Up comes José Guillen to the plate Saturday, which means
out come the boos at Kauffman Stadium. A guy in the Crown Seats
has already asked Guillen for his money back.
The boos aren’t as loud as a week before. Maybe that’s
progress. Or it could be a sign of how bad it has been —
that boos from home fans are now graded on a scale.
Guillen has brought much of this upon himself, of course. He
makes the most money on the Royals, showed up overweight in spring
training, called some teammates “babies,” said he
doesn’t give a bleep about the fans (which he quickly apologized
for), and then cringed last week when a report quoted an anonymous
source saying Guillen wanted a trade (which he quickly denied).
And so the boos come down. A teammate points out that Guillen
has been booed much of his career, so this is nothing new. But
getting it at home is different. He tries to act like it doesn’t
bother him.
He’s a terrible liar.
“I’m trying to do the best I can,” he says.
“When I hear the fans booing at me, it gets to my heart.
It’s bad for me.”
Booing has a proud history, and dates back to the sixth century,
even before Roman gladiators — literally — lived and
died according to cheers and boos.
Internet message boards are fine, and no offense to barstools
or talk- radio shows, but there is no better direct line to let
a player know you’re ticked than to go to the ballpark and
boo him.
Pro athletes with egos more sensitive than they’d like
to acknowledge thrive on fans and cheers. Reggie Jackson wore
booing as a badge of honor.
“They don’t boo nobodies,” he said, and he
was right.
Except it’s a whole different thing when those boos come
during home games. Guillen points out his numbers are better on
the road, away from the boos of the home crowd.
“I wish the fans understood how much power they have,”
Red Sox catcher Jason Varitek said.
• • •
Ted Williams got booed at home. He grew up a self-conscious and
sensitive kid in San Diego, and when he got to the big leagues,
he made a promise to himself to tip his hat to the crowd after
every home run.
He kept that promise until one game he struck out, then made
an error. He heard the boos. And he couldn’t stop hearing
them, that echo in his head, so right then he made another promise
to himself and never tipped his hat again in Fenway Park.
• • •
Players much better and much worse than Guillen have been booed
at home, and in all different sports. LeBron James in Cleveland,
Mark Messier in New York, Donovan McNabb in Philadelphia.
Heck, Babe Ruth got booed.
Boos are part of our culture, and not just sports. It’s
extended to Jerry Springer’s studio audience, pro wrestling’s
villains and once even on “The Price Is Right,” when
Bob Barker couldn’t get the wheel all the way around —
“my most humiliating moment,” he called it.
Fans use cheers and boos just like politicians talk about carrots
and sticks. After 9/11, baseball fans took the rest of the season
off booing the Yankees, who’d had enough of the good vibes
by spring training.
“It will really be back to normal,” outfielder Shane
Spencer said, “when we get booed at home.”
Booing is something of an art form in New York, but it’s
a no-no in other places like St. Louis, where exclusive adulation
is the rule.
And it’s a way of life in Philadelphia, where they’ve
booed everyone from Mike Schmidt to Santa Claus.
Royals fans rarely boo, besides isolated failures — like
Esteban German not getting a bunt down Friday night, for instance.
Mike Sweeney heard it the last few years, but that always felt
more directed at management and ownership.
With Guillen, the feel is more personal, usually coming after
a clubhouse rant or a slow jog down the first base line.
Daniel Wann is a psychology professor at Murray State, an expert
on fan behavior and a longtime Royals fan.
“In Kansas City,” he says, “if you’re
getting booed soundly, they’re telling you something. That’s
a fairly laid-back crowd.”
• • •
A-Rod got booed at home. Maybe it was a form of tough love in
New York, even after he won the MVP award in 2005. The next year
he was miserable in the playoffs — one hit and four strikeouts
— and that’s when a friend convinced him to relax.
So the year after that he hit 54 homers, won another MVP and
finally heard the cheers.
“I just needed to let go a little bit,” he said.
• • •
Denny McLain won 31 games for Detroit in 1968 — and got
booed at Tiger Stadium. He understood why and had a simple fix.
“I went out and pitched well, and it was gone,” he
says. “When you give up eight in the first, you’re
gonna get the (crap) booed out of you. I don’t like it,
but all of us are going to get it every once in a while.”
McLain’s booing came after he was quoted as saying some
of Detroit’s fans were “the world’s worst”
for booing his teammates Al Kaline and Norm Cash. That quote ran
in the papers, and, simple enough, the venom switched to McLain.
This is protocol. The accepted reasons for booing guys in the
home uniform include, but are not limited to, lackadaisical effort,
failing to live up to a contract, or disrespect to fans, teammates,
and/or the game.
Depending on your perspective, Guillen has been guilty of all
of the above at some point this season — though Royals management
has given the OK for Guillen to ease his way through injuries.
“I can understand how it looks, why they’re booing
him,” says Mark Grudzielanek. “But they don’t
know the back story.”
Fan treatment is almost entirely dependent on two things: production
and perception of commitment. Manny Ramirez was cheered in Boston
until he started angling for a trade. David Eckstein and other
“max effort” players — remember Aaron Guiel?
— will always be cheered.
But as soon as fans sense a player doesn’t care, it quickly
changes.
“That commitment issue, I would say it’s the most
important factor in a connection between fans and a player,”
says Jay Coakley, a sports sociologist and author. “Once
a player is identified as not being committed to the team or city
or anything else the fan is committed to, there is no basis anymore
for supporting that player.”
• • •
Mike Schmidt got booed at home. He made his big-league debut
a year after being drafted and promptly hit .196 as a rookie.
The strikeouts came in bunches after that, as fast as the boos.
To break the tension, he once took the field in a wig. The boos
still came.
“The truth is, I hear every word of it,” he said
about the boos, “and it kills me.”
• • •
Mike Paul is a consultant specializing in reputation management.
He has worked with everyone from Dunkin’ Donuts to Muhammad
Ali, and says the only way out from boos is producing and changing
attitude.
Anything else, and player vs. fans is a PR mismatch. Fans win.
Reggie Jackson might be the best example of a player who went
from hated to loved, but it took him three homers in a World Series
game.
Jackson now regrets how he carried himself at times, and Paul
says it’s best not to rely on having perhaps the greatest
World Series game in history to boost your reputation.
“Your attitude is a big part of how long the boos are going
to be around,” he says. “That’s something you
are personally in charge of, and that’s something you can
change immediately.”
Guillen isn’t sure he needs an attitude adjustment. This
is what irritates him the most. Shouldn’t playing through
pain be proof enough of his commitment?
He has dealt with two sore groins, a stinger in his neck, back
spasms and a sore right-hip flexor. Manager Trey Hillman has told
Guillen to do whatever he needs to stay in the lineup, up to and
including not running his hardest on the base paths.
“What I’m doing is trying to make my team better,”
Guillen says. “I’m trying to make something positive
happen. It gets turned around a different way.”
Back to Saturday, and in the bottom of the fourth on a miserably
hot afternoon, Guillen comes to the plate again. Cheers outnumber
boos by a little more than last time. Mark Buehrle wipes the sweat
from his face and decides on a curveball.
It catches too much of the plate, and Guillen crushes it 428
feet to the back of the visitors’ bullpen. Fireworks explode
behind the scoreboard. The PA system blares the theme song from
“The Natural.”
Most of the fans behind the dugout stand and cheer.
