BRADENTON, Fla. -- The only thing higher in the Gulf Coast sky on this sunny Monday than the strange glowing yellow orb itself might've been 6-foot-7 shortstop prospect Oneil Cruz's head.
Or his dreads, which his comically under-sized cap could barely contain.
Or, for that matter, his enthusiasm.
And if he didn't stand out enough on those fronts alone, there he was, halfway through the first day of full-squad workouts at Pirate City, trading turns at shortstop with some other kid half his size ... seriously holding the thing down. Oh, he whiffed on an easy roller fungoed his way, flicking his glove over it. But he bucked up and beat all the rest. High chopper. Backhander in the hole. Smooth flip to second. Absolute rocket arm across the diamond.
A 6-foot-7 shortstop?
Sounds like something from the Island of Misfit Toys, but ... hey, why not?
As one team official here worded it as we watched together, "Think of all the ground he covers to his left and right. And all the line drives he'll bring down."
Yeah, think of that.
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Think about Cruz, whose actual exceptional skill is clubbing baseballs into orbit, which means they'll find a place for his bat whether it's at short, in right field or at a position they'll concoct. He's 22. He's got a ceiling as tall as he is. He'll make it one way or another. And when he does, he'll be part of "the next winning team in Pittsburgh," to borrow a Ben Cherington phrase.
Cruz's progress is what I flew here to watch.
Same with the rest of this prospect pool that Cherington's been able to strengthen several times over in little more than a calendar year. I've long advocated this approach, albeit with the disclaimer that it needed to be handled by someone other than Neal Huntington and Kyle Stark. And now that it's been adopted, now that at least some of the pieces are in place, now that the commitment's there from the top to do it right -- not least of which will involve money from Bob Nutting once it's needed -- I'm here for it in every way.
If I wanted to repeat the same stale narratives about Nutting, payroll, tanking, Seven Springs, secret bank accounts and other nonsense, I'd stay home. And, to be candid, I'd get more readership, more attaboys and whatever else comes from swimming down the same stream as everyone else.
I'm here to see it.
I'm here because I don't believe in criticizing, then fleeing.
If I'm going to open every column I wrote over the final two months of the 2019 season with the same two words -- 'Fire everyone' -- then I want to see what unfolds after Nutting did precisely that in firing Huntington, Stark, Frank Coonelly, Clint Hurdle and ... well, everyone.
If I'm going to start an #OurTeamNotHis hashtag on Twitter to further pressure Nutting to fire Huntington, Stark and Coonelly after that season when he hadn't yet done so, then I want to see what other level of commitment he might have toward seeing the team succeed.
If I'm going to hear Nutting say, directly to my face as happened in early 2020, that his commitment will be there, that he learned from his mistake in 2015, then I want to give the man a chance.
No one else needs to do that. I get it. I'm merely explaining my own stance. I'm here to see the beginning of this plan, to cover it from inception to wherever it might head. Maybe it'll flop. Maybe it'll take longer than anyone's patience will last. But maybe it won't.
I saw one whole workout on this Monday. That means next to nothing. But I was here, and I'll share more now.
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Nick Gonzales, Cherington's first-round pick in the 2020 draft, hasn't just hit at every level of baseball in his life. He's mashed.
So when he grabbed a bat for one of several spread-out batting practice sessions -- pandemic, you know -- I took notice. And when I saw he'd be facing a JUGS machine, I expected a show.
Not this:
Yikes. That ugly thud that can be heard is the ball striking the padding behind the cage. Swing and a miss.
But watch Gonzales, undoubtedly aware he's being monitored at that cage by more eyeballs than my video will show, pop right back into the box, bat high, then smack a liner into center ... then laser a ball down the left-field chalk ... then leave Derek Shelton, standing nearby, smiling ear-to-ear.
He's 21. He'll make it. He'll be the winning team's everyday second baseman sooner rather than later.
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Me: 'Co-Tuck!'
Cole Tucker: 'Yo, DK!'
Me: 'Hit the ball this year, huh?'
Tucker: 'Oh, yeah.'
Me: 'No, I'm serious. Hit the (expletive) ball. Everybody has their breakout year in sports. It's time.'
Tucker: 'Definitely. Thank you.'
Tucker heads toward the next cage for another round, then turns around one final time and shouts, 'Thank you! I'm going to do that!'
He's beautiful. Here's hoping his batting figures change but that he never does. Also that he makes it. Part of the winning team.
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The baseball world's abuzz over Quinn Priester, with some national analysts/scouts so wowed by his work in Instructional League this past fall that they're proclaiming he could be the sport's next No. 1 pitching prospect.
It's easy to see why.
OK, well, no, it's not easy. Pandemic restrictions had all three of the Pittsburgh reporters on the scene roped within 5 feet of the small observation tower in the middle of Pirate City's four-field complex, so seeing anything was a challenge, trying to peer through fences and through moving carts and tractors.
Priester's pitching session for the day was on one of the newer mounds out beyond the traditional -- and much closer -- Elroy Face mounds, so I stood on a bench, raised my phone almost as high as Cruz's head and shot this:
Abraham Zapruder would be proud, I know.
But man, there's enough there on that one Priester fastball to reach the broader conclusions I made myself:
1. His motion's effortless.
2. So compact. Like Jake Peavy.
3. Ball really gets there.
He also was throwing the flattest curve in sight, but he's 20. He's a child. He'll make it in a huge way. Anchor of the winning team.
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Priester wrapped up, as all pitchers do, by approaching his catcher, Jacob Stallings, for a formal thanks.
With one fun exception -- Cruz and Gregory Polanco had a spirited exchange of laughs from one cage to the next in their native Spanish tongue -- these prospects I observed went seen and unheard. Not an attitude to be found.
Turns out that wasn't an accident.
I shared this observation with Shelton, unsure how he'd respond or if he'd even agree.
"Yeah, I think it’s, No. 1, a credit to how Instructional League was run and this group of guys being in there," he began. "And we’ve clearly messaged to them what their role in camp is and what their role in the organization is."
By that, he's referencing these prospects having been told, by Shelton and by the major-league positional coaches, that they're the future in Pittsburgh. That they're the foundation that's being laid.
"And the second part of it," Shelton continued, "the culture we’re creating is organizational. It’s not just at the major-league level. Our expectations have been clearly outlined. And because of that, I think our group is taking to it. They know they’re here to do things. And the fact that you said that, DK, is outstanding, because it stands out to someone who observed it externally. We just had a similar conversation among our infield group. So the fact that you saw that makes me feel good."
This general trait won't show up in stats, advanced or otherwise. But it's important.
When Cherington spoke over the weekend about feeling good about the intense competition that management's expecting in the Greensboro Grasshoppers' rotation this summer -- that's high Class A, for anyone distracted by giggling at the nickname -- he's doing so in anticipation of what it'll mean as that same atmosphere climbs the ladder.
No one in the current front office ever rips the old one, and that's fine because I'd feel like someone was stealing my job if that ever happened. But the previous group, Stark in particular, had wacky ideas about what constituted a winning culture, most of those having not a blessed thing to do with baseball. The Cherington/Shelton focus is purely on baseball and, within that, on personalized development that's anything but one-size-fits-all.
Along the way, there can't be any BMOC syndrome in the equation, and they all know that. The prospects seem to have taken the hint.
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Which isn't to ignore that there really, honestly, truly will be players on the current Pittsburgh roster who'll be part of that next winning team. So speaks Cherington regularly, and I'm buying.
I cited Tucker, though I'm not sure he'll actually hit. He's a possibility. He's 24. He's got so many non-bat tools that a spot could be constructed for him, even if it's just in hopes of buying time for the bat.
Then there's the other two youngsters I snapped in this scene:
Nothing's prettier around here, not anyone's swing, not anyone's pitch, than Ke'Bryan Hayes pickin' it. It's been a while since we've seen anything this special wearing this uniform and ... that's all I'll say. Expectations for Hayes are already crazy high after his month-long Ted Williams tribute, and it's probably wise to tamper things. He just turned 24. He's all that. Let it be.
Maybe this will help: Hayes is seen by most services now as the Pirates' No. 2 prospect, behind Gonzales. So think what that says about Gonzales.
Kevin Newman's at short in that video, of course, and he's part of the uncomfortably large assortment of players looking to bounce back from an awful 2020. He's 27, so he's past the prospect stage, but he's also two years removed from a riveting rookie season that rivaled that of ... of ... what was that guy's name again?
Oh, right: Bryan Reynolds.
He just turned 26. I want this in print somewhere, so here goes: I'll never feel more certain about any return-to-form story taking place than this one. He's too good a hitter. As Shelton put it a couple days ago, 'He's hit his entire life.' He'll be back, he'll still have five years under the Pirates' control, and he'll be the left fielder on that winning team.
Mitch Keller and a bigger-than-most-seem-to-realize crop of potential starting pitchers -- chiefly those Cherington acquired in the recent trades -- offer hope for depth, even competition, in the rotation. Pitching's fickle, and predicting it's a nightmare, but Keller's 24. Chad Kuhl's 28 and JT Brubaker's 27, but both were stalled by injury. Wil Crowe's 26. Miguel Yajure's 22. Blake Cederlind just turned 25, he throws 100 mph, and he really ought to become this team's closer in 2021.
I didn't have a chance to see any of them Monday, but I've got all week here. I'll get to them, too.
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I'll repeat that I get the skepticism, even the outright cynicism. I respect it. I appreciate it.
I'm choosing to see this through. I'm looking forward to it. I couldn't care less about the W-L split in 2021, as the only way it could mean anything is if a few of the players in the preceding segment were to rise or fall individually. But I'm intensely invested in where this goes, very much looking forward to it.
And if anything were to happen in 2021, in Pittsburgh or at other levels of the organization, to offer pleasant surprises, hey, that's OK, too.
I mean, what could be more surprising than a 6-7 shortstop?
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At 12:55 p.m. on this Monday, more than an hour after our initial exchange, Tucker was moving to one final cage for the day. We were now more than 60 feet apart.
Tucker: 'HEY! DK!'
Me: (speechless)
Tucker: 'THANK YOU! I'LL DO THAT!'
All right, he got me: Tucker will hit. But that's as far as I'll go.