The knees, we kept hearing, weren’t what they used to be when he patrolled the outfield, but that didn’t stop the Yankees’ Hideki Matsui from running off with the Most Valuable Player Award for this World Series. His new role as DH relegated him to only 13 at-bats—the fewest for a nonpitcher Series MVP since Rick Dempsey in 1983—but he still managed to blast his way into the record books.
The six RBIs in Game 6 tied Bronx Bomber Bobby Richardson’s 1960 mark for the most in a single contest. Over the course of six games, Matsui hit .615, driving in eight runs and belting three homers. In the process, he became the first Japanese-born player to become series MVP—and the first to win it not only in the U.S. but at home in the 2000 Japan World Series.
Truly monstrous accomplishments. Godzilla, indeed.
Interesting, how you never see a story like this coming, even though you should. As Game 6 loomed, the media were focusing on Yankee skipper Joe Girardi’s decisions (37-year-old Andy Pettitte on three days rest?). More particularly, they speculated on the dire consequences for the Yankees if a few Yankees mired in horrendous hitting slumps (Robinson Cano, Mark Texeira) didn’t take the pressure off Alex Rodriguez.
Then here comes Matsui, rendering all discussion mute by coming out of nowhere to account for all but one of the Yankees’ RBIs in their clinching game.
The New York Times' Harvey Araton took the lead the other day by setting down the story for the week: i.e., that this series was about the “redemption” of A-Rod. As if to question that, his colleague in columny, William Rhoden, wondered if the turnaround in A-Rod’s performance turned less on his change of attitude and more on the great lineup around him.
Let them talk—the series belonged, unexpectedly but delightfully, to a player who, despite a language barrier, never seemed to have a problem fitting into the Yankee clubhouse. That’s not to say he never faltered. In a way that nobody I’ve read has noticed, this series included Matsui’s redemption every bit as much as A-Rod’s.
How? Consider this: Just about every baseball aficionado felt that something changed in the Yankees after the 2004 loss to the Red Sox in the AL Championship Series.
Some see the turning point as Dave Roberts’ steal of second base, when Mariano Rivera was one out away from putting away the series. But the Red Sox were bound to take at least one game from the Yankees at home, and the Bombers were still up 3-1.
Others point to Curt Schilling’s gutsy “bloody sock” performance in Game 6. But I think a marker had been set before that.
I'm thinking about one specific at-bat involving Matsui in Game 5. Ironically enough, the slugger described as Pedro Martinez’ “nemesis” in this World Series turned out to be his prey in this plate appearance.
Bergen Record columnist (and fellow St. Cecilia alum) Ian O’Connor reminded me of the situation when I re-read his USA Today column about Game 5 of the ’04 AL Championship.
At the beginning of the game, Matsui had a .486 batting average, 10 RBI and eight extra-base hits—more than any other player had ever had in a playoff series to that point. He was a one-man wrecking crew against the Bosox, and the other bats in the Yankee lineup fed off his energy.
But in the fifth inning, Martinez buzzed Matsui with a high fastball, sending him to the ground and inspiring Red Sox Nation to applaud and chant Pedro’s name. For the rest of the game, Matsui went cold, finishing with only one hit in seven at-bats.
The rest of the heart of the Yankee order got the message: There’s no protection for you. Their bats, likewise, went cold. The batting averages for the top five hitters, comparing the end of Games 4 and 7, tell the story:
Jeter: .265 vs. .245
A-Rod: .395 vs. .320
Sheffield: .361 vs. .292
Matsui: .486 vs. .412
Williams: .486 vs. .296
(A-Rod’s decline took on extra dimensions in the media, which prominently blared that he hit only 2 for 17 over the last four games of the series and contrasted his inability to produce a pennant against David Ortiz’s clutch hitting. Time has given us a different perspective on that now, given what we have seen of A-Rod's skills as a five-tool player and something Big Papi shared with the Yankee: use of steroids.)
It took a long time for Matsui to get back to this point—to get past it, really—as the Yankees were eliminated in the first round of the remaining playoffs of the Torre era, and finished out of the money altogether in Joe Girardi’s first year as manager. Matsui batted only .203 in 82 plate appearances during that span.
But in Game 2 of the World Series, facing the pitcher that had sent his and his team’s fortunes south, Matsui set back the calendar before Game 5 of the ’04 ALCS. He singled in the second inning, walked in the fourth, then took Martinez long in the sixth inning to break a 1-1 tie. The homer put the Yankees ahead in a must-win game. Without it, the Bombers would have been down 0-2 as they headed to Philadelphia—a hideous disadvantage to overcome.
If Game 6 was Matsui’s last, he went out in the best way possible: as a champion. Long ago, he had won the respect of his teammates as a consummate professionalism who could do what was necessary at the plate: hit for power, to the opposite field, or simply move the runner over. Now, whatever else happens, he’s entered the realm of Yankee legend.
The six RBIs in Game 6 tied Bronx Bomber Bobby Richardson’s 1960 mark for the most in a single contest. Over the course of six games, Matsui hit .615, driving in eight runs and belting three homers. In the process, he became the first Japanese-born player to become series MVP—and the first to win it not only in the U.S. but at home in the 2000 Japan World Series.
Truly monstrous accomplishments. Godzilla, indeed.
Interesting, how you never see a story like this coming, even though you should. As Game 6 loomed, the media were focusing on Yankee skipper Joe Girardi’s decisions (37-year-old Andy Pettitte on three days rest?). More particularly, they speculated on the dire consequences for the Yankees if a few Yankees mired in horrendous hitting slumps (Robinson Cano, Mark Texeira) didn’t take the pressure off Alex Rodriguez.
Then here comes Matsui, rendering all discussion mute by coming out of nowhere to account for all but one of the Yankees’ RBIs in their clinching game.
The New York Times' Harvey Araton took the lead the other day by setting down the story for the week: i.e., that this series was about the “redemption” of A-Rod. As if to question that, his colleague in columny, William Rhoden, wondered if the turnaround in A-Rod’s performance turned less on his change of attitude and more on the great lineup around him.
Let them talk—the series belonged, unexpectedly but delightfully, to a player who, despite a language barrier, never seemed to have a problem fitting into the Yankee clubhouse. That’s not to say he never faltered. In a way that nobody I’ve read has noticed, this series included Matsui’s redemption every bit as much as A-Rod’s.
How? Consider this: Just about every baseball aficionado felt that something changed in the Yankees after the 2004 loss to the Red Sox in the AL Championship Series.
Some see the turning point as Dave Roberts’ steal of second base, when Mariano Rivera was one out away from putting away the series. But the Red Sox were bound to take at least one game from the Yankees at home, and the Bombers were still up 3-1.
Others point to Curt Schilling’s gutsy “bloody sock” performance in Game 6. But I think a marker had been set before that.
I'm thinking about one specific at-bat involving Matsui in Game 5. Ironically enough, the slugger described as Pedro Martinez’ “nemesis” in this World Series turned out to be his prey in this plate appearance.
Bergen Record columnist (and fellow St. Cecilia alum) Ian O’Connor reminded me of the situation when I re-read his USA Today column about Game 5 of the ’04 AL Championship.
At the beginning of the game, Matsui had a .486 batting average, 10 RBI and eight extra-base hits—more than any other player had ever had in a playoff series to that point. He was a one-man wrecking crew against the Bosox, and the other bats in the Yankee lineup fed off his energy.
But in the fifth inning, Martinez buzzed Matsui with a high fastball, sending him to the ground and inspiring Red Sox Nation to applaud and chant Pedro’s name. For the rest of the game, Matsui went cold, finishing with only one hit in seven at-bats.
The rest of the heart of the Yankee order got the message: There’s no protection for you. Their bats, likewise, went cold. The batting averages for the top five hitters, comparing the end of Games 4 and 7, tell the story:
Jeter: .265 vs. .245
A-Rod: .395 vs. .320
Sheffield: .361 vs. .292
Matsui: .486 vs. .412
Williams: .486 vs. .296
(A-Rod’s decline took on extra dimensions in the media, which prominently blared that he hit only 2 for 17 over the last four games of the series and contrasted his inability to produce a pennant against David Ortiz’s clutch hitting. Time has given us a different perspective on that now, given what we have seen of A-Rod's skills as a five-tool player and something Big Papi shared with the Yankee: use of steroids.)
It took a long time for Matsui to get back to this point—to get past it, really—as the Yankees were eliminated in the first round of the remaining playoffs of the Torre era, and finished out of the money altogether in Joe Girardi’s first year as manager. Matsui batted only .203 in 82 plate appearances during that span.
But in Game 2 of the World Series, facing the pitcher that had sent his and his team’s fortunes south, Matsui set back the calendar before Game 5 of the ’04 ALCS. He singled in the second inning, walked in the fourth, then took Martinez long in the sixth inning to break a 1-1 tie. The homer put the Yankees ahead in a must-win game. Without it, the Bombers would have been down 0-2 as they headed to Philadelphia—a hideous disadvantage to overcome.
If Game 6 was Matsui’s last, he went out in the best way possible: as a champion. Long ago, he had won the respect of his teammates as a consummate professionalism who could do what was necessary at the plate: hit for power, to the opposite field, or simply move the runner over. Now, whatever else happens, he’s entered the realm of Yankee legend.
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