Is it strange that I appear positively beatific staring at an image of Angel Vladimir Guerrero at FanFest last week? I had been thinking prior to this chance meeting that I sort of missed Vlad’s regular visits to Shea. I don’t generally miss anyone who is a lifetime .311 hitter against the Mets. In 360 career at-bats, Vlad has homered 23 times and driven in 58 runs. He made our lives miserable every time he stepped to the plate as an Expo and doesn’t help matters during his Interleague cameos.
But I actually miss the Mets trying to get him out. I won’t miss Pat Burrell. I won’t miss Chipper Jones. I won’t miss whathisface from the Ford Edge commercials. But Guerrero, in some way, must be my version of Stan Musial, on whom überblogger Joe Posnanski lavished love in a wonderful piece after the All-Star Game:
A lot of baseball fans have forgotten Stan Musial. Anyway, it seems like that. His name is rarely mentioned when people talk about the greatest living players. He’s never had a best-selling book written about him. A few years ago, when baseball was picking its All Century team, Stan Musial did not even receive enough votes to be listed among the Top 10 outfielders. The Top 10.
Vladimir Guerrero, as we’ve gone over before, could have been a Met. But he’s not here and that’s neither here nor there. I just have a fan thing for him even if he used to murder us. Is that so wrong?