He was the only shortstop I ever knew. From kindergarten all the way through my college years, Barry Larkin patrolled the left half of the infield in Cincinnati, establishing himself as one of the greatest major league shortstops who ever lived. So many others came and went, but for nineteen summers, Barry was always there. A childhood idol who truly stood the test of time, it all came full circle this week when number 11 was elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame.
When I heard that Barry Larkin finally got his well-deserved ticket to Cooperstown, the memories started flooding back. Whether I was on the Little League diamond or in my own backyard, I wanted to play shortstop because of course, Barry was the shortstop. I studied and memorized everything, from the way he held the bat to the manner in which he inserted and disposed of chewing gum. Though my career fielding percentage did not quite match up to my hero's, I was convinced that Barry had made me a better infielder. Even in warmups you could tell there was something different about him, but not until later in life would I fully comprehend just how magnificent a ballplayer Barry Larkin was.
The numbers only tell part of the story. 12 All-Star games, 9 seasons above .300, 1 MVP and a World Series ring. There's also three Gold Gloves, which would have easily been closer to double digits had half of Larkin's career not overlapped with a shortstop/showman named Ozzie Smith. Few will argue that the Wizard of Oz was not the greatest *defensive* shortstop in history, but no one was closer to Ozzie than Barry. (.978 fielding percentage for Ozzie, .975 for Barry). Unlike Smith, number 11 didn't do backflips or charm sportswriters, one reason why his defensive prowess is often overlooked.
On offense, there was no comparison between Larkin and his contemporaries in the 1990's. Quick, name the number of major league infielders who have won more Silver Sluggers than Barry Larkin...Answer, exactly one (Alex Rodriguez-10, Barry Larkin-9). When you add in all positions, Larkin's Silver Slugger tally trails only A-Rod, Barry Bonds and Mike Piazza, all surefire Hall of Famers. The first shorstop to ever go 30-30, Larkin also was a perennial candidate in league leaders for stolen bases, walks and base hits. Did I mention he had a football scholarship to Michigan when the Wolverines were still a powerhouse? You could go on and on, but in a nutshell, it's hard to find a better all-around shortstop than the one from Cincy.
Just as impressively though, Barry Larkin was a true role model. He was a man of integrity, always put the team first, and never got into trouble off the field. He never boasted of his accomplishments or bashed other players or coaches. He taught himself Spanish so he could build a rapport with his Hispanic teammates, and never complained when he was benched in the twilight of his career. How lucky I and so many of my buddies were to have a hero who actually lived up to the hype.
I have a million and one Barry Larkin memories, but the one that stands out is the last memory I have of seeing him play while living in Cincinnati. It was 2003, and Lark was just a shadow of his former self. I had just graduated college and would be moving away in a few weeks, working at a local pizza joint before my real career began. I had some downtime in between deliveries and flipped on the game, with the Reds trailing the Cardinals by one run in the bottom of the 9th. An unexpected roar suddenly rose from the crowd as a now bench-ridden Larkin strolled to the plate, pinch-hitting with a runner on first and the game on the line.
He had played in less than half the games that season, and everyone knew the end was near. I was glued to the set, hoping that he could deliver one more time as the entire crowd rose to it's feet. And I'll never forget the sound of bat on ball. Incredible. It flew deep into the bleachers, sending the entire ballpark into pandemonium. Even on TV you could tell this was no ordinary roar. They weren't cheering for the end result, but for the man who was the heart and soul of Cincinnati baseball. The years seemed to fall off as Barry circled the bases with a grin, and right on cue, "Still The One" blared over the PA system (the 70's version by Orleans). Too good to be true, except it was. Too great of a player not to be saluted. Thanks Barry.
