With one out in the bottom of the ninth, the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim are making a pitching change as the club tries to preserve a 2–1 lead over Detroit. The Angels outfielders are maximizing the downtime by holding an impromptu conference in centre. In attendance are left fielder Vernon Wells, right fielder Torii Hunter and in the middle, sandwiched between their 12 gold gloves, is Mike Trout. Unless things go awry, the rookie centre fielder won’t see any more pitches on this night, but there he is, crouched in a batting stance nonetheless. As reliever Garrett Richards gets loose on the mound, Trout keeps chatting with Wells and Hunter, all the while holding an imaginary bat. From a distance, it’s impossible to know precisely what they’re discussing, but as the youngster lifts his front leg off the ground as if he’s stepping into a fastball, it’s clear he’s absorbing information from his accomplished teammates.
He won’t need to use any of it tonight, thanks to Richards, who fans consecutive Tigers to end the game. But the brainstorming session offers insight into why the always-inquisitive Trout is poised to push his lofty limits by buttressing an already-ample cache of hardball know-how with his staggering physical gifts. The kid knows when to talk and when to be quiet, and his ability to adapt, over the long haul, will turn a historic freshman season into merely the initial strokes of a masterpiece.
Trout will win the American League rookie of the year and may yet become just the third player to nab MVP honours in his first season, after Boston’s Fred Lynn in 1975 and Ichiro Suzuki in 2001 (it should be noted that Ichiro was a well-established star in Japan and 27 years old when he joined the Seattle Mariners that season). A steal at No. 25 in the 2009 draft, Trout, who will be 21 years and 57 days when the season ends, would be the youngest MVP ever. It’s no surprise his diverse achievements have triggered all kinds of hyperbole from everyone but the square-jawed New Jersey native himself. Though certainly approachable, Trout keeps meetings with the media as compact as that right-handed swing of his that has pitchers everywhere rubbing rosin bags like they’re hoping a genie might pop out and grant them three called strikes. But Hunter sees a much more verbose side of Trout. He calls the rookie “Lil’ Torii” because “he’s like my son.” And as any father can tell you, young boys smitten with a sport tend to ask a lot of questions. “He’s one of those kids in the backseat of the car,” says Hunter, “‘Are we there yet? Are we there yet?’”
The queries started just over a year ago when Trout, then just 19, got his first taste of the bigs and immediately started pestering his veteran teammates about what he could improve on. He hit .220 in 40 MLB games in 2011, then started this season in class AAA with the Salt Lake Bees. Trout hit .403 in 20 contests with the Bees, earning a call-up to an Angels club that was 6-14 at the time but has subsequently played at about a .580 clip, largely due to the base-swiping, run-producing whiz kid at the top of the order who’s as capable of snatching a home run away with his stellar defence as he is of smacking one with strength generated by his stout frame. And as much as Trout, like all modern-day athletes, has been heavily tutored over the years, and though he demonstrates an instinctual understanding of the game that’s likely the result of being the son of a former minor-leaguer (his dad, Jeff, was an infielder in the Minnesota Twins organization), the most striking aspect of his early success is that he’s acing the test without having had a chance to really study the book. “He doesn’t even know the game yet,” says Hunter, 37. “He’s just playing and he’s still hitting, making great plays, stealing bags. He’s doing everything, and he doesn’t even know what he’s doing right now.”
But he’s always been someone who catches on quick. When Keith Johnson managed Trout in
class-A ball, he initially saw a youngster who was surprised the balls he used to knock for hits were now being gobbled up in the infield. The next thing Johnson witnessed was the piercing determination that’s propelled Trout to where he is today. “It was like, ‘I have to figure this out,’” says Johnson, who also managed Trout in Salt Lake this year. “Then all of a sudden he started hitting line drives in the gap.” Mark Trumbo has seen that same adaptability in the majors. “His adjustments are almost instantaneous,” says L.A.’s first baseman. “The sky’s the limit.”
And sometimes it doesn’t even seem like the clouds can contain him. Trout was already gaining national attention for his exploits when he took to the field for a June 27 game in Baltimore. In the bottom of the first, J.J. Hardy lifted a long fly to right-centre that had souvenir written all over it until Trout, running like he stole something, ultimately did just that when he left his feet, thrust his glove over the wall and robbed Hardy of a homer. “I knew it was in my glove. I didn’t know if I was going to come down with it,” Trout says. “I hit the ground, looked and it was there.”
If that eye-popping play tells the story of Trout’s impact in the outfield, his full value as a hitter is much more understated. His patience at the plate is something people inside the game marvel at. Trout has the strength of a bear, the speed of a sprinter and only recently became old enough to drink legally in the United States; he could be forgiven if each trip to the batter’s box was defined by aggression rather than acute attention to detail. But Trout relishes his role as a table-setter, exposing pitchers even when he doesn’t get on base by taking pitch after pitch, demonstrating for his teammates in the dugout whether a hurler brought his good stuff.
And when Trout does offer, it’s usually not until he’s seen enough of a pitch to know exactly what can be done with it. Baseball swings are a bit like cars in that the big, powerful ones usually need a little more road to maximize the engine’s potential, while the smaller ones get up to speed quick, but don’t pack the same punch. Trout, with 27 dingers through 124 games, is an exception—he has a freakish ability to wait, and still wallop. He’s like a Kia with the horsepower of a Corvette. “It’s the ultimate key to hitting,” says Wells of Trout’s approach. “Most guys can have a short swing, but it’s not going to be powerful.”
Trout’s “quiet stance” reminds former Oriole and current MLB Network analyst Bill Ripken of Hall of Famer Paul Molitor. And that calmness, whether with the bat or tracking down a ball in the outfield, is what Ripken believes really sets Trout apart from fellow freshman dynamo Bryce Harper of the Washington Nationals. Harper’s “fauxhawk” reflects the double-edge sword of precocious stars. While the vibrant skill is evident, it’s often obscured by rambunctious behaviour. Trout, his hair buzzed down like he might join the Marines after the last out, is already a master at walking the line. “There’s an intensity Bryce has that borders on almost out of control,” Ripken says, “whereas it seems Trout has harnessed that.”
And if he ever has trouble reeling it in, Hunter will be there to bring Lil’ Torii back to reality. Trout, in addition to carrying L.A. for stretches, also lugged his share of teammates’ bags and knew enough not to protest. “If he complained or thought he was big-time, then we’d really tear him up,” Hunter says.
As it stands, the only time Hunter has to put Trout in his place is when the veteran, who won all nine of his gold gloves in centre before shifting positions late in his career, knows something about a hitter’s tendencies the kid doesn’t.“I’m still lining him up from right field,” Hunter says.
At this point, every game is a new tutorial, another opportunity to enhance that ever-growing reserve of knowledge. Given the level at which Trout’s already producing, it may be unrealistic to think he’ll bump his game to another stratosphere. But what Trout can rely on is the fact his eagerness as a student means that during those cruel stretches baseball deals to even its premier players, when the game’s basic premise of managing failure comes into play, he’ll be able to smooth things with a mind that can bail out his body. “That’s what’s going to make him one of the best of all time,” Hunter says.
This article originally appeared in Sportsnet Magazine.