeared in more than 130 games a season.

What Mitchell lacked in durability he made up for in hijinks, maladies, and petty criminality. He allegedly ripped the head off his girlfriend’s cat. He had several run-ins with the law. He never wore a cup, ostensibly because none of them were capacious enough to accommodate his prodigious genitalia.1 He made impossible plays in the field look routine and routine plays look painful. He won one World Series with the doomed, damned ‘86 Mets and lost another with the earthquake-wracked Giants. Managers hated him because he always reported for spring training well above his ideal playing weight, which was listed at 185 pounds but never was. He nursed numerous nagging injuries, most of which could have been prevented with even the slightest bit of exercise or physical therapy, and earned a reputation as a malingerer. He still owes millions of dollars in back taxes.

Mitchell mattered as a player from 1989 to 1991, when he and the much more media-friendly Will “Thrill” Clark were the faces of the Giants, and in 1993-4, when he reemerged as the leader of the briefly resurgent Cincinnati Reds. Other than that, he didn’t: the rest of his years were what-ifs and almost-dids and if-onlys. “If only he gets his act together, he’ll help the Red Sox in the playoffs.” “What if he’s the missing piece for the 1997 Indians?”

When he was good, he was phenomenally good. 1989, which saw Mitchell post a .291/.388/.635 slash line across 640 plate appearances, was an absurd display of power from a 5'10", 215-pound former utility infielder. 1994, the most forgettable great season in history, represented his peak and coda as a hitter: averages of .326/.429/.681 while on pace for 45 to 50 home runs.

Set aside these two outlier performances and you’ve got a lesser Milton Bradley. Include them and you’re talking Hack Wilson without the assistance of the 1930s-era juiced ball. Each year, I’d sit back and wait for Mitchell to do something special. He never failed to disappoint, even when he did.

A friend noted that this brief discussion didn’t do justice to Mitchell’s many idiosyncrasies. “World,” for example, ate Vicks Vapo-Rub and washed down amino acid tablets with Hawaiian punch (srsly, no fooling:
http://articles.chicagotribune.com/1989-10-03/sports/8901190070_1_bottle-vicks-vaporub-locker). He also strained a stomach muscle while vomiting and broke a tooth on a frozen donut he’d overcooked in the microwave. But such accomplishments pale in comparison to the prodigious feats associated with 1980 Rookie of the Year “Super” Joe Charboneau. Charboneau, who flamed out long before Topps could include him in its 1989 set, gained a reputation for eating light bulbs and shot glasses, opening beer bottles with his eye socket, and once tried to cut off a tattoo with a razor blade so that his mom wouldn’t find out about it.

–Erem Boomin