I was ten years old when I almost met Tony Gwynn.
A friend and I snuck past security during the 9th inning of a San Diego State baseball game and hurried through the tunnels to get an autograph from our childhood hero. It was his first or second year coaching the Aztecs, and the struggling club had just been slaughtered again as we finally saw him approach through the tunnel. And then a security guard grabbed us.
“He’s not going to want to talk to you guys anyways,” the guard said as he marched us back into the stadium, “he’s probably pissed they lost.” What a terrible lie!
In the wake of Tony’s tragic passing on Monday after a long battle with cancer, I heard obituary after obituary that only confirmed what I had known about Mr. Padre since I was a little kid: Tony wouldn’t have let a loss stop him from talking to a fan. His laughter was infectious, his respect for the game was undeniable, and his relationship with our city was unprecedented.
In this amazing conversation between two of San Diego’s greatest legends, you can see how Tony’s kindness and sense of humor made him arguably Teddy Ballgame’s favorite pupil. “You could be a politician,” he tells Gwynn, “you’re a smart little guy.” But as Tony points out, maybe little wasn’t quite the right word. “You weigh 227??” Williams blasts. “Holy Shit! Little my ass!” But while their chemistry is undeniable, the interview also reveals the gulf between these two hitting geniuses and their approach to an impossible craft. “Did you guess a lot?” Tony asks his mentor. “I guessed all the time,” Ted says, “I knew the pitcher was a little afraid of me.”
“Well I’m kinda different,” Tony responds, “the difference for me is that I don’t think when I go up to the plate the fear factor is in place.” Here, you can see what sparked Tony’s revolutionary and cerebral approach to the game. Gwynn was undoubtedly a great athlete–he stole 319 bases in his career and won five Gold Gloves in right field; he was a basketball star at SDSU and was drafted by the Clippers in 1981–but he knew he didn’t have Williams’ superhuman gifts. He tells a great story about having to buy 32-inch bats at a sporting goods store because his minor league team only ordered 34-inch wood and his hands were too small. So instead, Gwynn became the perpetual student.
Watching endless videotape, breaking his swing down to the most minuscule of details, Tony became the “smart little guy” who knew how to beat the greatest pitchers of his generation. The results of his work ethic are undeniable. Gwynn faced Greg Maddux more than any other pitcher in the league, and in 107 plate appearances he posted a .415/.476/.521 with 11 walks and ZERO strikeouts. That’s insane! He hit .444 against John Smoltz, .390 against Curt Schilling, .333 against Pedro Martinez, and .303 against Tom Glavine. In 366 plate appearances combined against all five, he only struck out FIVE TIMES!
Since they started measuring batting average in two-strike counts in 1988, Tony leads all hitters with a .302 average. (Wade Boggs is second on the list–at .260.) Gwynn finished his career with a .338 average, 3,141 hits, 15 All-Star Game appearances, and 8 National League Batting Titles. He had 291 three hit games, and only one three-strikeout game. He had 19 consecutive seasons hitting above .300. At the end of his career, he could have gone hitless in an additional 1182 at-bats and still finished his career as a .300 hitter.
And he played every single season in San Diego.
As a Padres fan, I have seen countless homegrown stars leave for bigger markets. I have seen our franchise refuse to spend money on talented young players who want to stay in San Diego. I can’t remember a single Padre in the last decade besides Trevor Hoffman that has stayed for more than five seasons. The front office can complain about attendance and market size all it wants, but until the fans have a reason to connect to the team, we will remain forever stuck in mediocrity. Tony Gwynn did more than break records. He gave our city a reason to care. He showed kids like me why we should love this game.
After hearing the news of his death, my mom sent me some phenomenal photographs from Padres games from around 1997-1998.
My first glove, signed by Tony.
Me robbing a homerun with that Tony Gwynn signed glove.
-Kyle Casey
