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| Monday, January 7 Updated: January 9, 12:27 PM ET Anaheim Angels By Andy Latack ESPN The Magazine |
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2001 in review
What went wrong
In retrospect, the critical decisions were: 2. Sending Adam Kennedy up for a meaningless March at-bat against the A's. After Mark Guthrie's fastball crushed the second baseman's right index finger, sidelining him for five weeks, it opened a door -- a tiny one -- for 5-8 rookie David Eckstein, who busted out with a .285 batting average and a team-high 29 stolen bases in 2001. When Kennedy healed, manager Mike Scioscia moved Eckstein to short, giving the team a solid middle infield. Who knows -- if Guthrie's pitch hadn't gotten away from him, the Angels' starting shortstop might have gotten away from them. 3. Paying $80 million for Mo Vaughn. Yeah, that was three years ago, but only now is it evident what a mistake that really was. Productive during his first two seasons, Vaughn steadfastly avoided the clubhouse during his rehab from a torn biceps tendon and fell out of favor with his teammates. He also took swipes at SoCal fans, questioning their passion and publicly longing for a return to the East Coast. When the Angels dealt their resident malcontent to the Mets last month, you could hear their sigh of relief all the way to Queens.
Looking ahead to 2002 2. How much will Garret Anderson produce? In his six full major-league seasons, Anderson has never batted below .285 and the 29-year-old had career highs in 2001 with 123 RBI, 194 hits and 13 steals. However, his on-base percentage remains low (just .314) and despite hitting 28 home runs, his slugging percentage was below .500 (.478).
3. Who plays first base? Same question the Angels had last offseason, after they learned Vaughn was out. They auditioned a total of nine players at first in 2001, finally settling on Scott Spiezio. The utilityman performed admirably (.271-13-54), but that's not enough power in a league of slugging first-sackers like Jim Thome and Carlos Delgado. There's talk Erstad could move back to first, where he played before Mo came to town. Could one final free-agent pickup be in the works?
Can expect to play better
Can expect to play worse
Projected lineup
Rotation
Closer
A closer look "Where's Woot?" Scioscia hollered, finally spying designated hitter Shawn Wooten in the kitchen. "Woot, we need a tarp for the field!" The skipper paused a beat for effect. "Go get your leather jacket!" Anaheim's rotund rookie could only laugh. "I was even eating a sandwich at the time," he sighs. "How appropriate." As a 29-year-old rookie without many sharp edges on his 5-10, 225-pound frame, Wooten took seconds on good-natured abuse last season. The Glendora, Calif., native responded by hitting .312 -- with eight homers and 32 RBI in only 221 at-bats -- before a wrist injury shut him down for the year. (He was on pace to finish as the only Angel north of .300, but had too few ABs to qualify for the leaderboard.) He also hit .333 with runners in scoring position while platooning at DH, first base and catcher. That didn't spare Wooten the fat jokes. Especially from Scioscia -- a former catcher who moderately resembled a rosin bag himself in his playing days. "He just gives it to me because he got it himself for so long," Wooten reasons. And Woot can handle it. Considering the winding road he's taken to Edison Field, major-league ribbing is a small price to pay for major-league opportunity. In 1993, Wooten thought he was on the fast track to the majors. After playing high school ball with Jason Giambi (at South Hills High in West Covina, Calif.), Wooten was the Tigers' 18th-round pick out of Mt. San Antonio Junior College. In his first season of rookie ball, he led the Appalachian League with a .350 average and a .576 slugging percentage. But when his career stalled a few years later, Wooten began loafing. Cadillac-ing, he calls it. "Everything had always come really easy to me," remembers Wooten, who was demoted from Double-A to Class A in 1995 after hitting .129 in 20 games. "Once I failed miserably, I started moping like a big baby." Then one night in Lakeland, Fla., Wooten didn't run out a line drive -- the Coupe DeVille of Cadillac-ing. A few days later, he did it again and a funny thing happened. The Tigers released him on the spot. When he asked what he did wrong, his manager's response was stern: "If you don't know by now, you'll never know." Now, Wooten's only option was an independent Prairie League team in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan. Still only 23, he had loafed his way into playing baseball in a hockey town where players used their own bats for BP. Some opponents didn't have locker rooms and dressed in the dugouts. For one road game in Green Bay, the Diamond Dogs took a 24-hour bus trek. Each way. But there was no pressure, and Wooten loved it. "I was just playing baseball with some guys in the middle of nowhere," says Wooten. "I found my confidence and haven't looked back since." Wooten left Moose Jaw in 1996 (the Prairie League folded a year later) and began climbing the Angels' minor-league ladder. By the time he earned a major-league callup in August of 2000, he was a 28-year-old with a well-worn minor-league passport. He won an everyday job last year, and raised plenty of eyebrows with his bat before the injury brought a premature halt to his season. Wooten had surgery and started swinging the bat again in November. He happily reports the wrist is as good as new. Good thing, because the Angels are counting on Wooten for more than punchlines in 2002. As a team desperately in need of offensive firepower, the Angels need Wooten to contribute every day at either first base or DH. If you extend his 2001 numbers over the course of a full 600 at-bat season, he would've finished his rookie campaign with 22 homers and 87 RBI -- welcome stats in a run-starved lineup. Speaking of starving, that's what Wooten's doing this winter, part of his routine to try to shed a few pounds. Sure, he laughed along with the pranks -- especially when teammate Pat Rapp left an article from a men's health magazine, "Ten Reasons You're Still Fat," in front of his locker and Scioscia began reading aloud from it. But Wooten knows there's an ounce of truth in every jest. "There's definitely a hidden message in there, and the coaches want me to lose weight so I can be more durable," he says. "I'm working hard this offseason to try and look like a baseball player." That's where he's wrong. Shawn Wooten already looks like a baseball player. Every time he steps in the batter's box. Andy Latack covers baseball for ESPN The Magazine. |
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