The return of El Guapo

I’ve strayed away from sports posts since the Sox won the Series, and rightly so. I’ve had other things on my mind, most of them somewhat more important then men throwing, catching and shooting animal-skin spheres. But last night, something magical happened. Richard Garcés came back into my life.

You know El Guapo. Remember old number 34 plodding in from the bullpen, the entire Fenway crowd cheering wildly for the obese Venezuelan? Remember the hilarious weight fluctuations from season to season—one year the notes columns would mention how the front office was pleased with Garcés’ “new trim physique”, and then, months and months of arepas, pastelotes and hallacas later, El Guapo looked like he was ready to ask Maury Povich for a gastric-bypass operation? Remember the T-shirt jerseys, still are seen from time to time in New England, that had “El Guapo” on the back … and that, for some reason, put a tilde over the E?

So anyway, I’m at a bar in Mérida last night and I’m watching some random Venezuelan League game on the big screen over the dance floor. Miguel Cabrera’s team, Aragua, is whuppin’ up on Pastora in a postseason round-robin game. It’s the 8th inning, and los Tigres are up 6-1. It goes to a commercial, I grab a new Polar, and then he appears in all his splendid hugeness. He’s wearing the purple road uni of Pastora, and if his pants had been morado, too, I’d have pegged him as the Latino Barney. El Guapo was unmistakable: barrel-over-Niagara top, tree-trunk bottom, jowls that long ago swallowed his neck. I had heard he was playing for Magallanes, his old winter league team, but since they didn’t make the playoffs he must’ve moved over to Pastora. And here he was, pitching for me again.

Since last night, I’ve read up a little more on Garcés. The all-time Venezuelan League save leader is the front-runner for Comeback Player of the Year. He pretty much tanked last year, leaving his team after the rest of the league touched him up for a 9.00 ERA, but he returned, fat as ever, to record a bunch of saves and be quite effective this season.

Last night, though, was like watching vintage 2002 Garcés. He was awful. He had the leadoff guy 0-2 and gave up a rope to right field. He gets the next guy to ground into a DP ball, but the second baseman kicks it, and they only get the guy at first. One out. The following batter tops one to the first baseman, who tosses to El Guapo to get the guy at first. Two outs, a runner on third and lots of laughs watching the fat man cover the bag. He then proceeds to give up a Posada-like blooper to score a run. 7-1, runner on first. Then a walk. Then a hard-hit ball to left field that can’t score the guy from second. Two outs, bags juiced—and Cabrera coming up. Cabrera already hit a three-run bomb earlier in the game, and the fans in Maracay are pumped. El Guapo goes 2-1 on Cabrera and then uncorks a curve ball up near Miggy’s head. Cabrera dives out of the way and it looks like it hit him in the hand (the bat went flying like 10 feet), but the ump calls it a foul ball. Then, on 3-2 with the bags juiced, Garcés reaches back into the magic bag … and promptly drills Cabrera with another terrible yakker. 8-1. Bases loaded still. And El Guapo heads to las duchas.

So, his final line? 2/3 IP, 3 H, 3 ER (the next reliever came in and drilled the next hitter on the hip, forcing in a run), 2 BB, 1 HBP. But I don’t care. He’s never once failed to make me laugh, paunch or no paunch, tilde or no tilde. And besides, doesn't this mean he soon could be pitching for the Sox once again, lumbering to the mound to standing ovation after standing ovation?

You're right. Probably not.