9:14 P.M.
Joe Maddon went with the same starting lineup in Game Seven that won him Game Six a day earlier.
Who could blame him, right? We beat Cleveland 9–3 in Game Six, propelled by 13 hits and 3 home runs. That meant twenty-four-year-old rookie Willson Contreras would catch starter Kyle Hendricks in what had shaped up to be one of the most anticipated games in Major League Baseball history. I know the media was speculating I might start behind the plate because of my experience, combined with the fact that it was literally my last game.
But I already knew my role for Game Seven. Maddon told me the night before that I’d probably play since it was his intention to bring in relief pitcher Jon Lester if needed. That was my focus and preparation. I also knew Willson was prepared to handle the moment, and it was a big one for him: His fifth World Series start would tie him with Buster Posey for the most World Series starts for a rookie catcher since Red Hayworth in 1944. (Don’t you love crazy baseball statistics?)
I said it to the media and anybody else who would listen: Willson is a phenomenal talent. He was such a huge part of our team from the moment he was promoted on June 17, from Triple-A Iowa. I knew in spring training, when I saw his skills firsthand, that if we were going to win a championship, he was going to be a big part of making it happen. The day after he was called up to the majors we were playing the Pittsburgh Pirates at Wrigley Field. Willson was inserted into the game to catch the ninth inning of our 6–0 win and received a standing ovation in his debut. Cubs fans understood, too: This guy meant a lot to the present and future of the ball club. Two days later, in a 10–5 victory over the Pirates, he pinch-hit for Hendricks in the sixth inning and received another standing ovation. On the first pitch he saw from A. J. Schugel—a high changeup—he banged a two-run home run over the right-center outfield wall. It was the first pitch he had seen in the major leagues! I mean, who does that?
Willson’s a great player. Anybody who followed our team on a day-to-day basis saw it, too. He’s big, strong, and athletic at six-foot-one and 212 pounds. A right-handed batter with pop. He’s got an absolute cannon for an arm. He has great energy and is fearless. He wanted to improve and he worked hard at it. His catching and game-calling skills improved tremendously over the 2016 season.
Starting Willson for Game Seven was a careful decision on Joe’s part. And a good one: With the game tied 1–1 in the fourth inning of Game Seven, he came up big.
Kris Bryant led off the inning and worked an eight-pitch at-bat against Indians starter Corey Kluber before he singled to left field. Kluber plunked Anthony Rizzo in the right shoulder to put runners on first and second base with no outs for Ben Zobrist. Zobrist hit into a ground-ball fielder’s choice, forcing out Rizzo at second base and advancing Bryant to third.
Kris then made a great read on Addison Russell’s shallow pop-up to center fielder Rajai Davis, breaking for home as Davis caught the ball and sliding under the tag of Roberto Perez to break the tie.
Then Willson came to the plate.
With two outs, he hung back on a 2-2 curveball and smacked it into deep center, over the head of Davis to extend our lead to 3–1.
Willson might have been 1-for-17 heading into Game Seven but he was not intimidated by how big the moment was. He grinds every at-bat and has a great two-strike approach. He wears his emotions on his sleeve, and it was fun to watch his reaction when he reached second base after his double. He pounded his chest and blew a kiss to the sky. He pointed to us in the first base dugout, clenched, and churned his fists like pistons.
I loved it.
Willson Contreras was signed by the Cubs as a free agent in July 2009 out of his native Venezuela. He’s a versatile guy who played just about every position in the minor leagues—catcher, first base, second base, third base, left field, and right field. He had a breakout year in 2015, when he was named the Cubs’ Minor League Player of the Year after batting .333 with eight home runs. That’s when he really positioned himself on the Cubs’ big-league radar as a catcher.
When I arrived at spring training in February 2016 in Mesa, Arizona, I could tell Willson would be the future catcher for years to come, sooner or later. I was hoping later. I knew going into my last year that if my performance started suffering, then I was probably out the door, whenever that time was. Preferably, of course, that would be the end of the season.
Because I knew it was my last season, I took care to give Willson all the support and knowledge I could during spring training. That’s what teammates do for one another. I don’t want in any way to appear as if I’m taking any of the credit for Willson’s skills. The guy has gifts.
When pitchers and catchers reported to spring training, Willson was basically third in line behind Miguel Montero and myself. In spring training, it’s usually the starter, the backup, and then the minor-league guys rotating in during drills. They are included in the mix. Since Contreras hails from Venezuela just like Miggy (Montero), they had a natural bond. But I watched and tried to help out as best I could. I knew he would be promoted at some point during the season to give the team a boost.
Willson didn’t know me, and I really didn’t know him, which meant that I needed to make the extra effort to connect with him. That’s not always the way it has been in baseball, especially with rookies. Back when I was coming up in the Los Angeles Dodgers organization, the rookies got a lot more heat. Sometimes it was playful, but sometimes it was a little more like hazing. Sometimes it stemmed out of jealousy—some guy was worried you were going to take his job. I never wanted anyone to feel that way because I understand how bad that made me feel. It made me want to compete against that guy, and I didn’t like that feeling of competing against a teammate.
So I always kept that in mind, especially when I dealt with catchers. I may have gotten on some rookies, but I never got on a rookie catcher, because I didn’t want to be misconstrued on what my intentions were. I left that for other guys, other veterans. I was there to be positive, so that’s how I approached our 2016 spring training with Willson. If I saw something that needed to be corrected, I tried to be positive about the way I presented it.
The only thing Willson really had to work on when he got to the major leagues was his game calling. That is one of those skills you improve from being on the job. You can’t really teach it. Young catchers have to go out there and play the game. They have to learn the pitchers and learn how the league works and how to manage a big-league lineup for nine innings.
When you see a guy with Willson’s talent, it is pretty obvious he is going to be in the big leagues sooner rather than later. So I tried to help out wherever I could. Luckily for me, Willson is a polite guy. He respected me, and he respected the game. It was refreshing to see a young player who treated you as he wanted to be treated, and didn’t act like the arrogant, cocky upstart who thought he knew it all. Willson’s not that kind of guy at all.
3/25/16
Went to Octane with Huddy, Peav, and their kids last night. We had a blast. Great to see Huddy happy. Seems he is enjoying retirement. Great day today at camp! Joe brought in two black bear clubs that we got to hold. Was cool holding and playing with them. Good swings the last few days. Catching feels good, too. Need to stay on top of my workouts. I feel strong in the legs. Miss my family. They have a bunch of things going on for Easter. Always stinks to miss the big Easter egg hunt at Lorna’s.
The catcher’s life is unique in baseball. When people think of the great players in baseball history, most are position players or pitchers. There have been some amazing catchers over the years, like Johnny Bench and Yogi Berra—and even Yogi might mostly be known for his funny sayings. But he was an amazing catcher, even if most people just don’t realize it.
It’s true that in MLB history there have been few great all-around players who were catchers. Those guys are few and far between even now. A Buster Posey comes around once every ten years, if we’re lucky. I’d also point to Yadier Molina of St. Louis and Brian McCann of Houston as being guys who can really hit, catch, and throw.
Why are there so few all-around great players who catch? One reason is that there’s so much that goes into catching. Hitting is its own skill set. Then a catcher has to worry about his team’s pitchers and how they are doing. And then a catcher has to study the other team’s lineup, understand his opponents’ strengths and weaknesses at the plate, and call the game accordingly. You might not realize it sitting at home watching a game on TV, but so much goes into choosing what pitch gets thrown to a given hitter.
Managing the lineup is a critical part of the catcher’s job. You always have to be thinking on your feet. Say Albert Pujols is coming to the plate. Okay, I am not going to let Albert Pujols beat us, but after Albert Pujols in the lineup is Matt Holiday. How do I get around Albert Pujols and still have to pitch to Matt Holiday? And who is after Matt Holiday in the lineup? Do we walk Matt Holiday with two outs? You have to manage the lineup and the game situation and what matchup works best for your pitcher. It’s a cat-and-mouse game. For instance, when Albert came to the plate, I might try to steal a first-pitch strike with a fastball. If I got the strike, I could expand the strike zone to put more pressure on him by throwing off-speed pitches an inch or two off the plate. If we fell behind 2-and-0, I might decide to go ahead and walk him on pitches to set up his next at-bat.
From a strategic standpoint, there’s not a more important position on the field than catcher. And that’s my favorite thing about the role. It’s a chess match. The batter knows what my pitcher has, but he doesn’t know how we plan to get him out. Are we going to pound him inside? Are we going to work outside the strike zone to see if he chases outside the zone? Are we going to attack him because he’s the batter we want to get out? One mistake in your calculations could cost you the game.
I always sat down with my starting pitcher before every game and to go over our opponent’s lineup: the guys we should get out, the guys who are the tough outs, and the guy we don’t want to beat us. We would discuss where a walk might be just as good as an out. If a guy had big-time power and thus a chance to change the game in a swing, we might not want to deal with him.
The pitcher and catcher, as a pair, are the equivalent of the quarterback in football, or perhaps the quarterback plus the offensive coordinator. They work together and manage the game. The pitcher has all the pressure on him. The catcher, the guy behind the curtain, is calling the plays. But the catcher can’t do much if the guy behind the mound isn’t any good. If all my pitcher can do is throw 91 mph meatballs down the middle, we won’t be sitting pretty. But if a pitcher has control and a deep arsenal of pitches, the game calling and strategy can be so much fun—and often the key to winning the game.
Take Tim Hudson with his heavy sinker. He sinks hitters in and sliders away. You look at other pitchers like him, like Roy Halladay, who is going to use sinkers on both sides of the plate. You kind of knew how those guys wanted to pitch you. They could throw strikes to both sides of the plate and make the ball go two different directions—imagine an X across the top of the plate. When I was batting, I always had to try to guess what side of the plate the pitch was headed—and hope I guessed right. It was like a game inside the game.
When I started my career with the Dodgers, I learned a lot from our catching instructors. Guys like Del Crandall and Rick Dempsey, a guy who played twenty-four years in the major leagues. Rick helped me change my catcher’s crouch from knees in to knees out—it was the stance I used for the rest of my career. At six foot two and 230 pounds, I made myself a bigger target for our pitchers with my knees out.
Another important influence in my time at the Dodgers was catcher Paul Lo Duca. He was a supernice guy who made me feel welcomed. Paul helped me understand how to interact with pitchers. Paul always hung out with them. And I also grew to love sitting with pitchers and getting to know their personalities and what they talked and thought about. Paul even ran our pitchers’ meetings, sharing his observations about every hitter on the opposing team. It was very impressive, and it was instrumental in my own growth as a game caller behind the plate.
When Contreras was promoted to the big-league team and arrived at Wrigley Field on Thursday, June 16, I gave him a big hug and announced the prodigy had arrived. Miggy Montero told the Chicago Tribune, “We’re on our way out, man,” referring to both himself and me. “He’s on the way in. We’re happy for him, of course.”
Miggy was right. I was happy for Willson. He was part of a young Cubs nucleus that included players like third baseman Kris Bryant, first baseman Anthony Rizzo, shortstop Addison Russell, infielder Javier Baez, and outfielder/catcher Kyle Schwarber.
Cubs president Theo Epstein gave me a heads-up a few days earlier about Willson’s promotion. He explained the plan and shared what management wanted to do with Willson. It wasn’t something he had to do, but it showed the front office cared and that they understood the inner workings of the clubhouse. That is extremely important. You can be a better player, a better teammate, a better person if you have a clear understanding of your role.
If plans are kept secretive and roles undefined, when a new guy arrives you might begin to wonder where you fit in. It’s difficult to head to work when you don’t know where you stack up in your organization’s plans. It might make you anxious. If something goes wrong, you may be quick to lash out and want to blame others because you’re frustrated.
Theo and Joe and the rest of the Cubs management understand those things. The Cubs communicate a lot better than even Boston did when I was in the Red Sox organization (2013–14), and they had been the best I had experienced.
Willson had earned the promotion—he batted .350 with 9 home runs, 43 RBIs, and 16 doubles in 54 games at Triple-A Iowa. Most important, we needed him in the big leagues since we were thin at catcher due to injuries. Miggy missed time when he tweaked his back. Schwarber, a double talent in left field and at catcher, played in the opening two games of the season before he tore the ACL and LCL in his left knee in an outfield collision with center fielder Dexter Fowler. Tim Federowicz was promoted from Triple-A Iowa when Miggy went down. And here I was, the old guy, on pace to have my most plate appearances in nine seasons. Could I last the season without sustaining a major injury? In early July, just before the All-Star break, I went on the seven-day disabled list because of concussion-like symptoms after I took a foul tip off the face mask in a game against the Reds.
That was the calculus for the front office. Willson probably caught a little more than the brass expected right off the bat, but he stepped up to the challenge. He fit right into the lineup and had great at-bats, right from the start. The number-one rule for a catcher is to show he cares about the pitching staff and not just about himself. I saw quickly that Willson was really passionate about winning and tried to get the most out of his pitchers. He has leadership qualities.
This is a fact: Willson was a better player than I was. His athleticism was astonishing. I had to check any pride and selfishness and think about what was best for the team. I knew the best way I could help the team was talking to him, just to give a little bit of veteran advice at the right times. The only thing I could control was how I treated him and everyone else on the team.
4/1/16
April Fools! Leaving Vegas for Anaheim. Off tomorrow, exhibition Sunday, and then opening day. It has been one of my favorite spring trainings. Went 3 for 3 my last game with all doubles. Starting to prepare for my first start on Tuesday. Getting butterflies. Vegas was fun. Played hungover yesterday. It has been a while since I did that. My first show suite was amazing. Had a two bedroom on top floor with Rizz. Amazing view. We have a great group of guys and everyone is ready to get this thing started.
Willson said early on that he wanted to absorb everything he could from Miggy and myself. And he was receptive in that regard.
I remember we played Seattle in late July 2016 at Wrigley Field, and Willson was behind the plate. Nelson Cruz was up early in the game with two outs, a base open, and in a fastball count. But Willson tried to flip a breaking ball or a changeup in to steal a strike—it’s called pitching backward when a pitcher relies on his secondary pitches rather than his fastball in a fastball count. It was an unaggressive pitch. Cruz is a veteran, middle-of-the-order right-handed hitter and those guys get pitched backward a lot. They understand the game. And Nelson hammered the pitch into left-center field.
When a player has been around as long as Cruz has, he understands the pitcher is probably not going to give in to him. Especially if there’s a left-handed batter on deck and a left-handed pitcher on the mound, as in this situation. As a catcher, you are looking for the better matchup behind Cruz. You have to understand who is at the plate and what they might be thinking. Don’t give in to this guy, you’ve got a better matchup on deck. It’s a better situation, play the percentages.
After Cruz socked his hit, I knew I wanted to talk to Willson about that situation and how he handled it. You don’t want to do it the moment he walks into the dugout, though. You don’t want to be second-guessing him right away. It is so easy to second-guess others because when something doesn’t work out, you are always going to be like, “Dang, you should have gone with a slider or a fastball, or vice versa.” I don’t believe in that. I just tried to tell Willson what I’d learned from my experiences.
So I waited a few innings and he was near me, so I said, “Hey, Willie, come here real quick.” I asked him about the pitch to Cruz and he said it was a breaking ball. I asked if he was trying to pitch around Cruz, and he said yes, that “I didn’t want to give in to that guy.” I said okay, here’s what I have learned. I told him I understood exactly what he was thinking. But I did it in a way like, “Listen, I understand what you’re thinking and it’s not wrong.” I told him he wasn’t wrong but I shared what in my experience might work better. Cruz probably gets pitched around a lot, especially with a base open, and might have been looking for something soft. In my experience, pitchers try to be too careful when pitching around guys and don’t have great control of their off-speed pitches. I told Willson to use the fastball to extreme sides of the plate. Pitchers usually have better command of that pitch.
If I had marched out to him and said, “Well, you should have done this,” that wouldn’t have helped anybody. It’s all about saying, “Hey, I can relate to what was going on in that count. Let me tell you what I have learned over the years.” Plus, game calling is the easiest area to second-guess when things don’t work out, and you don’t want it to feel like you’re down on them, or you’re being negative. I always tried to be positive, to present feedback in terms of mistakes that I’ve made in my own career. Don’t make the same mistakes I made!
The other thing about giving feedback is that you don’t do it all day, every day. It’s got to be in small doses at the right moment. That way you won’t make someone defensive and you’ll build trust. After a while you might find the guy in the dugout asking questions unprompted.
These teaching spots happened a lot in my relationship with Kyle Schwarber, starting when he was called up as a rookie in 2015. Around the time Kyle was starting to catch there was a game where we were getting our brains beat out. Absolutely getting killed. I was starting to get to know Kyle and building that relationship. He walked down the dugout and asked, “What do you got?” It was one of those moments: he came to me and we had that trust so I was honest with him.
I said, “Man, honestly, your body language behind the plate looks like we’re getting beat. Everybody is looking at you; you’re the leader back there. Your body language is telling me we’re down twenty runs. I understand we’re getting hammered, but everybody is looking at you. What your body language and your energy level presents—well, that’s how we’re going to play.”
It’s a fact. If a player is down and he’s dragging, the impression he gives is, “Oh, this game is over.” So everyone is going to act accordingly and the feeling becomes contagious. What I tried to explain to Kyle in that quick conversation was to make sure his body language was consistent with how he wanted to play, not what the score was.
I always tried to keep negative thoughts to myself. Baseball is a hard game. And when you are sitting on the bench and have no control over what is going on, it is easy to get frustrated because you can’t affect the immediate outcome. But that mindset is losing baseball. A winning team doesn’t have negative players sitting on the bench saying they would have done things differently. Keeping your negative thoughts to yourself is just as important as sharing something positive.
That’s why being around Willson was so much fun. He wasn’t afraid to make a mistake. He wanted to learn. He made adjustments. He made progress in every area. He had high expectations, just like me and everyone else within the organization. He batted .282 with 12 home runs and started at catcher in 41 games—on a team that carried three catchers into the postseason.
And in Game Seven of the World Series in Cleveland, Willson came up big in the fourth inning with his two-out double. It gave us a 3–l lead and some breathing room.