Gary Sheffield - Inside Power

CONTENTS

To my grandfather, Dan Gooden, for always inspiring and motivating me, and for instilling in me a never-quit attitude and an appreciation of what it takes to be a man. I love you. Rest in peace.

Career Statistics

Career Highlights

Nine-time All-Star (199293, 1996, 19982000, 200305)

Five-time recipient of Silver Slugger Award (1992, 1996, 200305)

Ranks sixth among all active players in walks (1,293), eighth in runs (1,433), hits (2,390), and RBIs (1,501), and ninth in home runs (455)

Number 31 in top home-run hitters of all time, behind Alex Rodriguez and Jose Canseco

Top ten in MVP voting six times (1992, 1996, 2000, 200305)

Recipient of the 2004 Thurman Munson Award for excellence on the field and philanthropic efforts off the field

Founded the Gary Sheffield Foundation in 1997, which provides children with an environment for personal, professional, and spiritual growth

In 1992, made a run at becoming the first National League Triple Crown winner since Joe Medwick in 1937. Sheffield led the league with a .330 average and hit thirty-three home runs with 100 RBI and a .385 on base percentage. Was honored by The Sporting News with the Player of the Year and Comeback Player of the Year awards

In 2000, became the first Dodger to hit .300 with thirty homers, 100 RBI, 100 runs, and 100 walks in consecutive seasons

Los Angeles Dodgers career leader in on-base percentage (.424), slugging percentage (.573), OPS (.998), and at-bats per home run (14.5)

In 2003, with the Braves, smashed thirty-nine home runs and drove in 132 runs, breaking the Atlanta record of 127 set by Hank Aaron

Shares record for home runs in an inning (two on July 13, 1997, in the fourth inning)

Earned All-State honors in baseball during his senior year and was selected the top high school player in the nation by Gatorade

Hit .500, averaged one home run every four at-bats, and did not strike out once in sixty-two at-bats during his senior season in high school; also posted a 63 record with a 1.31 ERA as a pitcher

Acknowledgments

To my mother, Betty, for encouraging me to speak the truth and always being there for me; my dad, Harold, for being a great father and accepting me as your very own; Dwight, for giving me the fire to play this game and always believing in me; and DeLeon, my wife and soul mate. I know God put us together! I dont know what Id do without you. I love you.

Also, to my children, Ebony, Carrissa, Gary Jr., Garrett, Jaden, and Noah. You are the reason for my drive. Thank you for sharing me with the world. Everything I do is for you. And to my other mom and dad, Pastors Robert and Deborah Richards: thanks for always praying for me and receiving me as your son. To Marvet Britto (my big sis!): thanks for exposing me to life, and all the experiences along the way, as well as giving me the courage to write my story.

To Rufus Williams: Where do I begin? Thank you for your wise counsel and everything else you do (thats a book in itself!) and, most important, your support and friendship. Also, to my spiritual leaders, Bishop Randy and Paula White: thanks for never compromising. Youve been instrumental in my Christian walk, not being afraid to tell me when Im wrong and encouraging me when Im doing right. To Bishop Noel Jones (Gardena, CA) and Bishop Eddie Long (Atlanta, GA): the two of you have been very influential in my life.

To Don Baylor: thanks for jump-starting my career and being that much-needed father figure in baseball. Also, thanks to the indispensable Donna Webster, and the team at Vigliano Associates, including David Vigliano, Kirby Kim, Mike Harriot, and Ryan Fischer-Harbage. Thanks as well to the folks at Crown Publishing, including Steve Ross, Rick Horgan, Julian Pavia, and Penny Simon.

David Ritz adds his thanks to Pops, Roberta, Alison, Jessica, Henry, Jim, Charlotte Pearl, Alden, James, Elizabeth, Sarah, Jeremy, Sam, Julia, Gabriel (the Ritz familys only baseball star), and pals Alan Eisenstock, Leo Sacks, and Harry Weinger.

BUG

T he summer heat was brutal. Must have been a hundred degrees, but I didnt care. I was with my uncle. My uncle was my sunshine. My uncle was letting me into his world and, man, my heart was singing.

Two little boys running around the backyards and sandlots of Tampa, Florida, 1972.

Dwight Gooden, age eight.

Gary Sheffield, age four.

Dwight was my uncle, Mamas younger brother, fourteen years younger than Mamaand to me, an only child, a big brother.

I always wanted to be in Dwights world. He was strong and athletic. He was tall for his age and the apple of his parentsmy grandparentseye.

Little boys look up to big boys. Little boys want to be big boys. Little boys dream big dreams, and I was no different. I wanted to run with the older guys. Wanted to do whatever they did. Wanted to get out there and show em I was big enough to play.

Dwight was finally letting me in. Id been begging, hed been resisting, and now he finally agreed.

We were going to play ball.

Id been watching him as long as I was alive. Id been waiting for this moment. I had the blind courage of a kid who didnt know any better. Man, I was ready.

When youre a kid, nothing matters but playingnot the stifling heat, not your scrawny body, not your raggedy little shorts. You just want to get out there and mix it up.

The dirt lot was scruffy, the ground uneven, weeds and rocks popping up everywhere.

You stand right here, said Dwight before walking off forty-six feet, the exact distance between the mound and home plate in Little League. You gotta catch me, he added. I gotta practice.

Catch him? Sure, Ill catch him! Ive been dying to catch him! Ive been going to his Little League games and watching him pitch.

Now Im in on the action!

We didnt have any gloves, just a white rubber ball. I crouched down in my best imitation of a catcher. Dwight wound up and let it rip. The thing came at me with such blinding speed, I jumped out of the way. It blew right past me.

Dwight laughed. You aint ready, he said.

I am too. Throw it again.

I stood there, determined to hold my ground. The second pitch came in like lightning. This time I reached out to catch it, but the ball struck with such force I felt my arm rip from my shoulder. Id never felt such pain.

Wanna quit? asked Dwight.

I wanted to say yes, but instead I said, Throw me grounders, figuring grounders would be easier.

The first grounder, though, hit a rock, flew up and smacked me hard in the face. That was it. I started crying and ran inside.

Come on, Dwight protested. Lets keep playing.

Mama! Grandpa! I cried. I dont wanna play with Dwight. It hurts to play with Dwight!

Its all right, said my mother, looking to console me and cuddle me in her arms.

It aint all right, said my grandfather, Dwights dad. The boy needs to learn. Get back out there, BugGrandpa called me Bug because of my saucer-sized eyesand learn to catch the ball. Dwight needs to practice. Just get past the pain.