FORT MYERS, Fla. — Even by the anonymous standards of minor league baseball, No. 44 in Boston Red Sox camp is not a star. He was a late-round draft pick, didn’t get a big signing bonus and remains unranked — even among Red Sox players — by the usual prospect evaluation outlets. He was not invited to Major League spring training, and there’s no guarantee he’ll ever play in the majors.
But when former Red Sox reliever Koji Uehara arrived in Red Sox camp, he posed for pictures with the young man. Hall of Famer Pedro Martínez hugged him. The kid is one of countless 20-year-olds trying to make it in professional baseball, anonymous except for the name on the back of his jersey: Ortiz. As in, D’Angelo Ortiz. Son of Red Sox legend David Ortiz.
When D’Angelo steps out of the minor league clubhouse at the Red Sox spring training facility and turns right, he jogs past a giant picture of his dad. He stops occasionally to talk to Red Sox executives and former players he’s known since he was a kid, but the conversations are brief. D’Angelo has work to do. More groundballs. More batting practice. Zero requests for special treatment.
He knows that his name helped introduce the sport that he loves. It granted him remarkable access to the game at its highest level. But to expect it to do any more than that? He knows that’s not going to take him anywhere.
He was selected 567th overall and signed for a slot allotment of $150,000, roughly three percent of what the Red Sox gave their first-round selection. Ortiz never got into an official game last season, but when the Red Sox opened their complex for optional workouts in the fall, D’Angelo was there. When they opened again in the weeks ahead of spring training, D’Angelo was back.
His reputation among coaches and executives is not of baseball royalty but of a baseball rat. D’Angelo has been ready to work and eager to learn. He’s open to new techniques and happy to try the latest technology. He shies away from little and dismisses even less.
He’s been a constant presence, not for photo ops with Hall of Famers, but for ground balls on the back fields and extra swings in the cage. He’s confident, but also well aware that he’s nowhere close to the big leagues. He knows what the big leagues look like, and this isn’t it, but he’s hell-bent on getting there.
He still remembers riding to Fenway Park with his dad, who at that point had won multiple Silver Sluggers, played in multiple All-Star Games, and owned three World Series rings. Cooperstown was a formality. Still, David would drive the streets of Boston, telling his son that each day was another in which even Big Papi would have to prove himself all over again.
In the Red Sox clubhouse, young D’Angelo certainly admired the superstars, but he also took note of the talented players who came and went, unable to stick in the big leagues, and some of his favorite players were utility infielders — Brock Holt and Deven Marrero among them — who couldn’t take anything for granted, put in work every day and still made time for the 10-year-old kid bouncing around the clubhouse. D’Angelo came to appreciate work ethic and to value teamwork and kindness.
His name helped introduce the sport that he loves. It granted him remarkable access to the game at its highest level. But to expect it to do any more than that?
There is a burden that comes with this particular last name in this particular organization. For D’Angelo, it is a challenge of familiarity. He now answers to a farm director, Abraham, who was once a Red Sox bullpen catcher protecting young D’Angelo from batting practice line drives. D’Angelo agreed to an interview for this story after being asked by a director of media relations, Murphy, who used to babysit for him. Red Sox manager Cora, chief baseball officer Breslow, and coaching staff staple Varitek all played with D’Angelo’s father.
This organization has known D’Angelo as a little boy. Now, he’s reintroducing himself as a baseball player.
Part of that is showing he’s not just a kid anymore who wants to run around and kind of be in the shadow.
He’s proud of his dad. He does not shy away from that legacy. Being back at JetBlue Park, he said, is “nostalgic.” He doesn’t wear his father’s No. 34 and wouldn’t have wanted it, but he also wouldn’t have cared if he’d been assigned it. It’s a part of a wonderful history, and D’Angelo appreciates that, but his focus is on the future.
I did my thing. He’s got to do his. He knows the hardest working guy in the room is the one that gets closer and closer and closer to the promised land. There is no shortcut.
When asked about his father’s own rise from obscurity — David was famously traded and then released before becoming one of the great hitters of his generation — D’Angelo dismissed the comparison, just as he politely dismissed a question about having to exceed expectations as such a late-round pick. None of it is going to matter, he said, if — and when — he performs on the field.
And besides, the way D’Angelo sees it, he can already do things his father could never do. D’Angelo bats and throws right-handed. His primary position is third base. David was a lefty who played exclusively at DH and first base. David couldn’t play the hot corner, even in the low minors. His son is doing that every day. He’s got some speed, range, and athleticism.
Point is, the father found one path to the big leagues. The son is forging another. That’s the way it has to be.
What I will always idolize from him is that in his specific craft, which was hitting, he was able to get the most out of it and become the best player he was able to become. And whether I’m playing infield or outfield or DH, I want to be able to make the most out of whatever I am.
There is some ambiguity there — “Whatever I am” — and D’Angelo and the Red Sox are in the process of figuring that out. After all the car rides to the ballpark, all the afternoons in the clubhouse, and all the conversations at home, a passion has been lit and the life lessons have been learned. It’s time for D’Angelo Ortiz to find out what kind of ballplayer he can be.
Source link
