FORT MYERS, Fla. - Big Papi is like Santa Claus.
He's making a list and he's checking it twice. He knows who's been naughty and who's been nice. He knows it when you're sleeping. He knows when you're awake. Most of all, he knows you've been dissin' him all winter - don't deny it - and he is not happy about it.
"I don't have to prove nothing here," he declares. "I've done it all. I just want to be healthy and let people know they were wrong."
There is a serious school of thought that says people with the David Ortiz body type do not age well. They are positive we have seen the best of Papi, and that only disappointment awaits. It's one thing to be built like Papi at 27, but quite another to be built that way at 33, which Papi became back on Nov. 18.
Papi isn't buying it.
"I've heard people say, 'He's getting older,' or whatever," Ortiz explains. "I just turned 33. I've never seen a player called old at 33."
Now, most players are notoriously bad historians, and Big Papi is no exception. Ten years before Papi was born, Hall of Famer-to-be Frank Robinson was traded by the Cincinnati Reds because the GM believed him to be an "old 30." Robby had 284 of his career 586 home runs left in his bat, not to mention a Triple Crown, an MVP, and two world championships.
In those days, a lot of people thought 30 really was old.
But Frank Robinson was a much different body type. More to the point are the cases of Cecil Fielder and Mo Vaughn, a couple of widebodies whose premature career conclusions represent cautionary tales for the big guys of the sport. Fielder just kept getting bigger and bigger, and he was done at age 34, his last decent season coming at age 32. Mo likewise assumed Sumo wrestler proportions as he got older. He was finished at 35. Each battled injury, and neither was able to reverse the decline once it started.
Big Papi wasn't Big Papi last year. He has had knee problems for a couple of years, and last year he injured his left wrist severely enough to miss games from June 1 through July 23. When he came back to the lineup, he was better than a lot of guys, but he wasn't the Big Papi who had been abusing American League pitchers since 2003.
Ortiz knows what he was, and what he wasn't, and he doesn't think people cut him enough slack. Though far less than 100 percent, he was good enough to play, and he did what he could.
"I'm just surprised at how people see things," he says. "I'm the kind of guy who counts on himself a lot. I know I wasn't 100 percent, but I tried. Things didn't work out the way I expected. But people didn't see the positive, only the negative. But I know I can hit."
Among those few people willing and eager to accentuate the positive in this matter was the skipper.
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